Riz Ahmed’s Bait is an exceptional piece of television. Not only for its satirical exploration of the entertainment industry, but for the psychological narrative running underneath it.

At its heart, the Prime Video series is a quietly devastating study of the pressures placed upon British‑Pakistani men. What appears to be an eccentric comedy about a struggling actor auditioning for James Bond soon reveals itself to be a nuanced portrayal of shame, internalised stigma and the early signs of psychosis.

The series follows Shah Latif (Ahmed), whose obsessive pursuit of validation becomes a catalyst for a psychological unravelling. Shah’s downward spiral is shaped by relentless scrutiny and the fear of not belonging. These themes resonate strongly with a growing body of research on psychosis in British‑Pakistani communities.

A 2024 study in The British Journal of Psychiatry found a significantly higher incidence of first‑episode psychosis among British‑Pakistanis, compared with the majority population. This offers an important parallel to Bait. Shah’s sense of cultural drift, his distance from grounding community structures and his struggle to inhabit multiple identities all heighten his vulnerability.

Bait sheds light on British-Pakistani mental health struggles rarely seen on screen

The show does not name psychosis explicitly, but Shah experiences intrusive thoughts, escalating paranoia, fragmentation of self and delusions. This reflects real trajectories observed in early intervention services.

Racism and psychosis

One of the most incisive threads in the series is the portrayal of racial microaggressions that Shah absorbs without resistance. These include remarks about his “Britishness”, comments on his appearance, and the persistent insinuation that he exists outside the cultural centre.

Recent research has shown that racial discrimination is one of the strongest predictors of psychosis risk. It increases the likelihood of psychotic symptoms by 77 percent, with physical racial attacks multiplying the risk five-fold.

Shah’s encounters — ranging from subtle jabs to overt dismissal — operate cumulatively, shaping his internal monologue and eroding his self-esteem. The brilliance of Bait lies in how it embeds these aggressions into the comedic structure, illustrating the subtle normalisation of harm.

The series highlights the importance of family dynamics, a key but under-researched factor in understanding psychosis among South Asian Muslims in the UK. A 2009 study found that families often had to navigate stigma, concerns about privacy and honour, and tensions between medical models of illness and culturally rooted understandings of distress.

Shah’s relationship with his family shifts between warmth, expectation and pressure, reflecting this complexity. Family can act as both a source of support and a cause of psychological strain. Research examining British-Pakistani Muslim views on mental health has found that cultural stigma, fear of public opinion, and uncertainty around religious explanations can delay people seeking help.

These dynamics are reflected in the silence running through Shah’s world. Mental health struggles are hinted at but never openly discussed, and Shah instinctively hides his distress behind humour and performance. This also reflects how many communities describe mental health in moral or spiritual terms, rather than psychological ones.

I recently explored these issues in a podcast conversation with Zenab Sabahat, a PhD researcher at the University of Bradford. Her research looks at access to, experiences of and outcomes for South Asian Muslim families receiving family interventions for psychosis. This work explores how cultural identity stress, stigma and mismatches between different models of care shape pathways into support.

Sabahat’s work reinforces what Bait illustrates narratively: that psychological distress among British-Pakistanis is closely linked to experiences of migration, racism, cultural belonging and intergenerational tension.

This reality also underpins the work of Our Minds Matter, the UK charity I co-founded to deliver culturally grounded mental health education and support in under-served communities. The organisation’s mission emphasises the need to address mental health through the lenses of culture, faith and community — approaches that mainstream services often overlook.

Early education, reducing stigma and building culturally sensitive support are essential for addressing the inequalities faced by communities like Shah’s.

Five years ago, our team produced a community-led documentary exploring psychosis. It highlighted the experiences of South Asian families and the urgent need for culturally coherent support structures. The challenges articulated in the documentary continue to be reflected in both academic research and people’s lived experiences today.

What Bait achieves is not simply representation but illumination. It exposes how psychological vulnerability can be fuelled by cultural dislocation, racialised exclusion, and the impossible expectation to excel while carrying generations of unspoken pressure.

