We sat down with Gayathiri Kamalakanthan, whose debut play Period Parrrty, directed by Gitika Buttoo, and produced by Kali Theatre is playing at Soho Theatre from 23 Oct – 22 Nov. The play follows Krish, a Tamil teenager preparing for their ‘period party’ – a traditional ritual meant to mark the start of womanhood. But Krish isn’t a girl. This is no ordinary coming-of-age story. This is a trans Tamil party and an ode to Tamil self-preservation.
Tickets from www.sohotheatre.com
How did reimagining a traditional Tamil period party through a queer lens transform your relationship with that ritual and with your own heritage?
The reimagining of the period party led me to understand that Tamil culture is queer! The problem is that after inheriting a British colonial anti-queerness, it takes time for us to unlearn what’s been forced onto our culture.
For Period Parrrty, I wanted to create a trans Tamil character with the agency to reshape their period party so that it was degendered and empowering. I also wanted them to embrace their Tamil heritage (language, food, clothing, stories). I think of writing as prepping for my own life. In the future, maybe I’ll organise a period party where we could ask all our period questions without shame. We could chat about pain management, period products and practices that affirm our gender. We could invite Tamil drag artists, poets and dancers. How liberating would that be!
What do you hope young trans and queer South Asians will feel when they see Period Parrrty on stage for the first time?
One of my favourite lines of the play is: ‘Bruv, a hundred Tamils in this house, I guarantee you’re not the only queer here.’ This was the spark for the show – the fact that I couldn’t be the only non-binary Tamil person in my community. I couldn’t be the only one who felt constrained and pressured by the gendered nature of the ritual. You can be trans or cis, and either way feel burdened by normative expectations of what a ‘woman’ should do or be. It’s what Maya Angelou said: No one of us can be free until everybody is free. I hope people feel that message in the play. And I’d love young South Asian trans and queer audiences to feel excited about imagining their own rituals, families, and futures.
The play balances comedy with themes of survival, family, and genocide—how do you navigate holding both lightness and weight in your storytelling?
Lightness and weight are so true to life. The fact that my family escaped the genocide of Tamils in Sri Lanka will always be the backdrop to how we move in the world. For many of us (not just Tamil people), events like the period party are powerful acts of cultural and community anchoring. They are evidence that our Tamil culture will outlast state violence, that we will keep realising our Tamil futures. At the same time, of course the kids at the period party will spill beetroot curry down their clothes and pretend it’s period blood. Of course Krish is going to ask their best mate to show them how a tampon works! These specific clowning moments are moments of lightness that happen in real life – in a way the period party writes itself!
How has your background as a poet shaped the rhythms, dialogue, and emotional texture of your debut play?
Poetry taught me to listen – to tone and silence, and the weight of each word. I hope that sensitivity carries into the play’s dialogue. In a poetry workshop, Laurie Bolger told us to try writing the way we actually speak. I voicenote a lot with my friends and family, so I listened to a lot of those, and with their consent, I typed out big chunks of conversation. That was a good starting point.
I’m interested in rhythm not just in how characters speak, but also in how moments land, the beats between lines, the quickening of pace when emotions peak. Poetry for me is also about conciseness, which has been invaluable in writing dialogue that is emotionally charged but not overwritten. I hope!
In what ways did collaboration with other creatives including director Gitika Buttoo help expand or challenge your vision of the play?
Making theatre is such a collective act. Before I even wrote the first scene of the play, writers like Akwaeke Emezi, Arji Manuelpillai and Priya Guns had had a big impact on the kind of story I wanted to tell. To centre Tamilness and transness, to not overexplain our culture, to weave the Tamil language into dialogue. Gitika has been hugely encouraging of this over the last couple of years in developing Period Parrrty. She’s a brilliant visual thinker – trading moodboards and voicenotes pre-rehearsals has been so useful in creating a shared vision/vibe. Often when I was worried about practicalities, she’d say something like: Write the scene you want to see. Then we’ll figure out if it can work on stage.
Can you tell us about the visual world of the show?
Our set designer Katie Scott is putting a physical world together which so far has surpassed all my expectations. It’s classic early 2000s teen romcom and very Tamil. Krish’s room, the period party, the school toilets – Katie’s vision for creating these spaces on stage really elevates the script. It thrusts us into Krish’s world and surprises us.
In the show, Krish is also discovering Tamil history as a non-binary 15 year old. They’re asking where they fit into it and start to build a queer Tamil archive. The way Katie’s got Krish to map this out visually is really exciting. It’s why this had to be a show rather than a novel or an essay!
As Period Parrrty moves from curiosity to stage, what has surprised you most about how audiences and collaborators respond to this story?
What’s beautiful to see is how people find echoes of their own lives in such a specific story. People who saw the work-in-progress a couple years ago say they can feel their awkward teen-rom-com selves in the show. Trans and queer people especially tell me about their reimagined traditions, the traditions they want to pass on. I love that the show starts all these conversations about how we want to build the future.
Currently we’re talking a lot in rehearsals about the 3 different love stories in the script – the one between best friends, the one between parent and child, and one between Krish and their future self. What’s surprising is that within this love story, against the backdrop of continued state violence, are these moments of lightness, clowning and euphoria. And the actors are brilliant at holding each layer at the same time!