“I am often asked to name my favourite role, but my answer is always the same,” says Saleem Mairaj. “The most important character for me is the one I’ve just signed on to play.”
Mairaj began his career as a theatre actor before transitioning into television and film with such ease that challenging roles began coming his way early on. Whether commanding the stage or electrifying the screen in a gritty digital series, Mairaj’s journey proves the enduring power of pure craft. In a world obsessed with fleeting fame, he remains rooted, vanishing so completely into his roles that audiences forget they are watching an actor at all.
As we sit down for a chat at a photo studio just a short distance from where Mairaj is filming for an untitled TV serial that day in DHA, Karachi, the air is thick with the promise of a long and insightful conversation.
The red brick-panelled interior lends the room we are in a warm, intimate vibe. A plush black leather sofa occupies one corner, while a massive mirror on the opposite wall catches Mairaj’s attention as he pauses briefly to check his appearance before walking over and settling into the sofa comfortably.
Once settled in, the conversation naturally warms up over steaming cups of karrak doodh patti [strong milky tea] and samosas served to us by an office boy.
From stage to television and films, actor Saleem Mairaj has built his career on discipline, immersion and substance rather than spectacle. At a time when many actors are consumed by visibility and social media presence, he remains committed to the old-school values of craft — a philosophy that continues to define his enduring success
Mairaj tells me that he refuses to linger on ‘what ifs’ or missed chances. Instead, he channels all his creative energy into breathing life into the next character before him. He is a man who values weight over length and soul over stardom, which makes the now-veteran actor a refreshing anomaly in an industry often obsessed with the superficial.
When Mairaj selects a role, he isn’t counting lines, he tells me, he is measuring resonance. Yet, his approach is unapologetically competitive, driven by a desire to leave a lasting impression. “If another actor has more screen time, then my character must have more impact,” he asserts.
Every career has a defining beginning and, for Mairaj, that pivotal moment didn’t unfold in a glitzy studio — it took place on a modest stage in Karachi’s Lyari neighbourhood during an August 14 Independence Day event in the 1990s. Cast in a role that demanded more than mere presence, he was tasked with delivering a powerful speech.
While other participants delivered routine three-line tributes, a young Mairaj seized the microphone and spoke candidly from the heart about his community’s social struggles. Driven by a desire to spark real conversation, his speech bypassed surface-level concerns and struck a chord of genuine concern.
In the audience sat Shahid Shafaat, director of Katha Theatre, and actress Sania Saeed. They saw not just a speech, but a raw performer, who could command a room. Shafaat wasted no time, inviting Mairaj into theatre and offering his mentorship. Trusting Shafaat’s instincts, Mairaj took the leap, and then joined a production with Saeed.
“I didn’t know anything about technique,” he recalls. “I was so raw that I actually twisted Sania Saeed’s hand for real once during a scene! She had to tell me, ‘That’s enough!’” When I ask him to name the play, he says he doesn’t remember.
He gained invaluable insight from Sania Saeed, who pushed him towards literature, encouraging him to look beyond scripts and immerse himself in the works of Manto and other literary giants. “That shifted my entire understanding of the stories we were telling on stage,” he reflects.
Later, under the mentorship of industry legends such as Sheema Kermani and Khalid Ahmed, Mairaj refined his raw creative energy into technical precision. He warmly reminisces about his formative years with Kermani’s Tehrik-i-Niswan and his collaborations with writer, director and actor Khalid Ahmed. Those were days of relentless travel, as he crisscrossed cities and journeyed deep into the heart of rural Sindh to perform street theatre, honing the craft that would eventually make him a household name.
The transition from stage to television then took place — almost by chance. Director Mehreen Jabbar spotted Mairaj’s raw potential at a theatre play and cast him in a project in 1999, which left him feeling out of his depth. He did his first television play, Afsoon Khwaab, from the Aik Mohabbat Sau Afsanay series, with her.
“I had no formal experience with the camera,” Mairaj recalls. “I felt out of place sitting among educated, English-speaking professionals.” Tasked with playing a 51-year-old man in Afsoon Khwaab , he was frozen by technical anxieties until Mehreen offered a transformative piece of advice: “Just play this character naturally.” That permission, to be authentic, allowed him to navigate his debut without a glitch!
