ARE YOU EVEN INDIAN? follows a British-born Indian woman and an Indian-born man who fall in love. It feels like fate. A meet-cute, wedding dances, Bollywood jokes, and plans for a future they believe they are building together.
But as the relationship deepens, so do the cracks. Which country is “home”? What language will their child speak? Who gets to decide what makes someone truly Indian?
As personal choices clash with family expectations and social labels, the couple must confront love, compromise, and the reality of living in between. Neither fully British, nor fully Indian, the show reflects the experience of a generation navigating relationships and heritage.
When both your homes ask you to apologise for who you are, how do you decide where you belong?
This is a love story about proving your identity, not just to each other, but within the community.
This is a love story about proving your identity, not just to each other, but within the community.
We caught up with writer and performer Mohit Mathur to learn more about the show.
What first inspired you to write Are You Even Indian?
I've been in many rooms here where people have told me, "You don't sound Indian" or "Your English is so good for an Indian person." Those old stereotypes, along with everything people assume about what it means to be Indian in this country, stayed with me.
I've been in many rooms here where people have told me, "You don't sound Indian" or "Your English is so good for an Indian person." Those old stereotypes, along with everything people assume about what it means to be Indian in this country, stayed with me.
My drama school friend of African heritage once asked me how I felt when a white person wears a saree or a bindi. I sadly didn't have the answer they expected. Growing up in India, we saw that as people celebrating our culture.
For people born and raised here, it's a very different story. Many grew up having their culture ignored or mocked, and hid parts of themselves as children. Now they watch that same culture being sold and sometimes fetishised through social media. Prada selling sandals that look exactly like Kolhapuri chappals, or a dupatta going viral as a "Scandinavian scarf". If you spent your childhood hiding something and the world suddenly finds it fashionable, you will feel very differently about it than I do.
And then I was in the rehearsal room for Life of Pi, surrounded by lovely South Asian actors. Everyone seemed to have their own claim on what it means to be Indian. We all had answers, and they were all different. That made me ask the question properly: what really makes a person Indian? That's where the show began.
You conducted co-creation workshops across Leicester and Wolverhampton. What were some of the most surprising or recurring answers you got from community members when you asked them to define what "home" means?
As a writer, I only have the Indian-born perspective. The workshops put British South Asians and first-generation migrants in the same room, talking about what makes them feel at home here and how it feels when they go back.
As a writer, I only have the Indian-born perspective. The workshops put British South Asians and first-generation migrants in the same room, talking about what makes them feel at home here and how it feels when they go back.
In Leicester, one person told us that when they visit family in India, relatives won't let them buy vegetables from street vendors. The moment they speak, their accent in Hindi or Gujarati gives them away and the price goes up. In the UK they're seen as Indian. In India they're seen as foreigners.
In Wolverhampton, a parent talked about a soft "d" sound in our languages that doesn't exist in English. They were very particular that their children could say it properly. For them it was a piece of home living on in their child's mouth. Others went the opposite way and gave their children English names so white people wouldn't struggle to say them.
Leicester is also where I learned how big Goodness Gracious Me was. I'd never heard of it. For many in that room, it was the first time they saw themselves on British TV.
Did you notice distinct differences in how South Asian communities in Leicester vs. Wolverhampton talk about identity and heritage, or were the core themes universal across the Midlands?
The biggest difference was who walked into the room. In Leicester, I found a strong cultural connection, people were rooted in their heritage and community. They celebrated the whole of Diwali, Navratri and the festivals of India.
The biggest difference was who walked into the room. In Leicester, I found a strong cultural connection, people were rooted in their heritage and community. They celebrated the whole of Diwali, Navratri and the festivals of India.
Wolverhampton was more varied. We had a counsellor, an LGBT activist, a disabled writer, people from very different walks of life. Each of them brought their own lived experience of what it means to be Indian, Pakistani or brown in this country, and that range was powerful.
