
Harry Gill, Harpreet Sehmbi, Dharini Woollcombe, Harit Sohal, Kiran Kaur, Sarena Parmar, Sarabjeet Arora and Tia Sandhu in The Roof is Leaking | Photo by Cylla von Tiedemann
The Roof is Leaking is such a mundane statement. As a title for this story, it is ominously resonant, addressing a small though undeniably irritating problem that, if left unresolved, has devastating potential. Presented by Pleiades Theatre, this play by Sanskruti Marathe and Davinder Malhi invites us into the home of a Punjabi-Canadian family gathered to grieve the loss of a husband, father and brother. As they process his death and unpack their family dynamic amidst distressing revelations, confrontations abound.
That steady drip is there from the beginning, an irksome little portent that persists in Gurpreet Chana’s sound design and the pale blue spotlight that looms as an eerie fixture of Simran Kapoor’s lighting. Sandeep (Dharini Woollcombe) accepts it with the same resignation as the news of her husband’s fatal stroke. As family descend upon her, she bucks cultural tradition with her decision to divorce her late husband and free herself, postmortem, from an unhappy marriage.
Her eldest daughter, Jaspinder (Sarena Parmar), takes it upon herself to organize the funeral and corral the family. There’s her sister Meena (Tia Sandhu), with her emphatic, comically performative grief; Gurvir (Harry Gill), her layabout brother suddenly pressured to be “man of the house,” though unprepared for the burden; Arjun (Sarabjeet Arora), Sandeep’s brother-in-law, the most fervently traditional of the lot, holding desperately onto childhood memories of his brother and the patriarchal structure they grew up into; his wife Kiran (Kiran Kaur), a capable wife and mother, enthusiastically upholding tradition; her playful daughter Munni (Harit Sohal), the youngest and least wrapped-up in all the drama; and perhaps my favourite character, Sukhminder (Harpreet Sehmbi), a cool, middled-aged divorcee, ostracized from the family for living her best life on her own terms.
There are myriad tensions between them all, culminating in a mock trial during which Sandeep must convince the family that her divorce and liberation is justified, that her full personhood has been stifled by the oppressive influence of the man they are grieving. A cultural chasm between tradition and individuality divides them as they wrestle with his legacy and their continuing lives. Alcoholism, infidelity and deception figure into their complicated humanity.
Marathe and Malhi’s script, rife with insights, fluctuates smoothly between poignancy and broader, comedic moments. It falters somewhat, as does director Ash Knight’s otherwise naturalistic staging, when it veers into heightened lyricism and strained theatrical flourishes. Jackie Chau’s set (with scenic details painted by Alysson Bernabe), gives us a sense of this comfortable house falling into disrepair with three distinct areas—dining room, living room and serving hatch, all featuring cracks and water damage. I appreciate the symbolic mirroring of family dysfunction and physical disintegration, the theme of neglect; I had difficulty, though, vibing with the finale, which delivers a poetic, highly fanciful pay-off to the roof leak. I get it, I recognize the beauty and significance, but it’s rather clunky.
Overall, the cast and creative team achieve an authentic tension between cultural expectation and individual needs. Some aspects that left an indelible mark: Gurvir’s struggle to rise to the challenge of washing his dead father’s body and fully embracing his femininity, Sandeep empowering herself in a declaration of how much she sacrificed in the role of wife and mother, Sukhminder’s breezy and assertive presence within conflicting value-systems, Arjun’s patriarchal frustration resulting in a quick, though utterly revealing, violent gesture.
While I find that the lyrical elements could be finessed, The Roof is Leaking has well-drawn, persuasive characters existing in a very specific moment. Their conflicts ring true. As in life, not all clashes here are explicitly resolved, but those that are feel earned and emotionally honest.

