A NEW play looks at the cultural divisions in society, especially in the West, and shows how people can still come together and build a community even if they don’t always agree, its playwright has said.
The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs, by Iman Qureshi, follows a group of women, mostly lesbians, who come together to sing in a choir, while sharing their lives, making new friendships, experiencing love, and finding humour during their time spent together. Themes of identity, politics and personal struggles are explored in the story.
“I hope everyone comes to watch it,” Qureshi, 38, told Eastern Eye.
“When I wrote this, I wanted to show how a minority community, like a group of lesbians, can represent a universal story that anyone can connect with. So, I hope the play reaches a broad audience. Of course, I’d love all the lesbians to come and see it, but I believe it has a much wider appeal. “
The play touches on issues that affect many people, especially women, today.”
First performed at Soho Theatre three years ago to a packed audience, the play has now been reworked for the Kiln Theatre by Qureshi and director Hannah Hauer-King.
The writer said, “It’s quite rare for a play to transfer, especially three years after its original run. We’ve worked hard to update it, so it feels fresh and relevant to 2025. During the initial performance, the audience laughed a lot, which actually surprised me. “
I kept telling the marketing team it was a drama, but they insisted it was a comedy. I didn’t realise it was that funny. During the performances, the actors had to pause because people were laughing so much. The response was very warm and joyful.”
Describing the changes for the Kiln production, Qureshi added, “The ending has changed a lot. We rewrote parts during rehearsals. At the Soho Theatre, the first half felt light and comedic, while the second half felt quite heavy. We wanted to bring more lightness and music into the second half, so it didn’t feel like we were switching genres. Now, the whole piece feels more unified in tone.”
Qureshi was born in Pakistan, grew up in Saudi Arabia, and moved to London at 16. She said her hope was that the word “lesbian” in the title will not stop south Asians from coming to see the play.
“I know the word ‘lesbian’ in the title might put off some in the Asian community, like aunties and uncles. But I really hope they come. My mum watched it the last time and loved it. Both my parents are coming this time. I hope others from south Asian backgrounds see that lesbians are human, too. There’s humour, love, and passion. I hope people are moved by it.”
The crew of The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs
Qureshi said the play reflects real issues faced by many Asian women and added that there is still “a lot of ignorance” in Britain about how hard it is to migrate. “People think you can just come here, get a job, a council house and benefits. But that’s not true,” she said.
According to her, the heart of the play is about listening. “We live in a world where it’s easy to avoid people who don’t think like us. Online, we only see what we agree with. But the theatre is different, you can’t switch it off. You have to sit and listen. You might not agree, but you can still understand and empathise,” she said.
Qureshi added that the play’s choir conductor has a line that sums up this message: “You sound best when we listen to each other.”
Another theme is about finding one’s voice, especially for those who have felt shame about who they are. “Many characters in the play have struggled with identity – gay shame, lesbian shame,” she said. “The choir gives them a safe space to be proud, to discover who they are, and to celebrate each other.”
Qureshi studied English literature, initially worked in journalism, law and the charity sector, and became a full-time playwright around six years ago. Her earlier play, The Funeral Director, won the Papatango Prize in 2018 and opened the door to more writing opportunities.
Reflecting on representation in British theatre, Qureshi said Asian stories are still underrepresented. “We struggle to get big names or access large stages. Often, when our stories are told, they’re negative – about terrorism or honour killings. That makes me angry. I wanted to prove I can write anything, not just ‘Asian’ topics.”
She believes Asian stories matter because they challenge racism and help people feel seen. “ G r o w i n g up, everyone I saw on TV was white. I remember wishing I was white. Today, I’m proud of my heritage, my skin, and my language. But young people shouldn’t have to feel like I did.”
Qureshi credits role models such as the National Theatre’s Indhu Rubasingham, and Asian playwrights Tanika Gupta and Anupama Chandrasekhar for paving the way for those like her.
The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs opened at Kiln Theatre on June 13 and will run until July 12.
It is rare to witness a show that is both this hilarious and this importantAMG
Hunia Chawla
A still from rehearsal
Gurpreet Kaur BhattiHelen Murray
Actresses Kiran Landa and Anoushka Deshmukh in a poster of Marriage MaterialHelen Murray
Milli Bhatia
The cast of Marriage Material in key moments from the play, including Avita Jay, Kiran Landa, Omar Malik, Irfan Shamji and Anoushka Deshmukh
Sathnam Sanghera’s 'Marriage Material' adapted into bold new play on conformity
The play Marriage Material at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre is Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti’s adaptation of Sathnam Sanghera’s novel of the same name, which first came out in 2013.
She is lucky to have Iqbal Khan direct Marriage Material. The play, a co-production with the Birmingham Rep, is set in the late 1960s. Mr and Mrs Bains (played by Jaz Singh Deol and Avita Jay) run a corner shop in Wolverhampton. Their younger daughter, Surinder (Anoushka Deshmukh), is 16, her sister Kamaljit (Kiran Landa) is just a bit older.
They have a neighbour, Patwant Dhanda (Irfan Shamji), who, as we shall soon see, is not a very pleasant man. In fact, he comes across just as racist as Enoch Powell, who represented Wolverhampton South West for the Tories from 1950 to 1974.
It will be recalled this was a time when Sikhs working on the buses were told they couldn’t wear a turban. That was a hard-fought battle that had to be won.