But the core question was the same everywhere and it goes beyond the Midlands. At Brighton Fringe, a South African woman told us this was her family's story too. Her children were born here, and she kept asking what being South African would even mean to them. A Lithuanian woman wrote to us with the same dilemma. The show is about an Indian couple, but the question belongs to anyone who has built a life between two homes.
How did real-life anecdotes shared by workshop participants make their way directly into the dialogue or narrative beats of the show?
Some went straight onto the stage. The Goodness Gracious Me moment had to be there. Then there was the story about having an English name. It captures the whole idea in one small moment: too Indian for here, too foreign for there.
Some went straight onto the stage. The Goodness Gracious Me moment had to be there. Then there was the story about having an English name. It captures the whole idea in one small moment: too Indian for here, too foreign for there.
Others worked behind the scenes. The soft "d" doesn't appear on stage, but that conversation about language and names shaped how the couple argue about their child.
And some changed a character completely, like the word "freshie" did for the boy and how people from the community see people arriving in this country. It made him question his own insecurities.
Co-creation requires opening up the creative process to non-performers. How did you balance staying true to the community's authentic voices while maintaining a clear narrative structure as a writer?
I always start from my own experience, that's how I know how to write. Then the stories from other people grow it and push it in directions I couldn't reach alone.
I always start from my own experience, that's how I know how to write. Then the stories from other people grow it and push it in directions I couldn't reach alone.
Not all the discussions made it in. There were powerful stories we had to let go of because they didn't make sense structurally. That's hard, but the show has to work as one story about one couple, so even though there were so many amazing ideas within those workshops, we couldn't take it all. The feelings and questions from those rooms run all the way through the show, even where a specific story didn't make the final draft.
Working with Leigh Toney as director helped hugely. She has a sharp dramaturgical eye and kept asking what each moment was really doing.
Yes. In Wolverhampton I heard the word "freshie". It's what British South Asians call people who have just arrived from South Asia, short for "fresh off the boat".
I am the freshie. Hearing that word from the community I'm writing about changed how I saw the man.
In the R&D draft, I had found a lot of vulnerability in the woman, but the man was left behind. Leigh kept asking me: what is his story? What is he scared of? Maybe I didn't want to look too deeply into his psyche, because so much of him is me.
In the R&D draft, I had found a lot of vulnerability in the woman, but the man was left behind. Leigh kept asking me: what is his story? What is he scared of? Maybe I didn't want to look too deeply into his psyche, because so much of him is me.
That word opened him up. I found his nervousness about being picked up on his accent, and about his visa status. It helped me go deeper into the insecurities an immigrant carries, and it gave the Indian side of the story the vulnerability it needed.
The dynamic between a British-born Indian and an Indian-born immigrant brings up friction that isn't often explored in mainstream theatre. What made you want to dive into the internal divide within the diaspora?
Because I live it, the South Asian community here often expects me to be in Indian spaces, with Indian friends. But when I left India, I wanted to integrate, be the good immigrant.
Because I live it, the South Asian community here often expects me to be in Indian spaces, with Indian friends. But when I left India, I wanted to integrate, be the good immigrant.
Then Diwali or Holi comes around and I realise I don't have many Indian friends to celebrate with. I feel guilty, as if I've let go of something I was supposed to hold on to. Wherever I stand, I end up feeling I should apologise for who I am.
These are the questions nobody asks out loud, but so many of us are wondering about them. Mainstream theatre usually shows East versus West. The conversation inside our own community felt more urgent and more honest.
The title asks, "Are You Even Indian?"—a test many South Asians face. In your view, who usually enforces that test more: society, families, or the couple themselves?
Society forces the question first. But families pose it too, and in opposite directions. Second-generation parents here are often trying to make their children more Indian as they miss a part of their home. Recent immigrants are often pushing their children to assimilate. So the same test gets set from two sides.
Society forces the question first. But families pose it too, and in opposite directions. Second-generation parents here are often trying to make their children more Indian as they miss a part of their home. Recent immigrants are often pushing their children to assimilate. So the same test gets set from two sides.