Shah’s experiences — humorous, painful and increasingly fractured — mirror the mental health inequalities faced by British-Pakistani communities, particularly men navigating contradictory identities and structural disadvantage. The series invites viewers to see psychosis not as an isolated biomedical event, but as a response to accumulated pressures: family honour, societal scrutiny, cultural misrecognition and stigma that constrains emotional expression.

These pressures interact across biological, psychological and social frameworks, creating conditions in which psychosis risk becomes elevated. The show’s understated portrayal of this trajectory offers a culturally specific, psychologically accurate narrative rarely seen in British television.

In a media landscape where the mental health of British South Asian Muslims is often sensationalised or overlooked, Bait offers an important counter-narrative. It shows that the intersections of identity, discrimination and cultural expectation are not abstract ideas but lived experiences that shape psychological well-being.

The show’s quiet strength lies in revealing these dynamics without being preachy — inviting audiences and practitioners to better understand how culture, racism and mental health intertwine.

The writer is Senior Lecturer, Health Psychology at the University of Westminster in the UK
Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

The courtyard is awash with marigolds. I am told that it has been like this for a few days now.

Several episodes of Mirza Ki Heer — IDream Entertainment’s new drama, which has just started airing on ARY Digital — are currently being shot here and they revolve around a ‘shaadi ka ghar’ [wedding home], which means that the mayun décor will stay put until the scenes are wrapped up.

A seating area is set up in one corner, a bright yellow sheet laid over it and yellow and orange cushions strewn across it. There are marigold garlands bordering the stairs, the window sills and the pillars. They keep falling every now and then, and one of the spot-boys patiently tapes them back on.

A HOUSE THAT TELLS A STORY

There are little details in the various nooks and corners of the house, quietly reinforcing that this is, indeed, our hero, Mirza’s (played by actor Ali Raza) home. Family portraits hang on the walls, an old TV set has been placed inside the room belonging to the grandparents, bowls and vases are scattered on ageing tables, old crockery can be seen in a cupboard with dusty glass doors and there are bags, carelessly propped on chairs, symbolising the hotchpotch, not very affluent lifestyle of the residents of ‘Mirza House.’

With meticulous world-building, young, new leads and a formidable antagonist, director Aehsun Talish’s Mirza Ki Heer is betting on grand romance — the verdict on how well it will do remains to be seen

Evidently, the staircase snaking its way up from the courtyard to the upper floor has been specially constructed for the drama. When you go up it, you realise how makeshift it is, with some of the planks slightly rickety and creaking as you step on them. However, Mirza prances up them quite adeptly in the drama’s first episode, thus proving his acting mettle.

The cast can be found in one of the rooms on the first floor. Around the time that I arrive, Ali is about to have lunch with some of the cast and crew while the titular Heer — actress Hina Afridi — is getting her hair and make-up done.

Ali Safina, who plays Mirza’s happy-go-lucky uncle, walks in a few hours later. Zahid Ahmed, the villainous Dilnawaz, hell-bent on thwarting the two young lovers, is going to arrive at night for his scenes. Perpetually pacing up and down the courtyard are director Aehsun Talish and his right hand, his son Raza Talish, ironing out the nitty-gritties before the camera rolls.

DETAILING THE EVERYDAY

“Details are very important,” Aehsun says, once I have navigated the entire location and peered into all the rooms.

“In a lot of dramas, you see rooms that look completely artificial. They usually have a bed, two lamps, a very proper curtain, and then the hero puts on a tie, the heroine gets her hair curled, and they are both filmed there. It doesn’t connect because it’s all so perfect and manicured. TV audiences are very sharp and notice such things.”

He explains that, since Mirza’s family has been living in the house for 70 years, the team ensured the space looked lived-in. Simply placing portraits on the walls wasn’t enough; clutter was deliberately added — including plastic bags strewn around on a sofa — as such homes sometimes lack adequate storage space — to reflect the reality of such households. These personal touches, he emphasises, are essential.

