There comes a moment after every shore leave when a captain has to make a decision. Do you stay safely docked a little while longer, or do you trust the ship, trust the crew and set a course for the next adventure?
For a while, if I’m completely honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.
After three years of creating Khandan, and an intense ten-week development process that culminated in our premiere at Bradford Arts Centre, I thought all I needed was rest. But I’ve come to realise that rest isn’t as straightforward as I imagined, especially when you have ADHD.
My body was exhausted. Completely exhausted. Yet my brain had already set course for the next mission. July. Touring. Funding applications. New opportunities. The next production. It was as though my body had reached space dock while my mind was already halfway across the galaxy. That’s the challenge of living with ADHD. Rest doesn’t arrive simply because the calendar says it should.
During that time, Amanda asked me a simple question: “What does your care package look like?” Without thinking, I replied, “Rich.”
My fiancé has been my constant throughout this journey. He’s my safe harbour, my biggest supporter and the person who has seen every version of me throughout the making of Khandan. But after answering Amanda’s question, I realised something. As wonderful as Rich is, one person can’t be my entire aftercare plan.
Real aftercare has to be wider than that. It has to include friends, therapy, community, moments of joy, permission to rest and, perhaps most importantly, learning how to sit quietly with yourself once the noise finally disappears. I’m currently waiting to begin talking therapy, and that feels like another important part of looking after myself, not just as an artist but as a person.
When everything finally became quiet, I realised the weight I’d been carrying wasn’t actually the show.
It was family.
Performing Khandan every night meant revisiting parts of my own life over and over again. Once the performances stopped, those stories didn’t simply disappear. They stayed with me. I found myself thinking about my biological family, particularly my mum, and the quiet hope I still carry that one day she’ll find more freedom, happiness and peace.
As much as chosen family has transformed my life, it doesn’t erase the longing for where you’ve come from. That need for connection doesn’t simply disappear because you’ve built something beautiful elsewhere.
As a lifelong Star Trek fan, I kept thinking about Seven of Nine. Even after she was disconnected from the Borg Collective, there was still a pull towards what had once been home. That resonates with me. Standing in your truth doesn’t magically remove the desire to belong. It means choosing authenticity while still carrying hope for the people you love.
Somewhere in all of that reflection, something shifted.
Not because I’d suddenly found all the answers, but because I’d finally stopped moving long enough to hear the questions. The weight on my chest became lighter, and with that came something I hadn’t felt for a few weeks.
Excitement.
Excitement to rehearse again. Excitement to play. Excitement to take Khandan into a completely different environment at Happy Valley Pride in Hebden Bridge. This won’t be a traditional theatre. It’s a cabaret setting with a different audience, a different atmosphere and a completely different energy. That’s exciting because every new audience teaches me something about the work.
One of the biggest realisations I’ve had is that Khandan is still in its infancy.
The script is written, but the performance is still evolving. Every time I step on stage I discover something new. A joke lands differently. A pause becomes more powerful. A moment breathes in a way it didn’t before. The rhythm sharpens. The storytelling becomes clearer. The show is finding its own voice just as I’m continuing to refine mine as an artist.
That’s the beauty of live theatre.
The audience doesn’t just receive the work; they shape it. Every performance leaves fingerprints on the piece. Touring isn’t simply about repeating the same show in different venues. It’s about allowing the work to continue growing, adapting and discovering what it wants to become.
I’ve always believed that the work should speak for itself.
As we begin this next chapter, I’m learning that my job isn’t to chase audience reactions or second-guess every moment. My job is to tell the story truthfully, invite audiences into my world and trust that the work will do the rest. That’s a lesson I think will stay with me throughout this tour.
I’ve also been reflecting on why I make theatre in the first place.
As a queer British Pakistani artist, there have been times when I’ve felt like I’ve had to work twice as hard just to be seen. There have been moments throughout my career where my generosity has been taken advantage of or where I’ve questioned whether I truly belonged in the room. Those experiences stay with you.
But they’ve also strengthened my artistic integrity.
I’ve never wanted to be the loudest voice in the room. I’ve wanted the work to be the loudest voice. That’s why I pour everything into it. Every rehearsal, every rewrite, every conversation with my collaborators is driven by a desire to make the work the very best it can be.
Because the work matters.
It heals.
It starts conversations.
It creates belonging.
As I look ahead, I also find myself thinking about legacy.
Not legacy in the grand sense, but in the community sense.
I’d love Khandan to become a published play one day. Perhaps it’ll become a television series. Perhaps a film. But more than anything, I’d love a young queer British Pakistani actor to pick up one of my monologues while preparing for an audition at drama school and think, “That sounds like someone who understands me.”
There simply aren’t enough queer South Asian voices in published plays, and if my work can become part of that growing canon, then I’ll know I’ve contributed something meaningful.
So tonight I find myself back in my ready room.
The systems are online.
The engines are warming.
My crew are gathering.
Happy Valley Pride is waiting.
The stars are waiting.
And for the first time since Bradford, I can honestly say…
I’m ready.
Captain’s Log.
Shore leave complete.
Course laid in for Happy Valley Pride.
Helm… engage.
🖖🏽
Sid Akbar
Captain, Dhamaka Arts
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