Breaking Moulds: How South Asian Creatives In The UK Are Redefining Belonging.

A Rare Reflection On Screen

Growing up, moments of South Asian visibility on mainstream British TV were so rare that when a South Asian person appeared on screen, the whole family would gather around, invested in that fleeting moment of recognition. I remember Anita Rani and the characters Sanjay and Gita from EastEnders were among the few familiar faces. For many years later, not much had changed.

For decades, South Asians in the UK have been steered toward careers in medicine, law, finance, and tech. According to UCAS data, nearly 30% of UK medical students are Asian whilst only 4.8% of professionals in the UK film and TV industry identify as South Asian. It’s clear that stability has long been prioritised over creative expression. I remember hearing Sanjeev Bhaskar tell an anecdote where he recalled being five years old when an Uncle asked him what he wanted to be when he was older. “An actor”, he replied. His father swiftly jumped in to correct him, “It’s pronounced doctor”. That sentiment defined a generation. For our parents, security was everything. They left behind homes, languages, and communities to build stable, respectable lives in a foreign country. Having left so much behind, they didn’t have the luxury of risk. The arts? That wasn’t a career, it was a gamble that would be too great to take.

But things are shifting. While financial stability still matters, it’s no longer the only measure of success. More of us are seeking meaning in our work, and for many, that means embracing creativity. No longer dismissed as a luxury, creative expression has become a powerful form of storytelling and self-definition. We’re now seeing South Asians succeed on a scale that once seemed unattainable. Those early pioneers in British comedy - like the cast of Goodness Gracious Me - didn’t just entertain, they created space where there was none. When there are no examples, you build the path as you walk it. South Asians in the arts have done just that, showing those who follow that the road exists at all.

Building Belonging Through Visibility

I remember being at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2019 and watching Aditi Mittal perform stand-up comedy. She was a new name to me at the time, but seeing a South Asian woman on stage felt hugely significant. The crowd was about a hundred people strong, and I could count the number of South Asians in the audience on one hand. Back then, South Asians in comedy were few and far between. Today, the landscape looks very different. It's not just on stage - we’re now appearing in more mainstream TV shows and films, and in roles that aren’t just based on stereotypes. My own personal favourite? Seeing Varada Sethu as Belinda Chandra in Doctor Who, a show I was glued to as a child. Had I seen myself represented on that screen, who knows what might have been sparked inside me.

In recent years, I’ve watched an incredible wave of South Asian talent emerge - comedians, chefs, presenters, directors, musicians, authors and more - each finding their voice and their audience. Their presence is reshaping what’s possible, and making it harder to dismiss creative careers as pipe dreams.

While South Asian visibility in the arts is growing, I expect that the industry still suffers from the same systemic exclusions found elsewhere. Across creative fields, diversity often stops at surface level representation. Film, theatre, and television have prized outward appearance over authenticity, favouring aesthetics that fit a fit. In this context, people of colour have historically been excluded, their stories sidelined or filtered through stereotypes. Even now, access to decision-making roles -  writers’ rooms, directorial positions, commissioning teams - likely remains limited for South Asians.

Theatre in particular has seen a welcome rise in South Asian talent. I am especially enjoying the initiative by Soho Theatre in London who are championing South Asian artists and perspectives across UK and India. This means, not only are there greater opportunities for more of us to be on stage, but there are more of us in the audience too - we buy tickets when we relate to the stories being told.

Comedy, too, has become a powerful vehicle for truth-telling. South Asian comedians are making their mark successfully and unapologetically. They’re not only shattering career stereotypes, but also holding up a mirror to both our communities and the societies we live in. Through humour, they tackle cultural taboos, unpack family dynamics, and challenge the pressure to be perfect. Blending sharp commentary with personal vulnerability, they invite us to laugh at what once felt too heavy to name, and in doing so, help us understand ourselves a little more clearly.

Still Fighting For Space

But visibility isn’t the full story. Beyond theatre and comedy lies something deeper: a quiet yet powerful shift in how we understand belonging. For many South Asians, success has long been tethered to sacrifice, the kind made in migration, in silence, in choosing safety over dreams. And for those choosing the arts, that weight lingers. It’s not just the work that must speak for itself, but the very decision to do the work at all.

Choosing a creative path means challenging long-held beliefs that view a career in the arts as unstable or impractical. It’s to walk away from the comfort of predictability and toward something unsteady, something your family might not understand. The doubts don’t just come from the outside world, they often echo from within our own homes. Family approval, so often seen as the ultimate marker of success, can feel out of reach when the path you’ve chosen doesn’t follow tradition. The emotional toll is heavy;  the solitude of carving out your own path, the quiet ache for validation in a language your elders may never speak. That space between fulfilment and duty, between who you are and who you were expected to be, is a tender place to live.

Still, many do. They stand firm with intention. For South Asians in the arts, resilience becomes a quiet defiance. It means stepping outside the limits of expectation and shaping success through authenticity, not approval. It means building a space where we belong rather than waiting for it, and perhaps the real shift lies in knowing your worth is not something to prove, it’s something you already carry.

The Emotional Cost Of Being Seen

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about South Asian culture is the sense of collective pride. Our values of support and community run deep. When someone succeeds, it’s not just their win—it belongs to the wider community. I hope that spirit continues in industries where diversity is still catching up. That no one pulls the ladder up behind them, but instead reaches back, offering support, mentorship, or simply saying: you belong here too.

As a therapist who works with South Asian clients navigating questions of identity, belonging and burnout, I’ve seen firsthand how creativity can both heal and expose. For those in the arts, especially from underrepresented backgrounds, the emotional labour of being visible can be immense. It’s why I believe mental health support shouldn’t be an afterthought in the creative industries, it should be embedded. Not just to prevent crisis, but to sustain creative freedom.