The drama’s producer, Abdullah Seja, observes, “Hundreds of dramas have been shot in this very house, but we went the extra mile, restructuring it, so that the audience would not recognise it from previous dramas. I think it’s important to make these efforts in order to improve the visual experience and keep the story fresh.”

He further reveals that the courtyard was originally a covered area; the roof was removed, the staircase built, and the interiors redesigned to make the setting believable as Mirza’s home.

There’s more: “We have been experimenting a lot with Artificial Intelligence [AI] and, in this drama, we have utilised it to create most of the background music,” says Seja. “This is just the beginning. I am hopeful that soon we will be implementing AI into many more aspects of production.”

A SHIFT TO GRAND ROMANCE

Mirza Ki Heer, according to its makers, is a ‘grand romantic drama’, a genre that iDream Entertainment and Aehsun Talish hadn’t explored extensively before, both having focused instead on social commentaries in Sharpasand, the painful family tug-of-war in Bismil and the heightened filminess in Sher.

While shooting these earlier dramas, I had met Aehsun on various occasions and he had been very enthusiastic every time, excited about what was to come and discussing the nuances of the scripts at length. Today, he is similarly energised for Mirza Ki Heer.

“It’s very important to be excited,” he says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

A fresh new romantic ‘jorri’ (pair) has been cast in the drama. Why Ali Raza and Hina Afridi?

“They are both young and there is a freshness to them,” says the director. “Young actors have a lot of energy and both Ali and Hina are very enthusiastic, offering new ideas, owning the project and promoting it. It helps that they are both friends and so they are comfortable with each other and are able to perform without any inhibitions. They have both acted very well.”

I later get to talk to these two young actors, who agree that they are very comfortable acting out romantic scenes, though they end up laughing through most of them.

“We do laugh a lot but, then, it’s work and we have to try and get the scenes right,” says Ali. “It’s a good thing that we’re friends. Hina is like family to me and so we are very comfortable with each other. We improvise a lot and we react well to each other, so that the flow of the scene does not get disturbed.”

Hina adds, “We often discuss a scene beforehand, suggesting how he could act and, then, what I would do and running our ideas by Aehsun sahib.” She laughs and continues, “Aehsun sahib doesn’t say cut very loudly. We will be acting out a scene, looking into each other’s eyes, not realising that he has softly said ‘cut’ and the shooting has wrapped up!

It’s very important to be excited,” director Aehsun Talish says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

“There was this one time when I had to cry in a scene and for three-and-a-half minutes, I was crying, giving different expressions. Then, I heard Aehsun sahib’s voice behind me, asking: ‘Why is she still crying? Why are you crying, Hina?’ I hadn’t realised that the scene had already been completed,” she grins.

Both Ali and Hina’s initial acting trysts have been promising and both young actors have built up considerable fan followings. What attracted them to Mirza Ki Heer?

“It’s a very romantic drama, and I wanted to act in one. And in all the scripts that have been offered to me recently, this was the best one,” says Hina. “Ali’s mother is actually a very good friend of mine. She helps him decide what project to do, and she helped me out, too. She read this script, and we would be WhatsApping long voice notes back and forth, discussing the story.

“I was excited to be working with Aehsun sahib,” she adds. “I have been his fan ever since he directed Suno Chanda. By then, I had made my acting debut with this production house, in Pehli Si Mohabbat. This is my second project with them.”

Hina continues: “This drama was offered to me around the time that I was getting married and my manager told me that, if I signed up for it, I would be giving up the 15 days that I had taken off after my wedding. I said that I did not care and I was on the set just five days after getting married. That’s how excited I was!”

And what about you, I ask Ali. “I wanted to work with Aehsun Talish and I was excited to be working with iDream Entertainment for the first time. The last drama I had acted in was for Hum TV, while this one was for ARY Digital — I like switching channels with each project.

