In Pakistan, performing arts often survive not because they are supported, but because they are insisted upon. Theatre and film, particularly within educational spaces, are still frequently regarded as extracurricular distractions rather than serious intellectual or cultural pursuits. Yet, in a society shaped by economic uncertainty, social hierarchies, and emotional silences, performing arts serve as a necessary mirror. They allow difficult conversations to take place about class, power, gender, and survival.
For students, engagement in creative activities such as drama and filmmaking becomes a form of critical education. These spaces train young minds to observe social realities closely, question what is normalised, and narrate lived experiences with sensitivity. Performing arts cultivate analytical thinking, collaboration, and emotional literacy. More importantly, they give students the confidence to speak, to disagree, and to imagine alternatives, a skill essential in a society where conformity is often rewarded more than curiosity.
COMSATS University Islamabad presents an interesting case, being primarily recognised as a science- and technology-oriented institution. Literature and performing arts are not usually associated with its identity. Yet, through the COMSATS Film and Dramatic Society, students have found space to explore storytelling, performance, and film under the guidance of faculty advisers. The society has steadily fostered a creative culture in which students produce work that reflects social realities with depth and maturity.
The short film Qarz exemplifies this creative endeavour. Made with an almost non-existent budget, limited resources, and no commercial backing, it relies largely on student commitment and talent. The film delivers a narrative that feels urgent and emotionally grounded.
Directed by Muhammad Bilal, the film presents a tightly knit creative effort that feels purposeful. At its centre is Musa Shafiq, who delivers a grounded performance as Jawad while also contributing to screenplay direction, music composition, lyrics, and subtitles, providing the project with a singular creative voice.
Zara asserts herself not as a passive observer but as a figure whose suppressed agency disrupts the narrative
The cast adds credibility and emotional balance. Mohid Izhar as Asad provides intensity and restraint, while Maheen Ishtiaq as Zara offers a subtle emotional anchor. Adnan Haider, portraying Khalid, complements the film’s dramatic core. The script, written by Ahmed Abbas, is concise and character-driven, supported behind the scenes by Abbas as assistant director.
Set during the COVID-19 pandemic, Qarz tells the story of a lower-middle-class family trapped in a cycle of debt, illness, and moral compromise. The narrative opens with Jawad’s release from prison, immediately establishing a contrast between personal confinement and a society already imprisoned by lockdowns and fear. His observation that it feels as though the world has been jailed in his absence sets the tone for a narrative deeply concerned with freedom, agency, and survival.
Central to the story is the burden of debt. Jawad’s imprisonment results from borrowing money to support his sister’s education and his nephew’s medical treatment—acts rooted in responsibility rather than criminal intent. The lender’s betrayal exposes a brutal reality: in systems shaped by poverty, morality is often a privilege. The elder brother, Asad, struggles as the sole breadwinner to hold the family together amid unemployment and illness.
One of the film’s most compelling aspects is its treatment of silence, particularly the silence imposed on Zara, the sister. Despite being central to the family’s sacrifices, she is repeatedly excluded from decisions. As the truth emerges, Zara asserts herself not as a passive observer but as a figure whose suppressed agency disrupts the narrative. The film’s climax, culminating in an act of violence, deliberately resists easy moral conclusions. Zara’s final expressions, caught between grief and resolve, leave the audience unsettled, prompting reflection on guilt, justice, and empowerment.
While Qarz is not without narrative imperfections, its emotional ambition and thematic seriousness outweigh its limitations. The film does not offer comfort or closure; instead, it exposes how poverty corrodes relationships and how debt functions as a form of quiet violence within families.
The significance of Qarz lies not only in its story but also in the conditions under which it was made. In a country where creative work—especially student-led initiatives—struggles due to limited funding and a generally unreceptive environment, such efforts demand recognition. The film demonstrates that meaningful stories will find a way to be told if given the opportunity.