By: Dalaine Krige 

Indian Ink’s Balloon Dog, written by Justin Lewis and Jacob Rajan and directed by Lewis, opened at Q Theatre on June 3 and runs until June 20. Inspired by Rabindranath Tagore’s short story Kabuliwala, the production relocates the 19th-century tale to contemporary Auckland, transforming it into an exploration of migration, parenthood and the assumptions we make about strangers.

The play is less concerned with immigration as a political issue than with the emotional cost of leaving home. The story centres on Ravi, a retired architect and painter, his daughter Sara and his 5-year-old granddaughter Mini. Their carefully ordered lives are disrupted by the arrival of Kabir, a migrant worker from Gujarat. Playful and intimate What begins as a chance encounter gradually develops into an unlikely friendship that reveals hidden connections between the characters.

The performances are uniformly strong. Rajan brings warmth and humour to Ravi, whose teasing observations and occasional stubbornness provide much of the production’s comedy. As Sara, Alisha Jacob captures the tension between parental protectiveness and vulnerability, while Jehangir Homavazir gives Kabir a quiet dignity that allows the character’s deeper story to emerge gradually.

The staging is simple, yet effective. A colourful set, shadow play and live sound effects create a theatrical world that feels playful and intimate. Movement is used particularly well throughout the production, often to introduce Mini’s presence. Rather than being portrayed by a single actor, the child is embodied collectively by the performers, a storytelling device that captures the boundless energy of childhood and the way children live on in the memories and imaginations of adults.

Kabir initially appears through the lens of other people’s fears. When Mini briefly disappears, suspicion falls immediately on him. The audience is encouraged to question not only the characters’ assumptions, but also their own. As details of Kabir’s circumstances emerge, the play steadily dismantles simplistic narratives about migrants, replacing them with a more complicated and deeply human portrait.

That tension gives the play its emotional force. Beneath the humour and theatrical magic lies a darker story of exploitation. Kabir and his family have endured tremendous financial upheaval to secure him a temporary work visa. He finds himself in a system that does not protect him or people like him. What follows is both shocking and sadly not. The story draws attention to the vulnerabilities many migrant workers face while remaining grounded in the experiences of a single individual.

There is a moment late in the play when Kabir reveals more about his personal life back home. Details emerge that humanise him, yet these are not secrets. They are simply details that nobody had asked him about before. The audience, like the characters, suddenly understands that the story they have been telling themselves about Kabir is incomplete. The revelation lands with extraordinary emotional weight.

Rather than offering easy answers, Balloon Dog asks a more challenging question: how often do we fail to recognise the humanity of the people whose lives briefly intersect with our own?

As an immigrant myself, I found this play feels increasingly relevant. Conversations about migration often focus on economics, visas and labour shortages. Balloon Dog shifts the focus to what migrants leave behind: families, histories and entire worlds that remain invisible to those around them. The standing ovation on opening night was a recognition not only of Indian Ink’s theatrical craft, but also of the compassion at the heart of the story.

Balloon Dog is warm, funny and quietly devastating theatre. Through humour, imagination and careful storytelling, it reminds us that every stranger carries a story we have not yet heard.