“I also really liked my character. He is an athlete and, to some extent, I got to show my comedic side in some of the scenes. Later in the story, the character undergoes a complete transition, which also struck me as very interesting.”

Ali, in his short career, has often been linked to his co-stars, with fans conjecturing whether there is a real or reel romance on screen. Why does he think this happens?

“Yes, why?” he questions with a grin. “I think I am able to build chemistry well on-screen which is why people just start assuming things. It has never made me or my co-actors uncomfortable, because we’re just doing our jobs. And it’s good for the project.”

Hina adds, “That’s how it should be. We’re doing our job and trying to do it right.”

Here, Ali decides to offer some acting tricks, “Not just with dialogues and your actions, I think that it is important to emote with your eyes in a romantic scene. Position the lighting towards our eyes so they sparkle.”

They both burst into laughter.

ENTER THE ANTAGONIST

Putting a spanner in the works of this romance, sparkling eyes and all, is Zahid Ahmed’s Dilnawaz. The drama’s teaser introduces him as someone with ‘fear in his shadow’ and the initial episodes depict him as the nefarious villain, stalking about predatorily, speaking in a deep, sinister drawl, intent on seizing anything that captures his interest.

Just as expected, the unassuming Heer, reeling from the shock of her father’s suicide and trying to repay his debts, catches Dilnawaz’s attention.

Zahid, of course, is a veteran actor with a slew of exceptional performances to his credit. His trajectory has never leaned towards being a generic ‘hero’ or ‘villain’. Instead, he has always professed an interest in a role that is meaty. “That’s me, always in search of meat. The perpetually malnourished actor!” he quips.

So, there’s meat to Dilnawaz?

“Yes, the villain plays a prominent role in this story,” says Zahid. “He’s a central character and so, I put my faith in the producer and director and signed on.”

For producer Abdullah Seja, Mirza Ki Heer is a “high-octane love story” in which the villain is actually more powerful than the hero.

“Zahid is a brilliant actor, which made him a great choice for this role,” says Seja. “This villain is scary and crime is an everyday part of his life. In the drama, the hero actually gets created because of circumstances. He is originally a happy-go-lucky young boy, and it is because of the villain and what happens with Heer that he changes. And then, how the hero goes on to defeat the villain is going to be interesting.”

Aehsun Talish agrees. “We needed a powerful antagonist and Zahid is a wonderful actor. He has a voice that commands attention and an immense screen presence. It is only when the villain is formidable that it becomes enjoyable seeing how the hero will beat him.”

While the drama has already started airing, the shooting is still ongoing. “I think we’ll be shooting for the next few months,” says Ali.

WAITING FOR THE VERDICT

Do they get encouraged or discouraged by the audience’s reviews of a drama that they are still shooting?

“You can get influenced and this has its advantages and disadvantages,” says Ali. “If they like the drama, there is a chance that you might get overconfident, thinking that what you’re doing is good enough and not trying to do even better. Your 110 percent doesn’t come through because you decide that you’re doing very well and just keep working at that pace. As long as you don’t become overconfident, positive responses from the audience keep you motivated.”

And what if the response is negative? “Then, we just keep working. We are actors and we have to do our job,” he says.

Hina adds, “You can’t let negativity affect your work. There are so many good projects that just don’t become commercial successes. You never know.”

“But this drama has been shot very well,” says Ali. “New technologies have been used and a lot of details have been added in. It is a story with commercial appeal and, as long as it is executed in a compelling way, I think that people will enjoy it.”

It’s early days yet for Mirza Ki Heer, with only the first few episodes having aired so far. Will the audience like it and pronounce it an all-out hit? You never know. But the cast and crew are certainly putting in their all, investing long hours into the shoot, discussing scenes at length, traversing Mirza House in Karachi and, before that, Dilnawaz’s ancestral haveli at a location in Wazirabad, their smart watches clocking in more than 20,000 steps daily (as revealed by Aehsun Talish).

Perhaps some of that passion, that excitement, that belief in this grand, romantic rollercoaster of a story will ultimately filter through on screen.

