⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ REVIEW: Second Trimester 📍Battersea Arts Centre, London

By Hamza Jahanzeb

Imagine this. The year is 2020, and the COVID-19 pandemic changes the course of life for people all around the world. Lockdowns, in all their various tiers, are starting to become the norm. Factor that, but also that you want, as a trans man, to tell your mother you would like to become a parent with your partner. That is exactly what Krishna Istha did, and Second Trimester is not a COVID-19 story, mind. Neither is it a story of being trans and the whole hoo-ha around the stirred-up culture war the UK legacy press is fixated upon (genitalia-obsessed weirdos, seriously) in order to relentlessly target the LGBTQ+ community.

Instead, what it is is a second in a trilogy of work looking at how live performance can be made with non-performers. What was genuinely striking was that this does not fall into stand-up comedy or open-mic territory. This is a real-life story of how you can fuse Hindi film cinema (Bollywood) traditions with the way in which this performance artist, as opposed to a mere actor, can put forward a luscious, well-considered and remarkably funny tale on a topic that often delves into the serious and quite upsetting.

For Krishna, his mother was to be told that he, as a trans man, wants to become a parent with his partner. I walked into the Battersea Arts Centre’s theatre space (having last seen Blue Beard by the Emma Rice company in the same venue), my eyes transfixed on the staging before me. The  circular, levelled stage with both son and mother watching TikTok videos seemed utterly inviting, the audience look on as audience members filtrated into their seats. What blared out of the speakers is Punjabi Hit Squad’s “Hai Hai,” and at once I felt at ease: I too am a child of immigrants, born and raised in Lancashire, and I carry with me that particular memory of being in my early teens and so ashamed of being Brown. The version of me in my 30s felt utterly seen; to hear that song welcoming me into the space was a warm embrace that I will not forget.

Through films like Sholay, Istha infuses in this piece – which I don’t want to give too much away about – replicates the iconic “Yeh Dosti” scene and a Lata Mageshkar (RIP) song throughout the piece; what transpires over ninety minutes is a warm and gentle invitation to the inter-generation story of a mother and her staunch love for her queer child. Bas.  When theatre often looks at hardship of being, then anything after is often not seen as being achieved. Yet in this production, trans and non-binary can see that it’s not all doom and gloom. Through vivid storytelling, their lives will at some point reach a happy turn. Yes, there are trials and tribulations but it’s about the mother’s own life. That is what makes this a genius piece, turning the spotlight on Geetha Shankar. She is, after all, making her debut in this performance.

The form of the play involves heavy use of video and projection design by idontloveyouanymore, and it proved thoroughly captivating instead of distracting. It complimented the bold, vibrating colours emulating from the cosy (and stylish) set design by Ting Huan and Christine Urquhart. There’s a degree of quirkiness that offers consistency: from Geetha’s beautiful maroon top (which she was impeccable at fixing when the bow became undone) but to the cowboy hats during a farcical scene “Cowboys and (South) Indians”/ a compact space for both mother and son, complete with a lime-green beanbag that allowed non-performer Geetha the chance to rest during three-minute ad breaks. The entire performance was relaxed in format, as stated by Istha at the start. The piece felt both fresh and vital, offering an inclusive narrative and defying any supposed social code that risks being exclusionary to disabled patrons and Neurodivergent viewers. More of that, please! What Istha does seamlessly is portion the story into a fictional version of Netflix (hilariously titled “Notflix”), affording Geetha the opportunity to recuperate after segments that are searingly personal and harrowing (so do take a moment too heed the production warnings). This frankness and openness brings a level of authenticity that means no two performances are alike, which in itself is quite clever. There is also a low-cost version of a smattering of moments where the Jamie Lloyd-esque camera work (which won Nicole Scherzinger an Olivier Award); some in the more rarefied corners of the theatre world (dahhlink) may find this a little trite, but I found it utterly charming. It also goes to show that you need not cast a star  to create a body of work that blends the video with the reality.

The precision with which Istha controls the video speaks to meticulous attention to detail. One particular highlight was the “Baby Krishna” sequence, alongside the scene in which Geetha dons her sunglasses while driving (I will leave the rest unexplained so as not to spoil it). This had the entire audience erupting with laughter, and the warmth of a parent’s love proved balm for the soul in such a fractious geo-political moment. Istha’s astute observation of the cisgender heterosexual couple landed perfectly, too. There is a line about a couple from that particular realm “trying” for a baby that earned considerable giggles. Istha is, it turns out, a very funny writer. Conversely, in the more serious scenes, an illusion of fire was so effectively realised that it stopped me short, and director Milli Bhatia’s golden touch is evident throughout: a tight, magnificently handled piece.

What this beautiful and exemplary work of theatre tackles, when you strip it back to the storytelling, is the question of choice. It is the choice to take the leap into becoming a parent with the person you love, and it is a choice everybody, regardless of orientation, sexuality or gender, deserves. That is what makes this captivating, slick, 90-minute show by performance artist Krishna Istha land on every right note. He performs alongside his real-life mother, Geetha Shankar, who is on stage throughout. Helmed by Olivier Award-nominated director Milli Bhatia, both creative forces (Istha also wrote the Series 4, Episode 3 instalment of Sex Education) weave together a story of resilience, chosen family and the life lessons that the generations who built the bedrock of our diaspora have to offer.

I will tell you exactly why this matters. In the British media, South Asian women over 50 have long been ridiculed for being accented, most notably embodied by Meera Sharma, played by Charu Bala Choksi, in the FatFighters sketches of Matt Lucas and David Walliams’ Little Britain. She is the perpetual target of mean-spirited character Marjorie Dawes’s contempt, and when the show aired I did not find it funny. I still do not. I don’t think comedy that punches down on racial skin tone, is really quite as clever as it thinks itself to be. It was, therefore, in Second Trimester, a refreshing, nuanced and welcome portrayal to see an accented woman in Geetha speak the English language without being reduced to cheap gags. It was also helped by the fact her delivery – by the Voice Coach Gurkiran Kaur – meant she was beaming, and convincing. I tip my hat to women like Asma Khan, chef-patron of Darjeeling Express, who makes a point of reiterating that she too speaks with an accent in her public appearances, precisely to dismantle those damaging stereotypes.

Go and see this show. Take tissues, and take a friend, loved one and/or family. It will be the cup half-full that will cheer you up to no end and the creator’s infectious charm  will certainly seep in your bone long after the curtain falls. I now simply need to catch up with the first instalment, which I can see is available to watch online, and make sure I am present for the third instalment of the ‘Trimester’ series lands. As is the case, when a human gives birth to baby. And that I hope, is as gentle, touching and momentous as this piece.

★★★★★

Hamza Jahanzeb is a writer, critic, and publishing consultant based in London. He is the author of The Rise and Rise of Chappell Roan (Hachette UK / Running Press, 2025) and writes on theatre, culture, and identity.