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COLUMN: PRUFROCK IN PAKISTAN
The poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock was written by T.S. Eliot in 1915. Despite the poet’s young age — he wrote the majority of the poem when he was 22 — he imagined the confessional monologue of an ageing man wrestling with existential turmoil.
Over a century later, Eliot, the quintessential modernist poet, lives on in Pakistan. Lahore-based poet Anjum Altaf has “transcreated” Eliot’s Prufrock into Urdu verse, indicating how global modernisms resonate across languages and eras.
As critics of modernism, such as Douglas Mao and Rebecca Walkowitz, note, there has been an “expansion” of modernism. The recent “global turn” seeks to unsettle received ideas of modernism by embracing diverse, multilingual traditions. Altaf’s Prufrock shows such an expansion. It is a Western modernist text replanted in South Asian soil, and it is flourishing there.
Eliot introduces us to a timid, middle-aged man full of psychological complexity and doubt. On the surface, Prufrock frets about simple things such as whether to eat a peach or speak to women. Through these trivialities, we glimpse his deeper anxieties about disturbing the universe and the hells of other people.
He is self-conscious, indecisive and withdrawn, constantly second-guessing himself (“And indeed there will be time/ To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’”). The language of the poem reveals layers. Prufrock’s urbane voice conveys many clues. He compares life to “teacups” and discusses Michelangelo not out of passion but social habit. All of this shows a man alienated by his own modern urban world.
His alienation is mirrored in the poem’s form. Prufrock is written as a loose, collage-like mosaic of fragments and images, not a neat rhyme scheme. It includes disjointed jump-cuts of foggy evenings, yellow smoke and half-glimpsed street scenes. The effect on readers is that they feel Prufrock’s fractured inner life. We piece together a disintegrated personality from scattered, sometimes contradictory, moments. This fragmentary form itself feels like modern city life — isolating, hectic and hard to unify.
Time is another crucial theme. Prufrock feels it slipping away: “There will be time, there will be time/ To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.” He repeats “There will be time” like a prayer, while knowing he does nothing with it, as there is “time yet for a hundred indecisions.” The poem is haunted by waiting and missed opportunities. Images of unshakeable age — carried across to Urdu as “Main boorrha ho raha hoon” — lace the poem with weary pragmatism.
Readers in Pakistan will be able to relate to the poem’s themes of angst, indecision and alienation. Poet and translator Altaf finds Prufrock especially resonant for “teenagers who feel overwhelmed by all the difficult decisions they need to make… [but the poem’s] lines resonate at every point in time.”
Altaf admits lines like “I grow old… I grow old” echo in his mind as he ages. He wryly remarks that Prufrock’s mermaids “never sang to me, although I didn’t see that as a particularly major loss.” Altaf connects with Prufrock’s social fears and wistful dreams, despite living in a very different world from Eliot’s 1910s’ London.
This is a small illustration of the larger phenomenon of global modernisms. Eliot’s imagery and ideas — from despair to the mechanised city — turned out to be relevant to India, Iran, China and, indeed, Pakistan.
The Urdu literary scene was long under “the spell of T.S. Eliot”, as Intizar Husain wrote in Dawn. “No modern poet,” he claimed, “could resist Eliot’s influence and almost every critic saw wisdom in referring to his work.” Urdu writers who were members of the Progressive Writers Association adapted modernist techniques. Even novels such as Husain’s own Basti allude directly to Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, The Waste Land and Hollow Men to link post-Partition alienation with Eliot’s modern doubt. In short, the modernist spirit of breaking past forms and expressing inner turmoil found a home here too.
As for Altaf’s “transcreation” of Prufrock into Urdu, this is a storied translation practice. Transcreations are supple reimaginings that combine fidelity with local colour. The term itself is distinctly South Asian, tracing its lineage from the Indian poet and author P. Lal to the Urdu novelist Qurratulain Hyder. The latter famously described her extensive translation of her Urdu novel Aag Ka Darya [River of Fire] into English as a “transcreation”, not a word-for-word rendering.
(Hyder herself adapted Eliot’s The Dry Salvages from Four Quartets and The Waste Land’s idea of London as an “unreal city” in Aag Ka Darya.)
