Rapid rise of new British stand-up star Tej Dhutia
Emerging talent discusses her connection to comedy and brand of humour
By ASJAD NAZIRSep 30, 2022
THE live British Asian comedy scene going from strength to strength is perfectly illustrated by the number of stand-up shows, top talents, and fast emerging newcomers like Tej Dhutia.
The funny comic introduced herself with a fabulous appearance on the televised BBC Asian Network show and is fast making a name for herself on the stand-up circuit. She is generating interest with her observation filled brand of humour and recently joined a great line-up on the popular Desi Central comedy shows.
Eastern Eye caught up with the Midlands-based talent you will be hearing a lot more about to discuss comedy, her forthcoming show, how being funny has helped in real life and why her husband doesn’t mind having jokes made about him.
What is it that first connected you to stand-up comedy?
I never planned to do stand-up comedy; I sort of just fell into it. I was on maternity leave from work and one day while breastfeeding my son, I came across an advert on social media to do stand-up for charity. Out of desperation to do something outside of being a mum, I signed up. I thought it would be a one-off thing, but it’s turned into so much more.
What was the experience like of performing as part of the BBC Asian Network show?
It was surreal. It was my first big gig, so I was super nervous, but I felt blessed to be given such a massive platform. I remember when I first read the email, I thought this can’t be happening to me. Comedy is my side hustle and it’s working out so well. I also felt vulnerable because it was going to air on BBC Three and people had the power to judge me from the comfort of their living rooms.
Tej Dhutia on stage
How do you feel being part of the Desi Central show with established names?
I’ve been going to Desi Central gigs since before I was doing stand-up, so it feels crazy to have my face on their posters. It is incredible to be on line-ups with established comedians. I feel like a baby comedian as they have much more experience, but they have all been supportive and fun to gig with.
What can we expect from your stand-up performance?
Story-telling and observational comedy is what I do. I’d say my humour knows no boundaries. I will joke about all the crude, rude things that I wasn’t allowed to talk about while growing up in a strict Indian household. I deliver an honest look on life and the experiences I encounter being a south-Asian daughter, wife, and mum with generational traumas on a journey of healing.
How does your husband feel about you making jokes about him?
(Laughs) He’s scared to talk to me in case I use what he says as material. We’ve been together 12 years now and he’s just happy I’ve finally found a way to channel my frustrations and issues and turn them into jokes, instead of taking them out on him. I’m kidding! Jokes aside, he’s a secure guy and supportive, and I love him dearly.
Who is your own comedy hero?
I don’t think I have one. I’m too busy being a mum, making roti, and accidentally vacuuming up Lego to just sit down and enjoy comedy on the telly.
Has being funny helped you in real-life situations?
Oh, yes. You have to develop a thick skin being a stand-up for when you get heckled. And as a result, people’s microaggressions don’t bother me anymore. I don’t take myself as seriously as I once did either. I would say people don’t bother me, but my kids can still wind me up and make me feel like a really crazy woman.
Who is the funniest person you know in real life?
I think I am the funniest person I know. Spoken like a true narcissist! I’m constantly doing something dumb or being mischievous and making myself laugh. Aside from me, I’d say my mum is so funny. I’ve got a bunch of jokes centred around her about the funny things she says and does.
Where is the strangest place or situation you have thought of a joke?
I think of my best jokes when I am in the shower.
What inspires you?
I want to normalise conversations about taboo subjects among the south-Asian diaspora. I battled with an identity crisis because I grew up in a strict Indian household, where I wasn’t allowed to discuss anything while watching it all happen around me in a western world. I grew up feeling lost and my comedy attempts to make sense of this and hopefully reach out to people that may be feeling the same.
Why do you love stand-up comedy?
I love stand-up because I can be unapologetically me. I can be silly and rude and uncensored (all the things a south-Asian woman shouldn’t be) and get away with it and it’s liberating. And on top of that, I get paid to do it. Stand-up comedy is my therapy.
The Desi Central Comedy show featuring Tej Dhutia, Nabil Abdulrashid, Tez Ilyas and Tommy Sandhu takes place at The Glee Club in Nottingham on October 9.
