A centuries-old way of life is vanishing, and one filmmaker is determined to ensure its story isn’t lost forever. Jawad Sharif’s Moklani: The Last Mohanas isn’t just a film—it’s a lifeline for a culture on the brink of extinction. On October 3, 2025, as the Jackson Wild Media Awards gala unfolded in Wyoming, a team in Islamabad held its breath, thousands of miles away. Moments later, their documentary won the prestigious award, often dubbed the Oscars of nature filmmaking. But here’s where it gets controversial: in a world obsessed with viral trends, who cares about a disappearing fishing community in Pakistan’s Manchar Lake? And this is the part most people miss: their story isn’t just about loss—it’s about resilience, wisdom, and a profound connection to nature that modern society has forgotten.
Directed by the 38-year-old Sharif, Moklani triumphed in the Global Voices category, beating over 500 films. Sharif, speaking from Islamabad, emphasized the win wasn’t just about hard work but about the film’s raw narrative and visuals. ‘No lobbying, no connections—just the power of storytelling,’ he said. The film is a testament to teamwork, with Sharif’s wife, Syeda Kashmala, as co-producer, and a dedicated crew handling everything from cinematography to sound design. Their collective effort brought to life the Mohanas, an indigenous community forced to abandon their boat-dwelling lifestyle due to poisoned waters.
But why should you care? Sharif’s cinéma vérité style immerses viewers in the Mohanas’ world, capturing their dreams, laughter, and struggles. He spent a year without a camera, simply living among them, earning their trust. ‘They treated me like family,’ he recalled. This approach, rare in documentary filmmaking, raises a question: Can deep, empathetic storytelling survive in an era of quick-cut, sensational content?
The challenges were immense. Filming on boats, battling extreme weather, and gaining access to the community’s women required patience and ingenuity. Kashmala’s role was pivotal, ensuring the women’s voices were heard. Yet, the emotional and financial toll was staggering. ‘It’s my passion project,’ Sharif admitted, ‘but investors rarely back such stories.’ Even the Jackson Wild award offered no financial relief, leaving Sharif to juggle commercial work to fund his art.
This brings us to a larger issue: Why does Pakistan’s government neglect its own cultural heritage? Sharif calls culture departments ‘cultureless,’ pointing to the Rs350,000 fee to screen Moklani at the National Council of the Arts. ‘We’ve lost pride in our culture,’ he said, blaming an education system that ignores folk tales, traditional music, and Sufi poets. This disconnect, he argues, extends to media, where creativity is stifled by monotony and fear of experimentation.
Sharif’s previous films, like Indus Blues and K2 and the Invisible Footmen, have amplified marginalized voices globally. Yet, he notes, ‘It often takes Western recognition to spark local interest.’ His next film, slated for 2026, aims to debunk the myth that documentaries are boring, especially among the youth. ‘Good content finds its audience,’ he insists, pointing to Indus Blues’ million YouTube views.
But here’s the real question: Will we listen before it’s too late? As Sharif puts it, ‘Climate change isn’t abstract for the Mohanas—it’s their daily reality.’ Their story is a mirror to our own fragility and the urgent need to preserve what’s left. So, what do you think? Is it too late to save cultures like the Mohanas’, or can films like Moklani make a difference? Let’s debate in the comments.