Altaf’s Urdu Prufrock similarly refuses dutiful translation; instead, it reshapes images for the context. He weaves in Urdu poetic idioms, echoes of poets Mirza Ghalib, N.M. Rashid, and Josh Malihabadi and local worldviews. For example, he replaces “mermaids” with jal pariyan or water fairies, or recasts “tea and cakes and ices” as chai, kulchay and sharbat. Yet, the poem’s core remains recognisable. Prufrock’s sharam [shame or embarrassment] is very much our sharam when a lady rebukes him, “That is not what I meant at all” or “Mera matlab yeh tau nahin tha.”
In translation theory, Altaf’s method sits between Lawrence Venuti’s foreignisation and domestication extremes, bringing together opacity and innovation. As Venuti notes, translation advances cohesion, as every “domestic inscription” anticipates a new community around the text. In Altaf’s “transgression”, Prufrock is conversant in Urdu, promoting a tight community of Pakistani readers who hear the same anxieties in their mother tongue.
Today, Altaf’s Urdu Prufrock reminds us that modernist poetry isn’t a limited Western affair. It lives on in classrooms, on screens and in the minds of people around the world. Pakistani readers may read Eliot as a fellow mourner for uncertain, fragmented times. Altaf’s translation (or transcreation) gives Prufrock new life. His mixed feelings may seem remote from concerns about surveillance, AI and regime changes in today’s world, but the emotional clarity is the same. Modernism has figured lived experiences widely, whether in steam-era London or Lahore’s present-day universities.
By harmonising Eliot’s lines with Urdu poetry, Altaf proves that an attuned string of the sitar can vibrate with a guitar’s melody. Prufrock’s satire and spontaneity, fear and longing travel across continents. His story of indecision is, as Altaf says, “always there” for readers in our time. The result is a global literary moment. An Anglo-American verse finds new expression in South Asian verse and opens up understandings of modernism.
The columnist is Professor of Global Literature at the University of York in the UK, and author of five books. Bluesky: @clarachambara
Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 29th, 2026
Director Silvio Soldini’s wartime drama The Tasters is a gripping and deeply affecting film. Inspired by the testimony of Margot Wölk, who claimed in 2012 that she had been forced to taste Adolf Hitler’s food during the Second World War, the film examines survival and moral compromise among those caught inside the machinery of the Nazi regime.
The film is adapted from Rosella Postorino’s 2018 historical fiction novel The Women At Hitler’s Table (also known as At The Wolf’s Table in the US), itself inspired by Margot Wölk’s account.
At its centre is Rosa Sauer (Elisa Schlott), a young woman who leaves Berlin in 1943 to live with her parents-in-law in rural East Prussia while her husband fights on the Russian front. Hoping to escape the bombing of the capital, she quickly finds herself facing a different danger when Nazi soldiers arrive and force her into a van with several other women from the village.
They are taken to the nearby Wolf’s Lair, Hitler’s secret headquarters, where the women are ordered to taste every meal prepared for the Führer, to confirm that the food has not been poisoned. They sit together under guard to eat dishes prepared by the kitchen staff and then wait under supervision to see whether anyone falls ill.
The Tasters is a quietly devastating film about the women forced to test Hitler’s food for poison
The film unfolds within a muted visual palette that reflects the bleakness of its rural wartime setting. The countryside is drained of colour and the interiors appear subdued. This restraint extends to Hitler himself, whose presence is constantly acknowledged but never shown. The unseen dictator hangs over the film and shapes the lives of the women without ever appearing to them.
Elisa Schlott delivers a quietly commanding central performance. Her Rosa is observant and uneasy, a woman trying to understand a situation imposed on her without explanation. Schlott conveys the character’s anxiety through small gestures and careful silences, creating a performance with steady emotional weight that anchors the film.
The ensemble surrounding Schlott is equally impressive. The other women gradually come into focus, each drawn carefully with her own complexities. Emma Falck gives a strong performance as the wide-eyed and optimistic Leni, while Alma Hasun is compelling as the guarded Elfriede. Their shared circumstances create moments of closeness, as well as distrust, so that survival becomes a matter of constant adjustment.
Rivalries emerge and alliances shift as the women spend long hours together under surveillance. Bonds form through conversation and secret gestures of care and, even within a system that treats them as expendable, the women continue to recognise one another as individuals.
The Nazi soldiers are a constant threatening presence. Their authority over the women is absolute and the violence behind it surfaces in sudden moments. One lieutenant, Albert Ziegler (Max Riemelt), begins to single out Rosa and the two enter a clandestine sexual relationship that offers a brief escape for both of them, before the reality of their situation and their own role in the horror of war intrudes.