Panellist Hailey Willington (BPI), Roshan Chauhan (Daytimers), Indy Vidyalankara (UK Music/BPI), Kara Mukerjee (Warner Music Group), Mithila Sarna (Arts Council England), and Jataneel Banerjee (PRS for Music) at Lila’s “Future Unveiled” event, held at the BPI office in London on September 16, 2025
Only 28% of South Asian musicians in the UK can rely on music as a full-time income
Around seven in ten say they are overlooked or unseen in key industry roles
Artists face repeated challenges like family worries about stability, difficulty accessing money, and no guidance from mentors
The community agrees the path forward needs proper guidance, visible decision-makers, and financial support tailored to their journey
Surveyed artists work across multiple genres and aim for global audiences but face structural challenges
When the lights went down at the BPI’s London office for Lila’s “Future Unveiled” event in mid-September, speakers and delegates were not gathering to celebrate a triumph. They had gathered to confront a simple, brutal truth: the music industry was failing them. For South Asian artists and professionals, the dream of a lasting career was crashing against a set of measurable, stubborn barriers. The South Asian Soundcheck changed that. It was impossible for the industry to continue ignoring the data since it was evident and impossible to overlook.
Panellists Hailey Willington (BPI), Roshan Chauhan (Daytimers), Indy Vidyalankara (UK Music/BPI), Kara Mukerjee (Warner Music Group), Mithila Sarna (Arts Council England), and Jataneel Banerjee (PRS for Music) at Lila’s “Future Unveiled” event, held at the BPI office in London on September 16, 2025
Data reveals daily struggles behind the statistics
Statistics, however damaging they may be, cannot tell the complete story. Each percentage point represents a daily struggle. The survey, run by the non-profit Lila, gathered voices from 349 creators, managers, producers and industry workers, revealing a community bursting with talent but stranded without a map to sustainable work.
Financial precarity and invisibility
The numbers are stark and consistent. Consider the financial reality: only 28% can actually make a living from their music. For the vast majority, it's a side hustle. Compounding this is a deep-seated sense of erasure: nearly seven in ten (68%) feel they are either poorly represented or entirely invisible within the business. The study laid bare the personal toll.
Lila’s Data Consultant Sania Haq presenting the findings of the South Asian Soundcheck
The weight of stereotypes and family pressure
Imagine constantly being told what kind of music you should make, based purely on your name or skin colour; 45% of respondents face that very stereotype. Then there’s the pressure at home, with two in five (40%) navigating family concerns that this path is just too unstable. And cutting through it all is the blunt reality of prejudice: a sobering 32% have faced direct racial discrimination in their careers.
Beyond prejudice: the missing links of money and mentorship
These aren't abstract figures. They outline the reality of versatile professionals. Respondents said they work across an average of seven genres, yet are systematically shut out from the rooms where line-ups are decided, artists are signed, and real power is held.
The report also flagged practical barriers beyond prejudice. More than half, that is 54%, said they struggled to access funding, and similar numbers described gaps in industry networks and business knowledge such as contracts and rights. That combination; lack of money, know-how and connections is what stalls careers, not a shortage of talent.
Sophie Jones, CSO at the BPI, delivers the opening speech of the evening
The “Progress Paradox”
Lila founder Vikram Gudi framed the findings with a phrase the report uses repeatedly: the Progress Paradox. While 69% of respondents say they have seen improvements in South Asian visibility over the past two years, that perceived progress has not translated into representation where it matters: the boardrooms, A&R desks and festival programming committees that allocate budgets and define careers.
“Seventy-three percent earn some money from music, but only 27% earn enough to rely on it as a sustainable career,” Gudi told delegates, summarising a gap that numbers alone struggle to convey. The report also notes the headline figure of 28% who can rely on music full-time. Think about that. Nearly three-quarters are making some money from music, scraping together a living from their art. Yet barely a quarter can actually depend on it to pay the rent. That void, between grinding away and truly building a life, is where the real story lies.
Vikram Gudi presented key findings to label executives festival programmers and trade bodies
The invisible wall of representation
That gap is compounded by what respondents described as an “invisible wall”: the absence of people who look like them in positions of power. Two-thirds of those surveyed identified the lack of South Asian professionals in industry roles as the single biggest barrier to progression. Without visible senior figures, the path into senior programming, label deals and streaming strategy remains shadowy and difficult to navigate.
