Meesha Shafi: From #MeToo Backlash to Reclaiming Her Voice Through Music
When Pakistani singer and actor Meesha Shafi accused fellow musician Ali Zafar of sexual harassment in 2018, she instantly became the face of Pakistan’s #MeToo movement. The response was swift and vicious. Within hours, social media exploded with disbelief, mockery, and hate. But behind the headlines and court hearings was a woman struggling to rebuild her life—and, years later, finding healing through her art.
A Career Interrupted by Controversy
When I met Meesha Shafi again in July 2024, six years had passed since our first conversation. Back then, she was busy filming Pepsi Battle of the Bands in Karachi, where she was both a performer and a judge. Only a few months earlier, she had accused one of Pakistan’s most prominent pop stars, Ali Zafar, of multiple incidents of harassment—claims he has consistently denied.
The revelation rocked Pakistan’s entertainment industry. It was the country’s first major #MeToo case since the global movement erupted in 2017, exposing decades of unchecked misconduct in Hollywood and beyond. Both Meesha and Zafar were major stars at the time—she had appeared in Mira Nair’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist alongside Riz Ahmed, while Zafar was building a successful career in Bollywood.
In her tweet, Meesha alleged “harassment of a physical nature” by Zafar. Soon after, he filed a 1-billion-rupee defamation suit (then worth over $8 million). Meesha’s own complaint before a workplace ombudsperson was dismissed on a technicality, and a 2019 court order barred her from publicly discussing the allegations while the case continued.
Facing Backlash and Isolation
The aftermath was brutal. Online trolls attacked her looks, character, and credibility. She was branded “shameless,” “a liar,” and accused of seeking publicity. Her home address was even aired on TV, forcing her to delete her social media accounts.
“When I spoke out, I felt like I’d set my life on fire,” Meesha recalled. “The backlash made me question if it was worth it.”
Yet, even through the silence imposed by the court order, she began transforming her pain into creativity. In 2024, she released Khilnay Ko—To Bloom—her first studio album in years, and a symbolic answer to all the questions about why she spoke up.
Starting Over in Canada
Today, Meesha lives in Canada with her husband and two children. The family had planned the move in 2016, but many assumed she “fled” Pakistan after Zafar’s lawsuit. During our Zoom interview, her face was make-up-free, her hair tied back, and her arms showing a small M & M tattoo for her and her husband’s initials. Between questions, she paused thoughtfully, often checking on her children playing nearby.
“It was so easy to villainize me,” she said. “People thought of me as this strong, outspoken woman—and that image was used to dehumanize me.”
Meesha believes public disbelief stemmed from gender stereotypes. Many couldn’t accept that a confident, successful woman could experience harassment. “They asked why I allowed it to happen more than once,” she explained. “As if harassment depends on permission.”
The Emotional Toll
The constant scrutiny took a toll on her mental health. Panic attacks and anxiety became frequent. “I stopped laughing,” she said quietly. “My daughter even asked why.”
On set, people avoided simple gestures like shaking her hand. Supporters of Zafar followed her friend, actor Iffat Omar, to court hearings chanting slogans. The entire case became a cultural test for Pakistan—forcing conversations about consent, gender power, and what society deems “appropriate” behavior.
Zafar’s lawyer later said, “If you don’t react, how would someone know it’s unwanted?”—a statement reflecting how misunderstood harassment remains in many societies.
Healing Through Music
Meesha began writing songs for Khilnay Ko in 2019 while doing housework. “Music has always soothed me,” she said. “It helped me process everything.”
The process transported her back to childhood memories in Lahore—listening to her grandmother’s radio as Bollywood tunes drifted through the quiet house. “Making this album gave me something to hold on to,” she said.
She often wrote late at night, alone in her kitchen, while her family slept. “Every night, a train passed by, its whistle cutting through the dark,” she remembered. That very sound opens her album’s Interlude I, symbolizing movement, transition, and survival.
Turning Pain Into Art
One of her earliest songs, Sar-e-Aam (In Public), directly confronted the humiliation she faced. Its lyrics included slurs once hurled at her online. In the music video, she wears an oversized jacket covered in scribbles—“because my shoulders had to grow that big,” she said, laughing softly.
Another track, Azaab (Torment), visually documents her real-life court appearances. Director Awais Gohar filmed her walking through Lahore’s crowded courts, facing the cameras that once judged her.
Her song Nirmal (Pure) begins as a gentle lullaby before exploding into chaotic, distorted sounds. “It reflects the contrast between innocence and the harshness of reality,” she explained.
The album’s title track carries her deepest truth: To bloom, light is essential, yet the seed asks for darkness. “I’d lived through that darkness,” she said. “And now I understand how much strength it takes to bloom again.”
Rediscovering Confidence
Years of isolation had stripped away her confidence on stage. During a 2022 Coke Studio performance with her brother, Faris Shafi, she struggled with anxiety. “It was my twelfth time on Coke Studio. It should’ve been easy,” she said. “But I kept forgetting my lines. The fear wouldn’t leave.”
Still, the final performance dazzled millions of viewers—though behind her glittering confidence was a woman still learning to trust herself.
Gradually, through therapy and creativity, the panic eased. Last year, she passed her driving test, something she’d avoided for years. “It felt good to finally set the weight down,” she said.
Reclaiming Her Voice
When she returned to Lahore for the album’s launch, it felt like closing a circle. “It was an act of reclamation,” Meesha said proudly. “For the first time in years, I wasn’t afraid.”
Asked why her album didn’t include an angry anthem, she smiled. “Anger hides what’s underneath—shame, hurt, and fear. I needed to face all of that. Only then could I let light in.”
Meesha Shafi’s journey—from courage and backlash to resilience and creative rebirth—captures the complex reality of women who speak out. Khilnay Ko isn’t just an album; it’s a chronicle of survival, healing, and the power of using one’s voice, even when the world tries to silence it.