Soldini’s patient, understated direction allows the story to unfold through confined interiors and careful observation. Composer Mauro Pagani’s impressive score carries an insistence beneath the action, evoking the war beyond the boundaries of the film. The conflict remains outside the frame, while the score intrudes at key moments and unsettles the fragile calm of the women’s routines.
In the crowded field of Second World War films, The Tasters is a rare story that places women at its centre. These women continue their lives as best they can within the constraints of their reality. They talk and confide in one another, and small acts of kindness carry enormous weight in an environment shaped by control and fear.
Exploring the fragile humanity which persists within an oppressive system, The Tasters is a thought-provoking, compelling and quietly powerful film that will devastate you softly.
The writer is a PhD candidate at the School of English at the Dublin City University in the UK
Republished from The Conversation
Published in Dawn, ICON, March 29th, 2026
Petrol Blues?
Mahira Khan knows how to hog the limelight. Don’t get us wrong. We say this in a positive way. For example, she recently surprised everyone by hailing a rickshaw to reach a TV studio. The video of her little trip had everyone talking about how happy she looked in a rickshaw. She reportedly even sang the song Hum Tau Aise Hain from the Bollywood film Laaga Chunari Mein Daagh during the ride! Isn’t that nice? Wait… this wouldn’t have anything to do with rising petrol prices, would it? Wise gal, Mahira K, saving on the hi-octane.
Chuck Norris Dies
Chuck Norris — one of Hollywood’s most popular action stars and a former world karate champion — died in Kauai, Hawaii on March 20. He was 86. Chuck N shot to international fame by acting alongside the legendary Bruce Lee in the film The Way of the Dragon (1972) and continued to give commercial hits such as Missing in Action (1984) and The Delta Force (1986). He also worked in the successful TV series, Walker, Texas Ranger, in the 1990s. Sad as this news is, the one thing that doesn’t help Chuck N’s image is that he was a close friend of Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel’s genocidal prime minister, as can be gauged from the latter’s tweet after the actor’s death. Still, may he rest in peace.
Phantom Wars
The film Dhurandhar — The Revenge was released on March 19. Like its prequel, it is expectedly full of violence and anti-Pakistan narratives. Instead of further commenting on that, we’d like to quote what acclaimed writer Arundhati Roy stated recently when she was talking about the US-Israeli-led war on Iran and the role of the Indian government: “Some of you will remember how we used to joke about that florid, overblown Chinese communist term, ‘running dog of imperialism’. But right now, I’d say it describes us well. Except, of course, in our twisted, toxic movies, in which our celluloid heroes strut on, winning phantom war after war, dumb and over-muscled. Fuelling our insatiable bloodlust with their gratuitous violence and their s*** for brains.” Spot on, Arundhati R!
AL in the Family
On March 12, the film I Live Here Now, directed by Julie Pacino, daughter of actor Al Pacino, premiered at a theatre in Los Angeles, California. The Oscar-winner Al P made a rare red carpet appearance for his daughter. He was accompanied by two of his other children, 25-year-old twins Anton and Olivia. Their mother is actress Beverly D’Angelo (Al P’s ex-wife) and Julie P’s mum is acting coach Jan Tarrant (his ex-girlfriend). Al P also has a two-year-old son, Roman, with former girlfriend and film producer Noor Alfallah. Well, given his age (he will be 86 in April), we’d like to suggest to the legendary actor that he should now only occupy himself with reading, writing and producing… films.
Billie As Sylvia
In the 1960s, poet Sylvia Plath wrote a novel titled The Bell Jar. It is a semi-autobiographical account of her rather disturbed and creative life. Now, a film directed by Sarah Polley (Women Talking) based on that book is in the works. News is that American singer-songwriter and Grammy-winner Billie Eilish is going to essay the role of Sylvia P. We think it’s a good choice, because Billie E is a fearless, conscientious artist who, by the way, has some acting experience as well — she worked in a television series called Swarm. So, we can’t wait to see the singer-songwriter turning into a poet.