Without mentors who have lived the same experience, many feel they are learning the rules of the business in public. One anonymous respondent summed it up bluntly: “There are virtually no visible and successful South Asian artists in the mainstream, people simply do not know where to place us.”
A three-part solution
The Soundcheck does more than catalogue obstacles; in fact, it points clearly to remedies. So, what’s the way out? The response from the community was crystal clear. Roughly three-quarters agreed on a three-part prescription for survival.
First: mentoring that actually teaches you the rules and points you to decision-makers. Second: real representation in the rooms that sign, programme and pay artists. And third, they need dedicated funding and actual financial pathways that are accessible and understand their unique journeys.
The report makes it clear these aren't just items on a list; they are interconnected. Without funding, representation is an empty gesture. Without mentorship, that funding is likely to be wasted. Each element needs the other to actually work.
Suren Seneviratne from the DAYTIMERS Collective
The emotional cost of being boxed in
Respondents described the everyday consequences of those structural gaps. Artists who work across multiple genres said they were routinely typecast: an electronic producer might be nudged towards “Asian Underground” tracks; a classically trained musician expected to add bhangra flourishes regardless of artistic intent. For 40% of respondents, pursuing music means repeated conversations at home about financial security.
For many, the prize of mainstream validation remains distant, and the cost of trying to bridge that gap is emotional as much as economic. One participant put it simply: “All I want is to tell my mum I have been booked to play at my favourite venue and for her to be excited, but I cannot.” These testimonies are threaded throughout the report to give voice to the statistics.
The global ambition vs. local limits
The study also highlights a further artistic anxiety: 45% worry that specialising in South Asian music will limit their broader industry opportunities, and 71% believe the industry has limited acceptance for artists who do not fit traditional categories. In short: artists are ambitious and global in outlook, but the industry still thinks in narrow boxes.
Members of Warner Music’s ERG with some of the Lila TeamAudience at South Asian Soundcheck The Future Unveiled showcase at Tileyard Studios,London
Industry reaction and next steps
Industry bodies took the findings seriously at the launch. The Soundcheck is supported by major organisations including UK Music, the BPI, the Musicians’ Union (MU), Warner Music Group (WMG), the Music Managers Forum (MMF), Arts Council England and PRS for Music, and the research also consulted groups such as Bradford City of Culture and the Association of Independent Festivals. Lila unveiled eight key insights at Future Unveiled on 16 September 2025, in a preview hosted by BPI in partnership with Warner Music Group and Elephant Music, an assembly of partners that suggests the report has the power to move institutional levers if they choose to act.
From talk to tangible change
The survey reveals a tension that defines many of their careers: this gap between putting in the work and finding security shows why targeted help is necessary. After the report came out, the room’s discussion turned straight to solutions: pilot mentorship programmes, clearer access to funding, and real initiatives to bring in fresh talent.
The response from music publications and activist circles hasn't been an outright celebration, but wary optimism. Coverage in specialist outlets described the Soundcheck as the missing piece of evidence needed to shift diversity conversations from moral urgency to measurable targets. Commentators emphasised the report’s value in informing pilot programmes like mentorship schemes, targeted grant funds and recruitment pipelines, and in providing a baseline against which progress can be tested.
Members of Warner Music\u2019s ERG with some of the Lila Team www.easterneye.biz
The real test: action or another interim?
Implementation will reveal whether the Soundcheck becomes a catalyst for change or another well-documented interim. The report’s message to the industry is blunt: warm sentiments won’t cut it anymore. What’s needed are tangible, funded pathways. That starts with grant programmes and fellowships built specifically for South Asian artists, rather than asking them to contort themselves to fit outdated criteria. It means pushing the doors open, hiring programmers, A&Rs and commissioners, and making a real, public effort to find this missing talent.
And mentorship can’t be a coffee meeting that goes nowhere; it has to be a dedicated bridge, linking emerging artists with established figures who have the clout to actually pull them up. The ultimate goal is to plant champions in the rooms where it counts, people who grasp the cultural context and will fight for their work when the final selection is decided and the big money is allocated.
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