SHAFEEQ SHAJAHAN: If You Could See Me Now (The Bollywood Guide To Revenge) is coming to Soho Theatre 1st – 5th April with an unapologetically queer tour-de-force.
What inspired you to blend the glamorous allure of Bollywood with disco beats in The Bollywood Guide to Revenge?
Growing up, my life was always a dance between poles. From a very early age, my mother introduced me to the melodramatic glamour of classic Bollywood. These colourful, campy films, especially from the 70s and 80s, became safe spaces for me — I adored their iconic heroines who never accepted anything quietly and always found a way to rise above adversity. Meanwhile, when I moved to London in 2011, I was exposed to the thumping liberty of queer nightlife. The disco and techno beats I grew up on quickly became the soundtrack of my freedom.
I’ve learned the strongest revenge isn’t in wrath or resentment, but in harmonising the parts of yourself society says can’t coexist. Blending these two worlds has always felt like second nature.
How did you decide to incorporate your personal journey as a queer person of colour into this production?
Queer people of colour and queer Muslims, in particular, have a difficult time navigating the complexities of what can be a very untrodden path.
Over the years, I’ve come to realise that the boldest and most authentic art emerges when you’re brave enough to weave your personal truths, in all their joyful complexities and vulnerabilities, into the fabric of your creations.
Sometimes, I’ve often felt immense pressure to fragment myself, to leave bits behind, or water certain parts down depending on who I’m around.
For this cabaret, I chose to proudly reject that fragmentation and instead embrace the intersectional beauty – and scars – I hold within. I wanted to reclaim past hurts, disappointments, and heartbreaks and transform them playfully into creative power, strength, and resilience.
Because here’s the thing – by opening my wounds on stage, I hope to create a cathartic, collective healing experience, illustrating that our vulnerabilities are sources not for shame, but power.
What role did your mother’s early life play in shaping the themes of redemption and revenge in the show?
Growing up as a dark-skinned Muslim girl in Singapore, my mother faced prejudice and stigma within her own community from a young age. I remember her telling me stories of being overlooked or made to feel invisible because of her skin colour, being forced into societal shadows she never chose.
Yet amidst that adversity, she found power and possibility.
The show dissects my mother’s favourite film Satyam Shivam Sundaram, a Bollywood classics from the late 70s. She resonated deeply with Zeenat Aman’s portrayal of Rupa – a character whose beauty, truth and worth existed far beyond society’s superficial judgments.
For my mother, Rupa was an emblem of defiance, a heroine who chose not merely to survive but to reclaim her hurt and transform it into strength.
My mother’s journey inspired me to see redemption not as responsive bitterness but as courageous self-love, turning pain into power. It’s her truth—her triumph over society’s rejection—that fuels the heartbeat of The Bollywood Guide to Revenge.
The Bollywood heroines of the ’70s and ’80s are central to your story. Who are some of your personal favorites, and how have they influenced your identity?
I’ll probably get into trouble for saying this but there is something fundamentally queer about Rekha. I adore her! What a legend! Her roles were always steeped in glamour, defiance, and emotional nuance. Watching her confidently navigate between fierceness and elegance showed me it’s possible to defiantly celebrate parts of yourself the world might try to diminish.
Could you share a little about how The Bollywood Guide to Revenge channels your experiences into self-expression?
The Bollywood Guide to Revenge has been a genuinely cathartic and transformative experience for me. It’s a show deeply rooted in my personal journey and the scars—and victories—I’ve carried along the way.
As a proud queer South Asian creative with Islamic roots, my identity has always felt multifaceted, intersectional, and sometimes contradictory—which society doesn’t always accept easily.
My approach for this production was to embrace all those supposed contradictions and reclaim them boldly through storytelling, music, and campy defiance.
I’ve channeled memories of my mother’s resilience as a dark-skinned girl in Singapore; my childhood confrontations as a queer Muslim navigating Malaysian society; my evolving faith during my pilgrimage to Mecca; and of course (because revenge is sweetest), countless cutting tributes to the boys who’ve broken my heart.
