Have you ever pondered why urbanites find the seemingly brash and almost impolite antics of child star Ahmed Shah endearing, even laughable? And what is it about the Shirazi village vlogger siblings that elevate them to a status where both of them are now a central figure in Pakistan’s most renowned Ramadan transmission?
Actor and host Mishi Khan was prompt to highlight their innocence as their distinctive selling point. She also criticised the practice of plucking children “from the mountains” and exploiting their innocence for commercial purposes by TV networks. While Mishi’s sentiments resonate with those who reject this spiritual spectacle, her argument had gaps that prompted the transmission’s host to step in with a daring yet strategic clarification.
“You cannot fathom the extent of our concern for these children and their welfare,” Wasim Badami asserted. He continued, with Shah, Shiraz, and other child stars from his show perched on a swing in the backdrop, “I firmly believe in the principle of reciprocity. As a father myself, I wouldn’t wish anything upon these children that I wouldn’t wish upon my son. Believe me, the joy these kids experience on the show is palpable; sometimes they even arrive well in advance of their call time. It’s akin to interacting with children at a family dinner.”
The clarification was prompted by Mishi’s expressed concerns, yet it also brings to light a broader issue that has long afflicted the child star industry—a quandary concerning labor and the blurred lines between work and education, masquerading as play. It underscores a dual dilemma: the exploitation of innocence for commercial gain and the commodification of childhood itself.
Imposed cuteness
Scholars in Star Studies and Child Development have found themselves at odds regarding the repercussions of exploiting children’s innocence to fuel the media machine. Mengfei Pan and Yuqing point out a troubling trend where attention becomes synonymous with financial gain, exacerbating the challenge of exercising restraint over both fans and fame. What unites children thrust into the limelight, not for any particular talent like gymnastics or early mastery of complex math, but for their mannerisms, behavior, or mere existence, is the lens of adult scrutiny.
A five-year-old who is overweight for their age does not perceive himself or herself in terms of being a “cutie-pie” or a “munchkin.” Instead, they identify with their totality, their complete being, which defines their sense of self. However, it is the adults who often impose labels of infantilism and cuteness upon them. Consequently, the concept of cuteness, especially concerning children, evolves into an aesthetic trope over which children wield minimal agency or power. The media industry picks on such kids, who go viral for existing the way they and expressing themselves, and turns it into an industry of mass cuteness.
Folk fodder for entertainment
Basharat Issa, an anthropologist hailing from Gilgit-Baltistan and a lecturer at Habib University’s Comparative Humanities Program, extends the argument by emphasising the geographical origins of the children featured in these transmissions. He contends that the children showcased on these platforms predominantly hail from the peripheries of our country. Consequently, even the slightest nuances of their behavior are perceived as “entertainment” for urban audiences residing on the mainland.
Issa’s perspective delves deeper into the socio-cultural and political dynamics at play. He suggests that the allure of these children stems not only from their innocence or perceived cuteness but also from the exoticisation of their identities as representatives of marginalised regions such as Gilgit-Baltistan. This phenomenon reinforces the narrative of urban superiority and exoticises the lives of those living in the peripheries, reducing their experiences to mere spectacles for urban consumption.
“I just hope people finding amusement in these videos and the media apparatus feeding off the same, look beyond his cute Balti accent and notice the impoverished conditions that the inhabitants of this village live in. I just hope that his fame and success don’t get restricted to being a mere spectacle of soft image and mass entertainment.”
Issa’s sentiments echo the fact that all these high-budget Ramazan transmissions take place in Karachi, which is Pakistan’s biggest urban center that owes its cultural and linguistic ‘dominance’ over the rest of Pakistan to North Indian Muslim families that immigrated to Pakistan and played a key role in shaping the voice and vocabulary of our media ecosystem. Hence crisp, often verbose use of Urdu language and diction is usually the standard these transmissions aspire to maintain, with a little bit of that sharp Arabic expression slid in by the host to ensure the ‘Islamic touch’ in Ramazan.
Artwork by Mohsin Alam
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