Acclaimed Scottish-Pakistani theatre-maker Lubna Kerr returns to the Edinburgh Fringe with Lunchbox – the final instalment of her deeply personal and widely praised ‘BOX’ trilogy, following Tickbox and Chatterbox.
Inspired by her own upbringing as a Pakistani immigrant girl in Glasgow, Lunchbox is a powerful one-woman show that tackles themes of identity, race, bullying and belonging through the eyes of two teenagers growing up on the same street but living vastly different lives. With humour, honesty and heart, Kerr brings multiple characters to life, including her younger self and a troubled classmate, as she explores whether we are shaped by our environment or capable of breaking the cycle.
Ahead of the show’s run at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, she speaks to Eastern Eye about her creative journey, the inspiration behind the trilogy and why she believes now is the time to share these stories.
Lunchbox is a powerful one-woman show that tackles themes of identity, race, bullying and belongingInstagram/ lubnakerr
How do you reflect on your creative journey?
When I started writing my first play Tickbox, I doubted myself – would anyone come to see it? But it has since been staged all over the UK and is still touring. I have come so far in my creative journey and love being able to find new stories to tell the world.
How much are you looking forward to returning to the Edinburgh Fringe?
I love the Fringe. It is my favourite part of the year.
Tell us about your new show.
Lunchbox is a one-woman show and is the final part of the ‘BOX’ trilogy of my life as a Pakistani immigrant girl growing up in Glasgow. There are eight characters – some familiar and some new.
How does this compare to your other shows Tickbox and Chatterbox?
It is similar but different. It explores the next stage of my school life, but this time through the eyes of the bully, Steven.
How have you felt going on a journey with this unique trilogy?
It was never meant to be a trilogy when I first started writing, but as the stories came out, I realised I had so much to share that I could not do it all in one play.
What is the biggest challenge of doing a solo show?
Keeping well and pacing your energy. There is no understudy, so I need to make sure I get enough rest and can be fresh for my shows every day.
She says, ''do not assume you know what is going on in people’s lives behind closed doors''Instagram/ lubnakerr
Who are you hoping to reach with this show?
Those who were bullied, those who stood by and did nothing, and those who were the bullies.
Is there a key message you want to convey with this show?
Do not assume you know what is going on in people’s lives behind closed doors. I want audiences to think about who they wrote off in life. Who could they have given a hand to? Whose life did they assume was a waste? Who will they be clapping for? Have they forgiven their bully?
What do you most love about live theatre?
I love performing and sharing unheard or untold stories about the diaspora. We have such a rich culture and heritage, and we need our voices to be heard. Theatre is the vehicle to do this.
How do you feel when you are on stage?
I love being on stage, whether performing a play or doing comedy. I love feeling connected to the audience – having them hold onto my every word and fall into a trance with my characters, helping them forget their worries for an hour.
Why should we all come and watch your new show Lunchbox?
Lunchbox has a universal theme of bullying and discrimination, but it is told by an older south Asian woman. How many of us are out there doing this? I want to inspire anyone of any age to come and share their stories on stage, and let the world know that we are more than just curries and cricket (though I do love both).
www.pleasance.co.uk/event/lunchbox and X & Instagram: @lubnakerr
The crew of The Ministry of Lesbian Affairs
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
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