Nawaaz Makhani in bol, brown boy, bol | Photo by Christine Wu
Nawaaz Makhani has an ebullient, warm presence. bol, brown boy, bol, his autobiographical solo show, presented by CQC Arts and Blemme Fatale Production, is sincere and generous of spirit. It was easy for me to have palpable affection for him and the larger artistic project this show falls into—using music and storytelling to uplift individuals and build community. I found it a bit awkward to engage with, though, and the reason became apparent rather quickly: I don’t think I’m the ideal audience for it.
Though it doesn’t seem to be acknowledged as such, this is, in my estimation, more of a kids show. And that isn’t a slight. Children’s theatre is essential and I’ve seen productions that have achieved the highest levels of artistic and technical proficiency. But they do require aesthetic and tonal calibration that, while potentially entertaining for people of all ages, aren’t especially challenging for adults. Makhani’s performance—and they way he employs an array of nostalgic paraphernalia—falls into this format.
And this makes sense. Makhani is an educator. I think he and co-director Tiffany Wu could lean more fully into this aspect of bol, brown boy, bol.
Growing up an Ismaili Muslim (not “a smiling Muslim,” he clarifies, though he admits to being very cheerful!), he takes us through his life from childhood to now. Bollywood star Salman Khan features prominently, as does an endearingly cringey hip-hop persona where he speaks to us as his adolescent self might have, decked out in bling and a backwards cap.
He laments the familiar frustrations with family, lashing out against them as representatives of a culture that puts him at odds with his peers. Comments about him smelling like curry and asking where his “Paki dot” is are some examples of the teasing he endures at school, making him angsty with his parents and resentful of his sister’s popularity. She’s a good student and social butterfly, even her cultural inheritance is working out for her in the form of the kathak dancing she’s praised for.
Racism rears its ugly head in his professional adult life too, with an administrator outright diminishing his legitimate value by suggesting his visible minority status makes him “worth his weight in gold.” This condescending remark figures into a cacophonous sequence that represents the stressful spiral that leads to his mental health crisis. This veers into very adult circumstances, of course, but the vibes still seem skewed towards a younger crowd.
The tabla, an Indian percussion instrument, figures prominently. He gives us a tutorial on its construction, the techniques by which it produces its various sounds, and the intensive training to harness and internalize the rhythms. His relationship to the tabla feels like a unifying element in his life, though there are some important human bonds that enrich it too—most notably, there is his grandmother and a music guru who helped him find a way out of his depression through self-affirmation. This is, in many ways, a heartfelt tribute to them.
While this nostalgic and anecdotal account is quite lovely and has a satisfying musicality, many of the takeaways are a little too platitudinous for my taste. I don’t want to diminish the emotional weight of this for Nawaaz and the sincerity of his self-acceptance, but as a piece of theatre, in its current form, I truly believe that it could be most impactful for a youth audience.
bol, brown boy, bol
(speak, brown boy, speak)
May 20 to 24, 2026
Native Earth’s Aki Studio
(585 Dundas Street East)
75 minutes
Nawaaz Makhani in bol, brown boy, bol | Photo by Christine Wu