The show has become a cathartic ritual for me—transforming my past hurts, disappointments, and scars into glittering, uplifting expressions of empowerment and healing.
I’ve found there’s an extraordinary power in vulnerably owning your story and reflecting your truths back to the world with unapologetic pride. The Bollywood Guide to Revenge is my invitation to the audience, really, encouraging everyone to transform their pain into a radiant, joyous act of self-celebration.
In your opinion, what is the power of revenge when it’s framed through the lens of a queer, unapologetic narrative?
There’s something inherently performative about being queer, isn’t there? Queer people face pain and unfairness all the time. Something truly magical happens when we take that pain and use it to perform the hell out of life. We shine brighter, defy harder, dance more fiercely. It really is beautiful—like a star blazing against the darkness that’s tried so often to put it out.
But sometimes, as dazzling as this can be, the performative aspect of queerness can take center stage, overshadowing quieter truths. For a long time, I felt pressured to use performance as a sort of armor—to overcompensate for everything society had thrown me. But what I’ve learned, and what The Bollywood Guide to Revenge navigates, is the idea that sometimes true queer empowerment and real revenge isn’t about performing louder or brighter—it’s about simple, inherent existence.
This show explores my journey toward understanding that queer revenge can be quiet, deeply personal, even intimate. It can be as simple as listening to my inherent queerness, being peacefully at one with it, breathing comfortably in its presence—not on a stage, under lights, but right there, in the gentle quiet of my own living room.
To exist authentically, to thrive in spite of the world’s unfairness—that, to me, is the ultimate queer revenge.
You’ve mentioned the importance of performing and succeeding in ways that defy societal norms. Can you expand on that idea and how it’s reflected in your show?
There is a unique audacity that comes from defying societal norms, and that audacity is central to The Bollywood Guide to Revenge. It’s filled with deliberate juxtaposition—I blend classical Indian Carnatic melodies with haunting jazz solos; I combine spiritual narratives from Islam with unapologetic disco beats; I proudly wear my scars as honours instead of hiding behind them.
Our culture constantly pressures us to compartmentalise our identities, and quite often we internalise this pressure, living through performances that help us appease and survive. This show recognises that truth and flips it on its head: bolstering this idea that our intersectional identities aren’t liabilities, but marvellous, empowering strengths.
How did working with Vasilis Konstantinides contribute to the unique soundtrack of the show?
Working with Vasilis has always felt like creative alchemy to me. From the beginning, Vas and I bonded over our mutual love for genre-bending storytelling and fearless artistic experimentation. We realised that conventional forms couldn’t fully capture our identities or our stories, so our collaboration has always been centered around exploring new musical frontiers – ones that blend Eastern traditions and Western sensibilities, that highlight our cultural roots but also unapologetically show our queerness.
For The Bollywood Guide to Revenge, Vas’s incredible understanding of music allowed me to take risks—vocally, emotionally, and artistically—in ways I had previously never explored. Together, we’ve created a harmonious symphony of seemingly disparate parts: classical Indian Carnatic vocals, Cypriot folk influences from Vas’s heritage, jazz-infused Quranic recitations, and techno-driven musical theatre numbers that nod to disco’s unrelenting spirit.
Ultimately, Vas’s compositions mirror our own queer, intersectional journeys – they’re grounded in tradition but boldly push the boundaries of what’s musically and theatrically possible.
When we’re together onstage, audiences witness two queer individuals from vastly different parts of the world harmonising their seemingly conflicting identities and transforming them into something dazzlingly powerful and defiantly joyous.
Our partnership in The Bollywood Guide to Revenge embodies this exact idea of transcending norms and thriving proudly in the spaces between them—together, our music doesn’t just defy categories; it creates something entirely new.
What do you hope audiences take away from the show in terms of their own identity, love, and perhaps their journey toward healing?
This show is a playful yet sincere invitation for audiences to look at their own scars and see miracles hidden within—to find strength in parts of themselves they’ve been told must stay hidden. I want people to recognise that healing doesn’t mean covering or diminishing your hurt, but transforming it into a fierce, radiant expression of self-love.
Finally, describe the show in three words?
Divine, queer catharsis!