‘Santi & Naz’ explores the story of two young women—one Sikh, one Muslim—who in 1945, struggle against forces threatening to separate them. Santi and Naz are inseparable best friends, preoccupied with stealing books, swimming in the lake, and spying on the local heartthrob. Yet, as social unrest deepens and communities fracture, neither fully grasps how their religions will divide them, having lived harmoniously side by side.
When Naz is betrothed to a tailor in Rawalpindi and her feelings for Santi grow complicated, the girls face a crossroads with devastating consequences. Santi & Naz delves into the postcolonial legacy, offering a fresh lens on female friendship, coming of age, and coming out.
As the play prepares to tour at Soho Theatre starting January 21, writer Guleraana Mir, Executive Director at The Thelmas, spoke to Asian Voice about the production’s backdrop, its exploration of nuanced themes, and the significance of representation in theatre.
What inspired you to tell the story of Santi & Naz, set against pre-Partition India and highlighting untold women's histories?
The inspiration for Santi & Naz came from a conversation between myself and Madelaine, the artistic director of the Thelmas. Early on, we discussed the kind of work we wanted to create. With the 70th anniversary of Partition approaching, I felt a strong desire to create something set during that period. However, I didn’t want it to be a straightforward recounting of the historical events. Madelaine had always wanted to explore the intense, sometimes undefinable nature of teenage female friendships—relationships where the lines blur and their meaning becomes ambiguous. We decided to combine these ideas by telling the story of two teenage girls—one Muslim and one Sikh—living in a part of Punjab on the verge of being divided. Additionally, around the time, I was working on a project at SOAS, University of London, and took a course about Partition. I realised how women’s stories from that period were largely untold. From the outset, the audience knows the girls cannot stay together because of the impending Partition. Yet, their bond and love drive them to do whatever it takes to stay united. Their friendship remains the heart of the story.
How did you ensure authenticity at every step of the way, addressing the complexities of colonial history and religion, while staying true to the characters?
We conducted extensive research to ensure authenticity, drawing from a wealth of material about Partition's events, decisions, and key figures. Resources included Partition Voices by Kavita Puri and academic history. During my time at SOAS, I connected with Eleanor Newbigin, a historian of modern South Asia, who joined the project to fact-check and ensure cultural accuracy. We also examined political leaders like Gandhi, Nehru, and Jinnah; and the deeper we explored, the more we saw their human flaws. The inspiration stemmed from creative works such as Howard Brenton’s Drawing the Line and Viceroy’s House, with the goal of creating something that diverged from their British-cantered perspective. Our goal was to create a story that felt authentic to the diaspora, reflecting their history and identity in a deeply personal way.
What are your thoughts on South Asian representation in theatre and storytelling?
Representation is improving, and I’m proud of the emerging generation of South Asian artists making the most of limited opportunities. However, a common challenge for writers of colour, including South Asians, is moving beyond identity politics. Many feel compelled to write about personal experiences, often focused on challenges like strict parents, arranged marriages, or struggles with cultural identity. While these stories are important, they risk limiting representation to stereotypes.
I hope to see South Asian artists embrace more nuanced, universal narratives, showcasing our layered histories and experiences. With companies like Tamasha and Tara Theatre supporting diverse voices, there’s potential for growth and I’m optimistic about a future where South Asian stories transcend boundaries and reflect their full richness.
About the friendship between two people from different religions, did you worry at any point, that this portrayal might face some reservations from audiences?
Yes, I think so. There are two key aspects to consider here. Firstly, people often forget that at one point, everyone coexisted quite harmoniously in the vast and diverse subcontinent of India, home to many ethnicities. The play serves as a reminder that at one time, we lived in harmony, and it's propaganda that drives division. For instance, we have the character of Ravel, aligned with Hindu nationalism, distributing pamphlets advocating “Hindustan for Hindus.” Later, there’s a moment when Santi, the Sikh character, says something deeply offensive about Muslim men. It’s jarring, and we deliberated for a long time on whether to include it. It’s uncomfortable and elicits an audible reaction from the audience, but that discomfort is intentional. The point is to show how propaganda and violence can rapidly shift people’s perceptions—even about friends they’ve lived alongside for years. It’s a cautionary tale about the fragility of unity and the power of rhetoric to disrupt it.
As you bring these underrepresented narratives to the forefront, what do you hope the audience takes away from them?
At its heart, the play follows two friends coming of age amidst political upheaval in a rural Indian town. It explores their self-discovery in a setting where they lack voice, agency, and avenues for self-expression. For Naz, finding a magazine that reflects her feelings for her friend becomes a transformative moment, capturing the beauty and complexity of love and friendship.
The play offers layered takeaways. It celebrates the universality of love and friendship while spotlighting a neglected chapter of history—Partition—as a critical piece of British, not just Indian, history. It challenges the audience to consider how Britain's past shapes present issues like immigration and its consequences.
Though not a history lesson, the backdrop underscores how power-driven decisions disrupt lives, inviting reflection on the enduring impact of history on contemporary realities.
