There are people who pivot. And then there’s Anu Vaidyanathan, who seems to collect new disciplines like dragon balls. Engineer. Ultraman Canada finisher. Filmmaker. Theatre artist. Standup comic. Podcast host in the works. And somehow, none of it feels like a side quest.

When we last spoke, Vaidyanathan was juggling comedy and theatre at the Edinburgh Fringe. This time around, she’s deep into Allegory, a more surreal, more layered hour that’s been slowly building since a work-in-progress run last year. In between Edinburgh Fringe plans, late-night gigs in Bengaluru and plotting a new podcast, she’s also rediscovering what it means to feel hungry as a performer again.

We caught up with her to talk about rebuilding a show from scratch, why standup still gets her vote over theatre, what Indian audiences taught her last year and why she never wants to feel like she’s “arrived.”

Let’s start with the tour. Which show are you currently travelling with, and how has it evolved?

So the latest show is called Allegory and it’s about taking down the fairy tale of being a woman. It’s a little bit surreal compared to my previous shows. In most of my previous shows it’s been purely observational comedy, but I think I’m trying a little bit of a different track here.

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Last year I started to workshop it at the Edinburgh Fringe. I was expecting to go in with a full show, but we had a bit of a tragedy in our family and I couldn’t get everything ready on time. In retrospect, that actually helped because I think I have a lot of fun experimenting and playing with my material as a comedian, and after your debut hour you kind of lose sight of that.

So it was good to break pattern, go to the Fringe with a work-in-progress and see that develop. From August last year to now, the show has been building itself bit by bit. I’m hoping to tape it in May, right before the Fringe. It won’t be a Fringe premiere, but it’ll be playing for 10 days at the Fringe from the 20th to the 30th of August. The final show will be there as well. That’s the plan, more or less.

Last time you were juggling multiple shows. Are you taking theatre back to the Fringe this year?

I have not given up on theatre because I love it. I run into a lot of actors because I make films, and our shared love is performance—that’s basically where we all started.

I am playing with a new theatre piece. I was just talking to my director about it yesterday. I’m not sure if I’ll take a work-in-progress to the Fringe this year. It’s something that I’m thinking about. But it’s definitely something I love doing.

Theatre is very different from comedy. The audiences are different, the feedback is different, the way it makes you feel in your body is also different because it’s not as light as comedy. It is slightly unexpected. I couldn’t have anticipated what that would bring.

If you had to choose—standup or theatre?

I love standup. That’s where my vote is.

Theatre, I feel, is always better with multiple characters. A single-person theatre piece is basically a Fringe speciality because it’s expensive to take a troupe. For me, theatre is better off with more characters, not less. It’s mainly because that’s the kind of theatre I grew up with.

But maybe I’m just a nerd. I like experimenting with form. Theatre sits in that experimental space for me. If I want to push an idea forward and can’t find a way to do it in standup, then maybe it ends up as theatre. The new theatre piece I’m working on uses lights and sound a lot more. And it’s different because using them for effect is not the same as using them as informational devices during a performance. So let’s see how that shapes up. But if you ask me what my preference is—it’s standup. Any day of the week.

You performed in India towards the end of last year—including Underground Comedy Club in Bengaluru. What was that like?

I’ll tell you something. As a mom, I have a bedtime that standup comedians would consider very silly. That bedtime for us is 8:30 because we have school the next morning. So late-night gigs are always like an Olympic gold medal for me—if I’m able to stay fully present, awake and deliver what I came to deliver.

My dirty secret is I dunk an espresso right before the set, warm up and go up. But in the last year I got off the coffee to regulate my sleep. So in Bengaluru, because it was a late-night show, I’m very eager to please the home crowd, so the pressure’s on.

The demographic was younger. I asked how many parents were in the room—one and a half people raised their hands sheepishly. After the show people would walk out and say, “Oh we are parents too,” as if it’s some underground secret society.

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But the show went really well. I loved it. I’ve come to understand how beautiful and diverse the Indian audience is. Obviously an English language comedian can go only so far in the country. But when I gig in Tamil or slip into Hindi, those are the times when I can see the laughter come from the belly rather than the face. I also performed to roughly 300 people in Delhi.

Those outings—especially Underground—were the highlights. I feel hungry again all of a sudden. You need those experiences to not sit in the comfort zone of “I’ve done the Fringe, I’ve done this.” I don’t think you should ever think you’ve arrived. But those two shows really made me realise that there is always room to innovate as a comedian. It was delightful to see that you can always find your audience if you just do your thing sincerely.

Does your parenting material translate everywhere? Or do you tweak it city to city?

I think that parenting isn’t super different across the globe, especially for working women. I’m a working mom. To afford my standup habit, I have to have paying jobs. You don’t land on your head and find a pot of gold waiting. That doesn’t happen in comedy. It takes years to find a room, get paid. As an engineer I’m a little spoiled in that sense.

Being a mother or parent is equally difficult anywhere in the world. There hasn’t been a blank stare in the room ever. That’s never been the issue.

Every room is specific. One night you may have a corporate crowd, another night an artsy crowd. So for me it’s about discovering what’s working that night. I’m not a crowd work comedian. I have to find the funny within my set for that night.

I’m also always curious about the city. I try to think of the things that stand out for me there. In the Nordics, for example, people leave strollers outside restaurants. And I’m thinking, oh my god, I wish I could have done that with my children. So I find those things and play with them. But I don’t generalise everything. That’s a death sentence as an artist. If you pander, you’re finished.

Did you catch any other Indian acts during your time here?

Not that night in particular but I did look up a lot of people online. In standup nowadays, you don’t have to be in the physical space to discover a new voice. And there are different subculteres in India for comedians to flourish in. The bigger discovery for me after Onkar was Gurleen Pannu. I also came across Shreya Priyam Roy’s work. Ashish Solanki also is very interesting. A teacher who became a comedian. He plays with these different parts of his life so well. Extremely sharp and funny.

I also caught Rahul Dua. I mean, watching him on stage, I was like, god. I felt like I’m half Punjabi after watching him perform. It makes you look within and makes you want to reach for more. It makes you think, this is a great bar.

There’s a rainbow of talent in India. Especially when you’re gigging in Hindi—you’re in business. These younger acts are very important, very significant, and very interesting.

You’re also working on a podcast. Tell us about that.

I’ve been working on this podcast called Glyph. The logo has been designed by Ahmed Sikandar. Brilliant guy. I love him to death.

Unlike my debut comedy hour, this podcast has really kicked my ass because of life being so tricky last year. That’s also the reason the podcast has been delayed. But we’ve had some really brilliant guests. It’s largely just portraits of artists. No pressure to be funny, no pressure to be serious. Honest conversations, done with a mother’s sensibility of frugality and curiosity.

I’ve interviewed mostly comedians so far, a writer and one filmmaker. There are more tracks planned. I do believe that between engineering and the arts, I think it takes far more courage to be an artist. It does take some amount of existential dread to survive as a scientist or engineer. But the arts are definitely more precarious, especially for women.

You were once a competitive triathlete. Any races lately?

No. I completely dread going to the gym like every normal human being. We still do adventurous rides with close friends. We’re not competing professionally anymore, but we find ways to challenge ourselves physically.

Triathlon felt political to me. It felt political to say I can do something fascinating with my body other than reproduce. That was important. Now sport is more like a coat you wear. It’s not prime time. But we still have passive-aggressive WhatsApp messages—“I ran two minutes faster than you.” And the other person says, “Yeah, I had indigestion.” So that part never changes.

Feature image courtesy: Chloe Desnoyers