The writer is a fashion and entertainment journalist with over two decades of experience. She can be reached at maliharehman1@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

The (Illustrated) Centre Of The World
By Jessica Bano
Published by Books For Babies With Attitude
398 pp.

Once upon a time, there existed a secret cave in the hills of Aitchisonia-upon-Chenab. This cave was surrounded by the fabled Forest of Whitaker. It was hidden deep in the hills. Nobody knew it existed. Except the people who knew it existed.

Every morning, hundreds of secret agents would crawl, walk, run, climb and fly to the cave to sit at their desks and do their daily work. Every evening, they would turn off their computers and crawl, walk, run, climb and fly from the cave to their homes. But nobody in the forest ever saw them go in or out because the cave was the biggest secret in Aitchisonia. Everyone in Aitchisonia knew how to keep a secret a secret.

One morning, when everyone was at work and the cave people were busy working at their desks, a loud noise was heard in the forest.

“What was that?” asked a startled J.D. Vancelot.

“It could have been anything,” replied T.S. Ellyet. “From the Big Bang to the combustive genuflections of our thermonuclear reprocessing plant,” he added.

“I don’t know what any of those big words mean,” J.D. said.

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I am in a story written for children between the ages of three and five. Children of that age do not know what a genuflecting thermonuclear reprocessing plant means,” answered J.D.

“I am in that same story and yet I know what I am talking about. It seems to me that story characters like you are lazy and have become used to being fed words for free. You don’t make any effort to better your vocabulary or consult a thesaurus,” said an irritated T.S.

“What is a vocabulary, and didn’t the thesaurus go extinct 60 million years ago?” said J.D.

“I wish you had gone extinct 60 million years ago,” mumbled T.S.

J.D. Vancelot sat back in his chair and looked out the window. The forest looked green and fresh, as if it had just been cleaned and washed.

“Doesn’t the forest look green and fresh today as if it had just been cleaned and washed?” said J.D to T.S.

“Yes, it does. It’s for the guests. They are coming from far and wide,” answered T.S.

“Finally! We are going to have guests. That is good news,” said a smiling J.D. “Who are they? When will they be here? Where will they stay?”

“You should know better than to ask that. What happens in the forest, stays in the forest. That’s the first rule of the forest,” said T.S. “It’s all very hush-hush. It’s a big secret. The biggest secret in the history of secrets. No one knows and no one can tell.”

J.D. looked confused. He had heard rumours. The social media was abuzz with all kinds of rumours. The experts on Ex had predicted the arrival of foreign guests some time ago. But J.D. had never taken these experts seriously. Most lived outside the forest and only visited the forest for weddings and funerals. And hardly any of them even knew the cave existed. Or what went on inside the cave.

So, when T.S. confirmed the rumours about the guests, J.D. was taken aback.

“I am taken aback by your confirmation of the rumours,” said J.D.

“Yes, you would be. But I had known all along that the forest would one day entertain guests from around the world, who will arrive on a secret mission organised by the cave and all of us who work in it,” said T.S.

“But I work in the cave, and I do not know who is coming and when they are coming and why they are coming and how they are coming and who they are here to meet,” said J.D.

“Very well then. Pay attention. This is a very important lesson for any child who cannot wait to grow up and become an adult. All great events in the world are a result of secret meetings. And how do great events come to be, you wonder? Well, when all the important and powerful officials in the world want to talk to each other about critical issues, they go on social media. There they abandon all decorum and dignity and share their ideas while exchanging insults.

“Once they are done yelling and screaming and using foul language against each other and each other’s cultures, religions and nations, they are invited as guests for a face-to-face chit chat to a special place like the forest,” explained T.S.

“What a lovely lesson for our three- to five-year-old readership!”

“Indeed, it is. Lessons for our younglings to follow. Why else do you think this story was written?” asked T.S.

Farid Alvie was born. He currently lives.
He’s on Instagram @faridalvie

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 19th, 2026