Daal Gadot
Like every year, this year’s Oscar awards reverberated with political comments made on stage. For example, Spanish actor Javier Bardem came out with Indian actress Priyanka Chopra to present the best international feature film award, and used the opportunity to proclaim, “No to war! Free Palestine.” It elicited a loud applause from the audience (most of whom haven’t yet spoken on the subject, by the way). While Javier B was making such a strong and brave statement, Priyanka C — who has never uttered a word against the Israeli genocide in Palesine and has mostly supported her own government’s belligerent policies against Pakistan and India’s minorities — stood still and kept smiling, somewhat awkwardly, we think. What made this incident rather funny, however, was that many people online quickly dubbed Priyanka C ‘Daal Gadot’, after Israeli actress Gal Gadot, who has been widely criticised for her support for Israel. No PR campaigns can protect you from social media wit, we tell you.
Published in Dawn, ICON, March 29th, 2026
THE WEEK THAT WAS
Muamma | Hum TV, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm
Much of the mystery around Jehan Ara/Jiji’s (Saba Qamar) past has been dispelled, revealing a deeply traumatised woman whose suffering resulted in turning her into a perpetrator after being a victim.
A new couple enters the story. Jiji is captivated by the young husband Shah Jehan (Shahzad Sheikh), because Shah Jehan is also the name of the man she loves (Usman Mukhtar), who betrayed her. Unlike the men she usually meets, he hardly notices her and is not enamoured by her cooking or anything else. His eyes and attention are firmly fixed on his wife, Ayeza (Sidra Niazi). Saba Qamar proves again what a skilful performer she is, showing us how Jiji’s ego swells to engulf her instincts of self-preservation, because her vanity is smarted by what she perceives as rejection. Shahzad Sheikh looks miserable perpetually, but his character’s complete indifference is portrayed effectively. Judging from the next episode’s teaser, it seems that he is aware of Jiji’s tricks and traps, which are disguised as innocent offers of food.
This is a great story of shadows and games. And now, the guessing begins: has Shah Jehan been sent by one of Jiji’s previous victims, or is he that final good man she cannot break or tempt?
Ghulam Bashah Sundri | Green TV, Mon-Tues 8.00pm
After a slew of serials romanticising and softening the image of feudal landowners, writer Zanjabeel Asim’s script pulls off the band-aid, digging into their mentality and privilege. Unfortunately, what could have been a hard, raw look at hubris and cruelty has been turned into mass entertainment-style masala drama by director Amin Iqbal.
Zaviyar Ijaz delivers a surprisingly strong performance as Bashah, whose privilege and ingrained selfishness prevent him from following the virtues he aspires to. Decadent and lazy, he is pleasant and thinks of justice while life goes his way, but his true nature is not far from the surface. Born of terrible cruelty, Bashah’s “secret” elder brother, Ghulam (Imran Ashraf), is strong, kind, and a capable doctor, but his personality has been so stunted that he cannot think beyond serving the family that hurts him.
Ghulam is obsessively protective of Bashah, but will he give up his love for Sundri (Hina Afridi) to maintain this bond? Zanjabeel Asim loves to write about helpless, innocent girls, and Hina Afridi leans into the cliché with charm, drawing smiles rather than irritation.
Rahguzar | Green TV, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm
Roshni (Hira Mani) is a self-sacrificing eldest daughter who works to take care of her stepfamily and is weak and easily intimidated. Her new boss, Waqar (Mohib Mirza), finds her irritating and prefers confident women such as Roshni’s sister, Aima (Mariam Kiani), whom he meets at a party. Waqar ditches Aima when he realises she is a gold digger but, instead of learning from his mistake, he becomes even harsher and deeply bitter.
Despite his obviously mean digs and dislike, the unknowing and foolish Roshni agrees to marry Waqar, who is trying to humiliate Aima, and who finds this unbearable. Eventually, her schemes succeed in poisoning Waqar against Roshni.
This is a festival of misery in which the more unethical a protagonist is, the more they prosper, while the decent characters are so egregiously stupid that most sane viewers begin to side with the villains. As we all know, Hira Mani cries beautifully but, beyond that, this show doesn’t offer much and is a hard watch. Another strong performance is that of Mohib Mirza as a red flag, whose eventual turnaround no one is rooting for.
What To Watch Out For (Or Not)
Rang De | Geo TV, Coming soon
An unintriguing new story from Geo TV about a young woman (Sabeena Farooq) who wants her long-widowed mother (Sunita Marshall) to marry before her own wedding.
Published in Dawn, ICON, March 29th, 2026
CINEMASCOPE: A TASTE OF HELL
کیپٹن علی محمود شہید جرات و بہادری کا ایک درخشندہ ستارہ
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