Zarrar Kahn (Hamza Bangash) | آوارہ کتے راتائن نو نکل دے (Stray Dogs Come Out at Night) / 2020

trapped

by Douglas Messerli

 

Zarrar Kahn (Hamza Bangash) (screenwriter and director) آوارہ کتے راتائن نو نکل دے (Stray Dogs Come Out at Night) / 2020 [11 minutes]

 

There is a difference between the listed director of the film itself and its representation of IMDb and Letterboxd, one claiming Hamza Bangash wrote and directed this film, the other Zarra Kahn. They are both one and the same, a Pakistani filmmaker now living in Canada.

     Iqbal (Mohammad Ali Hasmi) and his uncle Khurum (Adnan Shah Tipu) work as masseurs for a living in Karachi after leaving Iqbal’s wife and family at home. By the time this film begins, Iqbal is suffering from what appears to be AIDS or some other sexually-contracted disease. He desires to go away for a weekend of enjoyment with his supportive uncle to the beach.

     His loving iron’s his clothing, makes sure he takes his pills, watches films on his cellphone with him, and basically supports him. But both know it is a losing proposition, that given their jobs as sex workers, Iqbal will certainly die.

     Their first few moments on beach consist of Khurum attempting to discover which client it was who made his nephew sick, and insisting that when he finds out he will thoroughly punish and even kill him. We immediately feel like his theory of revenge does not make for a reliable comfort for the sickly Iqbal. Khurum tells his nephew that he will not do it with a client without a condom, but the younger man jokes who would want to do it with an old prostitute like you.

     And things gradually shift as they order up tea. A dog comes up to them, the gentle Iqbal feeding him, while the gruff uncle screams at the dog to leave, commenting that the police are rounding up wild dogs and shooting them. They never go after the thieves or drug smugglers but are only too ready to kill stray dogs, he intones. And his laugh somehow lightens the tone of what has just proceeded.

      And suddenly in the very next scene they are riding on a camel that is obviously a feature one pays for on this beach, the uncle singing an old song, his nephew joining in. It is finally a beautiful scene, a true representation of their love and shared experiences, particularly given their demeaned lives as men who have left their families to engage in same-sex work. So much is expressed of their lost joys and frustrations in these few moments of ridiculous activity, riding a camel among the waves of an ocean like grabbing a horse carriage in Central Park, as if we didn’t live truly in the age of automobiles and jets. It is a beautiful sentimental gesture, freeing the men momentarily from the degradation of their lives.

      His uncle Khurum advises him to return home to his mother and wife in the village, but Iqbal knows quite well it is all bluff; with his disease he cannot return home, announce it to the village, take his medicine and live on for as long as possible. Their lives have rendered them as untouchables. The is no going back.

     The unthinking, clearly misogynistic uncle even goes as far as suggesting that his wife Saima should share his own conditions, she too she be infected and he will send her medicine alone with his. It may be only a joke, but even Iqbal is not up to his absurd humor. It is actually an ugly statement reiterating how they cannot go home.

     Iqbal demands the end of their camel ride and walks angrily off. He frustratedly makes clear he cannot go back as a gun falls out of his robe, Khurum now quite distressed by the situation, perceiving quickly why his nephew has obtained the gun. He pretends it may be to kill Khalid, the possible source of Iqbal’s illness, but he knows all too well that it is meant for his nephew himself, not at all about his silly version of vengeance. As Khurum begs him for the gun, he argues that all his uncle can think of is himself. He has asked for just a single day of joy and his uncle cannot even provide that. But even then, walking on further down the beach alone, his symbolic image of the stray dog roaming the same beach with high rises in the background, Khurum follows him, as the boy now sits smoking a cigarette, his uncle reprimanding him for smoking, suggesting it will be bad for his health.

    Iqbal, does not strike back with the sentence that immediately comes to be: “What health?” But all this older man can suggest is that he too smokes, his nephew should offer him one; but when the young man offers up his own cigarette, Khurum refuses it, making it quite obvious that he is even fearful of sharing the same saliva of his supposedly beloved nephew.

     In the next frame it is already dark, and Iqbal decides to stay a while longer, sending his now quite unwilling uncle in the taxi back to the hotel alone.

     As Iqbal sits alone on the beach, the stray dog at his side, he finally takes his gun out and puts it to his head, but as he breaks down in tears he cannot pull the trigger. Yet he attempts again, the gun locks and will not shoot; he puts it down angrily, pulling the trigger once more and this time accidentally killing the dog.

     Yet, we all know he will be next, either through suicide or his own illness.

     This is a truly powerful statement about gay sex work and AIDS that seldom comes out of Pakistan, but brilliantly expresses the despair of so many in his position.

 

Los Angeles, September 27, 2026

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (September 2026).