In the show, the couple ask it of each other, and of themselves. A British-born Indian woman and an Indian-born man who love each other, but each has a different idea of what being Indian means.
The narrative moves from a rom-com "meet-cute" into deeper cultural clashes. How did you structure that transition so the shift from joyful romance to heavy identity conflicts feels earned?
It's a natural progression, the way it is in real relationships. At the start they're in a bubble, small things which might nag you but you find them cute. This meet-cute date dance is almost a dream sequence from a Bollywood film.
It's a natural progression, the way it is in real relationships. At the start they're in a bubble, small things which might nag you but you find them cute. This meet-cute date dance is almost a dream sequence from a Bollywood film.
Once they get comfortable, the serious things come in. And having a child changes most of it, it did for me. The comedy stays because couples fight about small things that carry the big things inside them. Take the Life in the UK test. To stay here, you have to know facts like how tall the London Eye is, or what the Habeas Corpus Act of 1679 is. It's absurd, and audiences laugh. But underneath is a serious question: who decides what makes you belong somewhere?
When the characters debate what language their future child should speak or where "home" is, how did you ensure neither perspective felt like the "wrong" answer to the audience?
Honestly, I don't think I did, and I don't think I should. Some people will think one of them is wrong, and that's how art should be. If everyone agreed, it wouldn't be good theatre. All I can do is write with truth and honesty, then it's up to the audience to find their own perspective, shaped by their own experience.
Honestly, I don't think I did, and I don't think I should. Some people will think one of them is wrong, and that's how art should be. If everyone agreed, it wouldn't be good theatre. All I can do is write with truth and honesty, then it's up to the audience to find their own perspective, shaped by their own experience.
The man has a lot of me in him, but there are parts of him that are far from me. Talking to other people, and my own years living in the UK, have shaped him over time. The woman carries the stories of people who grew up here. In the show they argue about how they want to raise the child, and it often comes down to something simple, like which lullaby to sing. A Hindi lori or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? It sounds funny, but they're really asking what they want their child to carry with them.
That's a question I ask myself as a parent. Will my kids be able to sing the Hindi bhajans and recite the shlokas, mantras and aartis I grew up with? I don't have the answer. In my opinion, there isn't an absolute right one.
As both writer and choreographer, how does movement step in when words fail to capture the weight of feeling "in between" two cultures?
Where I come from, when we run out of words, we dance. Weddings, festivals, family gatherings. Dance is how we celebrate, how we flirt, how we say what's too big or too awkward to say out loud.
Movement can carry everything that happens between two people that never gets spoken. The daily routine, the silences, the looks, the slow build of resentment. In our show, that's where movement takes over, and it lets us leap through time.
Where I come from, when we run out of words, we dance. Weddings, festivals, family gatherings. Dance is how we celebrate, how we flirt, how we say what's too big or too awkward to say out loud.
Movement can carry everything that happens between two people that never gets spoken. The daily routine, the silences, the looks, the slow build of resentment. In our show, that's where movement takes over, and it lets us leap through time.
But sometimes that instinct needs to be reeled in, and that's when my director comes in. She pulls me back from drifting into a completely random dance and makes sure there are thoughts and questions behind every movement. Why did we do that move? What is the importance of movement here? How will it take the story forward?
Wedding dances and Bollywood movement appear early on as symbols of shared joy. How do you use movement later in the show to reflect the growing emotional and cultural cracks between the leads?
Early on, the movement is pure joy. The wedding dances and that dream-sequence feeling of falling in love, the way it happens in a Bollywood film.
Early on, the movement is pure joy. The wedding dances and that dream-sequence feeling of falling in love, the way it happens in a Bollywood film.
But the backbone of the show is more contemporary and modern, where we find meaning through movement rather than spectacle. When the cracks start to appear, it's all shown through text and movement working together. Movement carries as much of the story as the words do, we take big leaps in the story through movement and sound design.
Does the choreography draw clear distinctions between British-South Asian movement styles and traditional or contemporary Indian dance styles to visually highlight their backgrounds?