“A year later, I took on the somewhat daunting task of portraying the character of Safdar in a remake of Kiran Kahani , which was played by the legendary Jamshed Ansari in the original.”
From the gritty stage of theatre to high-stakes television hits such as Alif (2019), today Mairaj has carved out his own space with quiet authority. He remains an actor who prioritises substance over star power, guided by a singular philosophy: work comes first, and the status of a ‘hero’ is secondary. Now, as he peels back the layers of a career marked by serendipity and deep mentorship, it is clear that he is not just an actor but a custodian of the craft.
Television may have made Mairaj a household name, but theatre remains his first love. The stage is his sanctuary, a place where time slows and he can lose himself completely in a character.
“On television, the process can feel quite mechanical,” he admits. “One day you are a brother, the next day a father, then a husband. However, theatre forces you back to the basics. It is where you find the raw, unfiltered experiments of acting that keep you from falling into complacency.”
However, he remains deeply conscious of the intimacy of television:
“When you work in television, you step directly into people’s living rooms. Entire families watch together, and that brings with it a lot of responsibility.”
Though he once aspired to the stable, predictable life of a government employee, Mairaj is profoundly grateful that path never materialised. “I wasn’t meant for that life,” he says, and recalls his early days when he worked as a travel agent. Since then, the young man, dreaming of securing a place in the showbiz industry, has built an impressive filmography in cinema as well, which proves his staying power.
He recalls the moment he took his father to see the Ramchand Pakistani (2008) poster, a memory that remains a testament to his pride in sharing his achievements with his family.
He now has a long list of acclaimed big screen projects to his credit, namely Na Maaloom Afraad (2014), Saawan (2016), Actor-in-Law (2016), Na Maloom Afraad 2 (2017), Rangreza (2017), Load Wedding (2018), Heer Maan Ja (2019), and memorably Lal Kabootar (2019). More recently, he has also appeared in Khel Khel Mein (2021), Dum Mastam (2022), John (2023) and 13 (2023), with more on the anvil.
Fortunately, he never had to struggle to land film roles; instead, offers poured in consistently, and he accepted projects that fit within his schedule. Even where he has done cameos, such as in Na Maloom Afraad and Lal Kabootar , those roles have left an impact on audiences. And obviously directors and producers recognise this as well.
What begins as a trip down memory lane from his accidental foray into showbiz quickly evolves into a deep dive into the industry he now calls his second home.
As his tone shifts from conversational to resolute, it becomes quite clear that Mairaj holds remarkably strong, uncompromising views on the state of art and storytelling in Pakistan and is an avid observer of the industry’s evolution.
He is particularly optimistic about the technical “victories” in dramas such as Case No 9 , Gunaah and Khaie and views them as proof that the TV drama industry has finally reached a level of sophistication — citing superior cinematography, tighter scripts and performances by acting powerhouses such as Saba Qamar — that can compete internationally.
“We are producing work that can stand tall on its own,” Mairaj says with conviction. “If you put these on a global platform such as Netflix today, they would hold their own really well.”
The landscape of Pakistani entertainment is currently in transition, shifting from traditional, rigid television structures towards a more daring digital frontier. For Mairaj, this evolution isn’t just a technical upgrade; it is creative liberation.
He credits this new wave to visionary directors such as Wajahat Hussain, Musaddiq Malek, Haseeb Hassan, Danish Nawaz, Saife Hasan and Ehteshamuddin. To Mairaj, the breakout success of projects such as Noor Jehan (2024) — which nine directors reportedly passed over before it was taken up by Musaddiq Malek — proves that a strong, singular vision will always outweigh the safety of ‘veteran’ status.
Despite his optimism, Mairaj is a pragmatist when it comes to industry reforms. “The Actors’ Collective [ACT] faces a conflict of interest because many members serve as both performers and producers,” he points out explaining why progress has been slow. “This overlap makes it difficult to advocate for fair rights.”
Rather than relying on government help, he believes the real solution lies in enforcing stricter professional discipline. He points to international production sets, where strict shift protocols protect the artist’s focus and energy. Without this structural integrity, he fears the industry remains prone to the very “mechanical complacency” he strives to avoid.
