The Wrong Bashir: the tragedy and glory of the immigrant suburban dream
1 Jun 2024 - Photos by Dahlia Katz

The Wrong Bashir mixes a immigrant saga with a family sitcom by way of classic farce. The action is set in motion when Najma (Nimet Kanji), a frazzled housewife who wields a mean dustbuster, finds out that her son, Bashir (Sharjii Rasool), has been selected to be a student mukhi. Though the actual definition of a mukhi doesn't matter, we make the leap that it is a religious position of great social import, it gives a cultural specificity to the proceedings that elevates it slightly above dinner theatre fare. The son, Bashir, is a slacker who has dropped out of university to pursue a career, so far spectacularly unsuccessfully, in podcasting. His podcast deals with philosophical issues—the excerpts are hilarious as are the reactions of the religious elders who hear it—and he hasn't been to a mosque in years. Najma and her husband, Sultan, are delighted that their son is getting this honour. Bashir is initially horrified. More family members arrive after hearing the good news, gossip travels fast, and two mosque elders, Vijay Mehta and  Parm Soor, realize that a mistake has been made: they have The Wrong Bashir.

Sultan, played by Sugith Varughese (Animal Farm, Little Pretty and the Exceptional), is initially an amiable, bumbling dad. As his back story is teased out, and his conflict with Bashir is explained, we are given a perspective on immigration. His story, driven from Uganda by Idi Amin and not knowing where they were going "until we were in the air," dovetails with that of the grandfather Dadabapa (Salim Rahemtulla). Dadabapa suffers from Alzheimer's and frequently wanders off, a plot device that surfaces just when expected. Varughese delivers a wonderfully impassioned speech about how he gave up his dreams so that his children could have anything they can dream of. That he was "not the architect of my life" in order that they can be. And he asserts that he doesn't want praise for his sacrifice, "You don't ever say thank you to family." He did what he had to in order to have the satisfaction of being included in selfies with his daughter Nafisa (Bren Eastcott) who is, naturally, wise beyond her years, learning to straddle tradition and modernity. Varughese's character arc, or revelations, become the heart of the play and its emotional core.

The set is a work of art, so realistic and cluttered that we believe a family lives here. As the deceptions and misunderstandings escalate, it becomes necessary to separate groups of characters and director Paolo Santalucia (Prodigal, Orphans for the Czar, Four Chords and a Gun, Bed and Breakfast, La Bete, Animal Farm, The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?, Mustard, The Taming of the Shrew) does so with lights unsubtly designating where the action is and leaving the rest in darkness. Sometimes it works, sometimes it draws attention to itself pulling the audience out of the action. The script by Zahida Rahemtulla is full of one-liners and gentle humour. Pamela Mala Sinha, as an undefined member of the family attached to the grandmother Zaittun Esmail, is hysterical as the bitchy instigator who uncovers the truth. She also wrings incredible laughs from plastic storage containers. These are comedic performances pitched at the back row, Soor's physical comedy borders on contortion. Every possible stereotype is mocked at least once. It is the main curiosity of this production, are we laughing with these people or at them? The latter feels uncomfortable.

But the important thing is that we are laughing. The theatre shook at times with gales of laughter as the audience recognized either culturally specific references, or ones familiar to all families. Rahemtulla pens some very funny lines with Najma telling Bashir, twice, that "You finally moved home. We love it when you run out of money." Bashir, a bit of a cypher in the midst of the familial chaos, has named his podcast The Smiling Nihilist, an emphatic dig at the ennui of having been given everything. The grandfather stirs from his fog long enough to bestow lengthy blessings, while Bashir, the designated mukhi, is unable to recall the words of a basic prayer. And in the midst of the farcical family dynamics, Mehta and Soor volley a two-handed vaudeville act spoofing bureaucracy with Soor gleefully announcing that their mosque was "nominated as the religious community with the most committees in all of Canada. The federal government would be envious." It is the specifics that elevates the tropes—the ingredients of chai, the handling of leftovers, the father driving a TTC night bus, Bashir having a Sartre poster for the grandfather to find—above another comic examination of the tragedy and glory of the immigrant dream, the universal suburban dream.