Not deliberately. We did call some of it Bollywood dancing or a wedding dance, but apart from that, there are no labels attached to the movement.
Not deliberately. We did call some of it Bollywood dancing or a wedding dance, but apart from that, there are no labels attached to the movement.
It comes from what our bodies tell us in that particular moment, and from finding shapes with the objects we used in our previous explorations. A big part of our process has always been bringing the actor's own personal experience into shaping the movement, so I'm curious to see what comes out of this version when we go back into the room together.
How did your dual role as writer and choreographer change your process—did you write scenes with specific dance sequences already in mind, or did the movement evolve out of the script?
My instinct as a maker was always to reach for movement first. But that instinct needed shaping, and that came out of my collaboration with Leigh. She has worked on large-scale productions like Life of Pi, and every time I added a dance, she would ask: what is this movement telling us? Where are we at this moment? Can we actually see it happening?
My instinct as a maker was always to reach for movement first. But that instinct needed shaping, and that came out of my collaboration with Leigh. She has worked on large-scale productions like Life of Pi, and every time I added a dance, she would ask: what is this movement telling us? Where are we at this moment? Can we actually see it happening?
I didn't want the show to become a string of songs with a story squeezed in between. I didn't want the opposite either, where every movement is so loaded with symbolism that the joy disappears. Bollywood has the item number, a burst of pure joy with very little at stake, and that pleasure is part of our culture too.
So dance stopped being something the characters break into and became the thread that holds the story together. And it keeps evolving in the rehearsal room with every actor who joins us.
What do you hope first-generation immigrants and British-born South Asians, respectively, take away from seeing their distinct internal conflicts played out side-by-side?
I just want both of them to see their story reflected on stage.
I just want both of them to see their story reflected on stage.
For first-generation immigrants, I hope they see the boy from the inside, the dreams they came here with and the insecurities they rarely talk about.
For British-born South Asians, I always think of three Bangladeshi women who came to see an early version at Riverside's Bitesize Festival. They hugged us after the show, in tears, and told us they saw so much of themselves in it. Their parents had raised them to be English, and now they wanted to connect with their Bangladeshi heritage, but they had no family left back there to connect with. And they didn't know how to raise their own children between two cultures.
Seeing both sides played out next to each other, I hope each of them understands the other a little better.
Having rooted this story so deeply in community workshops, how do you hope the audiences in Leicester and Wolverhampton feel when they see their own shared experiences reflected on stage?
I want them to feel seen. When something that came out of their own lives is put in front of them, they just recognise themselves on stage, and that would be great.
I want them to feel seen. When something that came out of their own lives is put in front of them, they just recognise themselves on stage, and that would be great.
The response has already been incredible. We sold out our first show at Curve and added a second because of the waiting list, so I'm really excited to see how people in Leicester react. And I can't wait to bring it to Wolverhampton, where so many of these conversations began.
We are already planning a UK tour for 2027 to take it to different communities around the country.
What emotion or feelings would you generally want the audience to take away after a performance?
Mostly I want them to leave with thoughts, things to reflect on in their own lives. In Brighton, people kept telling us they needed a moment to reflect before they could find their words, and that's what I hope for.
Mostly I want them to leave with thoughts, things to reflect on in their own lives. In Brighton, people kept telling us they needed a moment to reflect before they could find their words, and that's what I hope for.
There are two ends to this story. You see the freshie's perspective, the dreams and hopes he arrives with, and you see hers, growing up here. And sometimes it's about finding your own family and building it together, rather than following societal norms, finding what works for you. Hopefully they'll question that and answer it for themselves. And if someone has ever been told they're not Indian enough, I hope they leave feeling less alone.
Are You Even Indian? runs at the following venues:
- Bedford: The Place Theatre on November 12, 2026.
- London: Riverside Studios from November 17 to November 29, 2026.
- Leicester: Curve Theatre on December 1 and 3, 2026.
More dates are planned for 2027.
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