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A song about honour killing your sister because she stole your eyeliner and stretched your shoes with her big f'ing feet is what sets the tone for the British sitcom, 'We Are Lady Parts', in the first episode. Intersecting punk subculture with Islam, the series is centred around a punk band made up of 4 Muslim women who juggle their musical, religious, and diasporic identities.
Keeping in mind the multifarious conflicting opinions of what Islam should be, the one thing the series does not do is put it in a box. Each of the protagonists in the show embody this diversity through their eclectic personalities: a jaded butcher with intimacy issues who's estranged from her family, a queer laddish Uber driver who's also the drummer in the band, a spiritual earth mother (and real mother), the niqaabi band manager/ social media maestro, and an anxious academic who's looking for a husband to settle down with.
The series is driven by its rich characters that outshine any plot deficiencies. These characters not only supply an authentic representation of Muslim POC communities but also become a vehicle for dialogue around feminism, religion, the generational divide in South Asian culture, and the pursuit of art.
But make no mistake. The series couldn't be further from preachy. Its intention isn't to lay out a half-baked map of good and bad, but rather present you the whole truth; warts and all, and assimilate it into one glorious mess that makes up a person.
Written and directed by Nida Manzoor who also went on to make, 'Polite Society' last year, the series treats heavy subjects like religion, family trauma, anxiety disorders, and political correctness like comedic devices in the narrative, without robbing them of their depth.
The wacky comedy is perfectly balanced with the earnestness and vulnerability of the story. After her own show, 'Fleabag', We Are Lady Parts is perhaps the best example of Phoebe-Waller Bridge's narrative technique, "Disarm the audience with comedy, then punch them in the gut with drama when they least expect it."
The series offers something much more invaluable than just a highly entertaining and insightful watching experience. And that is nuance. Anything that goes on in your head after reading the logline of the show about an all-women Muslim punk band is subverted by the refined subtlety with which the series handles the discourse around identity.
This isn't a story about rebellious women going to battle against their oppressive religion. In fact, all the women in the band embrace and celebrate Islam in their own ways. Of course, there are clashes between different social groups with varying degrees of orthodoxy, but the headbutting is never malicious and eventually ends up in some semblance of acceptance.
The same goes for familial relationships in the series. I went in presuming that the Muslim parents of a girl child would obviously have a tight leash on her life and I was delightfully proven wrong. From mothers talking about sexual pleasure to grandmas encouraging artists to organize their own gigs, the series is full of endearing and honestly healing surprises. It addresses stereotypes but turns them on their heads by displacing them; where they're least expected.
What We Are Lady Parts also doesn't do, is pit punk subculture as a contrast to Islam like the 'oppression vs rebellion' caricature I mentioned before. Instead it draws parallels between the two and shows how both ideologies act as avenues of introspection; a guide to build your modus operandi in life.
It's also a feminist nod to the 2003 cult novel 'The Taqwacores'. Written by Michael Muhammad Knight, an American novelist and essayist who converted to Islam at 16, the title of the book is a portmanteau of 'taqwa', an Islamic concept of love and fear for God, and 'hardcore', the punk rock subgenre. Nida Manzoor's series shares some similarities with the book, like the band manager Momtaz, who was most likely inspired by the burqa-wearing punk girl Rabyea in the novel.
Described as a "middle finger in both directions" by Michael in an interview with Gal Dem, The Taqwacores was resistance inside out. He explains, "It wasn’t going to be about the ‘good Muslim’ kids enforcing a kind of orthodoxy like you see with Christian punk – it wasn’t going to play into Islamophobic or affirm anti-Muslim racism. Taqwacore was its own island, but I liked the politics that people brought to it."
We Are Lady Parts follows suit and dismantles the paradox that punk and Islam may exhibit on the outside. It also pays tribute to the Islamic punk scene with bands like Alien Culture, who burgeoned right around the time the punk movement was gaining momentum.
Now, just how authentically 'punk' 'Lady Parts' really is may be questionable. Despite their abrasive songs like 'Voldemort under my headscarf 'and 'I wanna fuck a terrorist', when it comes to music, the 'punk' still feels a bit manufactured and is sort of used as a thematic prop in the series. But to me, that's not entirely inexcusable.
The anti-establishment and anti-commercial values of the subculture still shine through in the fight of these women, who don't compromise on speaking their truth. The punk may not be in the music but it is definitely there: in accepting their flaws with ownership, in breaking out of the pressures to conform, and in rejecting an inauthentic depiction of themselves.
Against the stagnating digital landscapes of hyper-polished personas, capitalised creativity, and safe, behind-the-screen revolutions, the ladies of We Are Lady Parts bring us the truth, served cold, with a side of irreverent humour. What's more punk than that?
Stream We Are Lady Parts on Jio Cinema here.