The Bains, meanwhile, simply want to get their girls married off.
Nothing new here, I thought.
What makes the tale different is that the plot twists and turns down the generations. Mr Dhanda, who has the makings of a paedophile, makes a pitch for one of the girls when Mr Bains dies early in the play. “A life with no man in the house is no life,” he informs the newly widowed Mrs Bains.
Mr Dhanda has a wife but she has returned to India so he considers himself to be a free man.
Surinder’s English teacher from school, Miss Flanagan (Celeste Dodwell), who is also head of the fifth form, tells Mrs Bains about her daughter: “I don’t want to embarrass you, but she is bright. Ridiculously bright.”
She adds: “Mrs Bains, I think it would be a pity if Surinder didn’t stay on at school.” The initial response from Mrs Bains is not encouraging: “Too much education makes people’s brains get mixed up, they don’t sleep at night…”
But she is finally persuaded that Surinder should be allowed to stay on for a while longer before being married off.
Mr Bains was very old school. When Surinder confides she would one day like to be “a somebody”, he is amused that “my daughter wants to be a somebody”.
“Like you,” she tells her father.
Mr Bains consoles his daughter: “We will find a somebody for you to marry.”
At the point of a possible marriage, however, Surinder is sweet-talked by chocolate salesman Jim Wilson (Tommy Belshaw) into running away with him. They share a love of literature, and he calls her “Sue Bains”. But the relationship does not end well.
Once she has left, Surinder is written off as “dead” by her family. The story that is circulated is that she was only 16 when she was killed in a car crash. That’s better than to let on that she ran off with a white man.
By the time she is reconciled with her sister towards the end of the play, a great deal has changed. Kamaljit married Tanvir Banga (Omar Malik), a young man who helped out in the Bains’ corner shop. When the two sisters meet again, Tanvir has also died. But he and Kamaljit had a son, Arjan Banga (Jaz Singh Deol doubles up for this role after the death of Mr Bains). He has come home after his father’s death to help his mother who is still running the family corner shop.
Meanwhile, Mr Dhanda’s business has prospered. He now has a son, Ranjit Dhanda (the role is taken by Omar Malik after Tanvir’s death), and he is nearly as unpleasant as his father.
Arjan has an English fiancée, Claire (Celeste Dodwell). In London, Arjan worked as a creative director. But after deciding to stay in Wolverhampton to help his mother, he decides he cannot marry Claire because she is white. In other words, Asians are not free of racism, either. Happily, at the end, the couple are reconciled.
As for Surinder, she parted company with Jim Wilson after realising he was all talk, depended on her for money and had failed to earn a penny from his literary pretensions. She had prospered, though, as a hotel owner and had been transformed in time into a well-groomed businesswoman. After being tracked down by Arjan, she decides to return to her roots in Wolverhampton and help Kamaljit run the family corner shop. Perhaps 50 years had passed during the passage of the play.
Being subjected to racism turned some Asians into racists themselves. The word goreh (white person) is repeatedly spat out with venom. Maybe it is worth remembering the play’s audience isn’t exclusively Asian – white folk are watching as well. And maybe some of the toilet humour ridiculing white people, which always makes me cringe, could be cut out.
In Sanghera’s novel, there is a quote from Enoch Powell’s speech in November 1968: “The West Indian or Asian does not, by being born in England, become an Englishman. In law he becomes a United Kingdom citizen by birth; in fact, he is a west Indian or an Asian still... he will by the very nature of things have lost one country without gaining another, lost one nationality without acquiring a new one. Time is running out against us and them. With the lapse of a generation or so we shall at last have succeeded – to the benefit of nobody – in reproducing ‘in England’s green and pleasant land’ the haunting tragedy of the US.”
In Marriage Material, where the acting is marvellous (apart from Mr Dhanda’s Indian mannerisms and accent being overdone) we do travel across a couple of generations.
There is a scene when Tanvir rejects Mr Dhanda’s vision of creating a little Punjab in Wolverhampton.
Mr Dhanda wants to take over the Bains’ corner shop and is putting pressure on Tanvir to sign the papers. He says: “In this country, money is the path to freedom.”
“Sign, please,” he instructs Tanvir. “We must make sure our children learn to behave nicely, according to our rules.”
He insists: “We maintain our identity so we can be ourselves.”
Tanvir disagrees: “We can be us here. With the goreh.”
Dhanda warns him: “Then we will be inviting chaos.”
Tanvir’s comment is telling: “You sound like Enoch.”
Kamaljit, who is expecting a baby with her husband Tanvir, says: “I would like my child to grow up knowing the history of the Gurus and to read the Granth Sahib. And to love their culture.”
Tanvir tells his wife: “I would like my child to go to the finest schools, to cheer for England in the World Cup and eat Yorkshire pudding on a Sunday.”
Kamaljit sets out a dream that has perhaps come to pass with many third and fourth generation British Asians: “Maybe our child can do both.” Much, much later, in a throwback to the past, we learn of Surinder’s O-level results: “Biology A, Chemistry A, English Language A, English Literature A, French A, History B, Latin A, Mathematics A, Physics A…”
Kamaljit tells her younger sister: “Never mind about the B.”
And that is quintessentially Asian. Their acting is outstanding.
Marriage Material is at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until June 21, and at the Birmingham Rep from June 25-July 5