Perhaps the most persistent shadow in Mairaj’s career is the frequent, exhausting comparison to Indian actor Nawazuddin Siddiqui. While he respects Siddiqui’s talent, Mairaj finds the narrative reductive.
“People point to our similar ‘struggle’ stories — the idea of rising from nothing — but that is a common narrative,” he explains. “We only romanticise the struggle after someone becomes successful. If someone fails, their struggle is never discussed.”
For Mairaj, the comparison is a superficial reading of a complex life. “I am Saleem Mairaj. I have my own journey, my own struggle and my own work.”
Mairaj attributes his career’s stability to the solid foundation of his personal life. He states that his 2003 marriage served as a turning point, further inspiring him to focus on acting.
Today, his family — his wife, his primary support, and his children (a daughter and two sons), his source of peace — serves as the solid foundation upon which his professional life rests. It is this domestic anchor that allows him to remain unbothered by TV politics.
While many actors shun specific channels or roles, Mairaj views such behaviour as unprofessional. “An actor’s job is to act,” he asserts. “The moment you start limiting your work based on arbitrary boundaries, you stop growing as a performer.”
By the time we call for a second round of chai, the atmosphere has settled into an easy, candid rhythm. The conversation inevitably veers toward the milestones that define him — the roles that keep him up at night and the projects that test the very limits of his resolve.
Taking a slow, thoughtful sip and shifting into a corner of the couch, he begins to tap the cushion armrest rhythmically with his index finger — a subconscious tic signalling he is ready to peel back the layers.
With a contemplative look, he begins to divulge the stories behind the characters that have since become part of his DNA. “If a script is good,” he notes, “you don’t have to force yourself to read it. It pulls you in.” For him, it is these challenges — adopting a character’s limp or wrestling with a demanding script — that make acting truly rewarding.
“When I played Jameel in Mann Mayal [2016], people would come up to me and say, ‘You’ve become a servant!’ he recalls with a laugh. For Mairaj, such reactions are the highest form of praise — the ultimate proof that the artifice of his performance has completely dissolved. For him, the allure of a role lies not in top billing or screen time; it lies in the “texture” of the character.
His portrayal of Sultan in the critically acclaimed Alif is another case in point. He felt an immediate, visceral connection to Sultan — a man defined by the ghosts of past glory and the crushing, quiet weight of his own ego.
Ultimately, he remains his own harshest critic, dissecting his work with surgical precision and a rare mix of humility and relentless scrutiny.
Perhaps part of his success has to do with discipline. “In my entire career, I have never been late to a shoot, and I have never missed a day due to health issues,” he shares. “That discipline is my way of thanking God for this career.”
It is this professional rigidity that has earned him the respect of his peers across borders. However, the intensity of his craft often clashes with the industry’s chaotic logistics.
While filming the drama Mann Mayal , he faced a quintessential actor’s paradox: he was caught between the conflicting demands of the small and silver screens. At the time, he was also shooting for the film Actor-in-Law , creating a logistical tug-of-war over his appearance.
Actor-in-Law director Nabil Qureshi required a sharp, clean-shaven look for his cinematic role, while Mann Mayal director Haseeb Hassan insisted that his television character should maintain a rugged beard. To bridge this creative divide, a clever compromise was struck: he committed to the clean-shaven look for the film and relied on the wizardry of a make-up artist and an artificial beard to bring his Mann Mayal character to life.
As he looks to the next generation of actors, Mairaj offers sobering advice: stay human. He cautions against the performative trap of modern “hustle culture” and the obsession with social media marketing.
“Stop chasing the marketing of yourself and start chasing the craft,” he urges.
His own journey is a testament to the belief that the audience remembers the details of an actor — the dirty hands, the specific gait and the human truth — rather than their curated digital persona.
For Saleem Mairaj, the secret is simple: “If you focus on the truth of the task at hand, everything else eventually falls into place.”
Originally published in Dawn, ICON, May 17th, 2026
Cover: Photography: Mudassir Bin Shaukat | Grooming: Saraphine Andrew @ The Trio Salon | Designer: Zubair Shah | Styling, coordination & art direction: Infini Concepts
