Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti: The Begging Brown Bitch Plays is a double bill performance that grips you by the hair, pushes you to your knees … and tempts you with Tandoori chicken. Prepare to be dazzled, heartbroken and haunted by these masterclass plays exploring the lives of two brown Trans women caught between worlds—and get ready for bursts of dance and Bollywood-esque razzle dazzle along the way…
Exquisitely written by Zaiba Baig and directed by Tawiah M’Carthy, Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti are two plays, separated by an intermission, that speak to each other in their layered treatments of sexual abuse, violence and repressed trauma. Kainchee Lagaa follows the story of Billo (Angel Glady), a sex worker in Pakistan who waits for men, particularly Motorboat Mansoor (Xina). She frequently breaks the fourth wall, considering the audience her ‘tourist friend’. As she prepares to leave this life she has created for herself, her distant brother Arsalan (Praneet Akilla) tries to reconnect with her and escape his own hated life in Canada.
In a different world on the other side of the 15-minute break lies Jhooti, a one-woman show starring Sakeena (Zaiba Baig), who leaves home to study abroad. Seeking acceptance from her family, she instead finds displacement, in a world where people use Trans folk to experiment and explore their violent sexual tendencies. Through dance, Bollywood-inspired spectacle woven throughout and one provocative monologue, the audience is hooked by the arresting storytelling.
Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti are self-aware, symbolic, proud and interrogative; and M’Carthy’s bold, visually inventive direction skillfully balances elements of comedy with their tenebrosity—as seen in key references to Bollywood lore: for instance, worship of Hrithik Roshan, an Indian actor known as the people’s heartthrob Greek God; and parallels with the mentioned film Tamasha, which is famous for its commentary on emotional repression and performative identity. The direction is supported by André du Toit’s evocative lighting, which throws chilling shadows and eerie spotlights to complement Rachel Forbes’ versatile and transportive set, in which telephone lines emit simulated rain, resulting in visible, yet metaphorical, footprints along the stage as Baig embraces the water.
Other pleasant treats further heighten the sensory richness of the production. The unexpected rickshaw navigating the crowd earns an eager gasp, and Akilla’s mid-air suspension (artfully designed by Charissa Wilcox and Rebecca Leonard) creates genuine eeriness with its illusion. And special kudos to Hasheel, Mohua Parial and Lady Pista for the engaging bansuri (traditional South Asian flute) and vocals throughout the show.
By design, the relationships in Kainchee Lagaa had me perplexed and uneasy. Glady and Akilla unpack a Pandora’s box full of boundary-pushing, repressed trauma, sexuality, and abuse with dexterous and mesmeric performances that are facilitated by well-crafted, intensely gripping stage combat directed by Julia Dyan. Ultimately, in its grand scale romantic tragedy, I can endorse Billo’s categorization of the atmosphere as reminiscent of the highly stylized films of renowned Indian filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Baig in Jhooti grips us in a similar, but more intimate way: through choreography powered by heart and emotional confrontation that strip us in our seats and force us to look at ourselves as we are, with masks off.
Notably the two pieces mirror each other, though Kainchee Lagaa is a linear story, while Jhooti is a loosely structured, more direct address of self-expression. Those who identify as transgender have different stories to tell, and these can be told in different ways. But the search for acceptance, belonging and safety is shared. Moreover, Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti suggests that to live within the threat or fact of constant violence is to internalize it—to the point of reproducing it. Baig asks us with literally terroristic urgency to confront the taboos we reinforce: to examine how we subconsciously dehumanize others, and to remember that we ourselves are reflected in others. We are interconnected: “I end when you end”, as Baig’s Sakeena says.
Specific interactive surprises stuck with me from the performance I attended. During Baig’s dance sequence, their jacket twisted itself, and an audience member stepped up to help readjust it – filling the air with appreciative warmth and laughter. Likewise, during Glady and Akilla’s fight sequence, the audience was silent after Glady’s initial first blow, but when Akilla retaliated, the audience erupted in expressions of disbelief. The moment revealed a gendered bias in our responses to abuse and violence – which lingered in my mind afterward. This, I thought to myself, is what theatre at its best can be: a dynamic, real-time conversation with the audience (not merely a show and tell), and also a conversation-starter prompting intense dialogue after the show.
Standing back to look at the full canvas, Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti effectively explore the startling polarities that exist within Pakistan’s conservative social context. Two worlds cohabitate: recurring mentions of “Allah” and the sound of the Adhan (the Islamic call to prayer) lie in the background, while sex, violence and the quest for identity are explored in the foreground. The result is a striking tension between spiritual order and lived reality, which raises important questions about how desire is regulated and expressed. What does it mean when certain desires can be expressed only in secrecy and shame, and are enacted on those who are marginalized but never openly acknowledged?
And even more urgently, how does one cope with shaming one’s parents for, as Baig’s Sakeena puts it, “not being the child the parent wants, but needs” — a child whose identity may be rejected, but who can enable necessary growth in the parents.
Ultimately, Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti is a showstopper that stuns and disturbs in equal measure by using comedy, spectacle and choreography to explore identity and trauma. In its multiplicity of form and feeling, you will feel yourself questioned, caught off guard, gripped by laughter, and brought to tears. You’ll feel part of that living conversation inside the theatre… and you’ll pick up its threads in conversation outside of the theatre after it ends.
So grab a friend and run, don’t walk, to Buddies in Bad Times—you both really don’t want to miss this one.
Kainchee Lagaa + Jhooti: The Begging Brown Bitch Plays runs until Saturday April 18 , 2026 at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre in Toronto. Tickets are available at buddiesinbadtimes.com.
© Hafsa Hoosaney, Sesaya Arts Magazine 2026
