The British actor on his memoir, ‘Both Not Half’, which challenges the notion of being ‘half’ of two cultures, and advocates for a more inclusive understanding of identity
Historically, Indian hybrids were seen as intermediaries that kept India in British hands and upheld colonial hierarchies, but British actor-producer-filmmaker Jassa Ahluwalia’s recent memoir, Both Not Half: A Radical New Approach To Mixed Heritage Identity (HarperCollins), attempts to subvert this totalising notion. He challenges the notion of being ‘half’ of two cultures, advocating for a more inclusive understanding of identity as a complex blend of various influences. He writes about his life with intimate honesty, rejecting derogatory labels like ‘half-caste’ and emphasizing the importance of embracing all aspects of one’s heritage. The memoir captures Ahluwalia’s artistic journey, influenced by his Punjabi roots and his mother’s artistic sensibility. It also highlights his struggle and eventual triumph in defining his identity. In this interview to The Federal, Ahluwalia (33) — known for Some Girls (BBC television series), Peaky Blinders (HBO series), The Whale (film) and Art Attack (children’s show) — reveals how his book gestated over time and offers valuable insights into his writing process. Excerpts:
What do you think it does, the act of documenting a life, particularly for people with mixed heritage like yourself?
I think it’s an act of devotion, both to oneself and the forces that shape us. It transforms disparate events into a cohesive narrative, a story that offers insight and reveals truths. The journey of Both Not Half began with me simply trying to figure out how various moments in my life were connected. That process evolved into a question, ‘Who am I?’ And in trusting the process, I was able to find an answer. I was able to find myself.
What shaped your artistic sensibility? The environment you describe would seem to naturally foster one.
So much of my work appears, on first glance, to be heavily influenced by my Punjabi heritage. And it is. But my artistic sensibility was undoubtedly instilled by my mother. She trained as an artist and runs an interior design studio. I grew up surrounded by paints, fabrics and antiques. Every brass curiosity on the mantelpiece, leatherbound book or framed print inspired my imagination. I learned to respect art and my own creative impulses from a beautifully young age.
As Both Not Half releases, the subject matter has become very universal. Is that how you conceived the book?
I did, yes. I say in my TEDx talk, ‘none of us are half anything, all of us are both something’. We are all whole and multiple beings. But I didn’t really appreciate how much I felt that to be true until it came to writing the book. I knew, for example, that I wanted to discuss social inequality, but my original plan was to write about this from the perspective of mixed class identities. When it came to it though, I discovered that what Both Not Half had truly taught me was that social hierarchies, like racial hierarchy, can be challenged and dismantled. The resulting chapter is an impassioned and universal polemic against economic injustice, drawing attention to our need for solidarity and collective action in the face of all oppression.
In the memoir, you talk about deeply intimate things. Were you in a dilemma about whether to include sensitive truths or not?
The question was really, simply, ‘who am I?’ It’s a deeply intimate question, and one that the book prompts readers to ask themselves; it was inevitable really that I would be dealing with sensitive truths. But deciding what to include came down to the story. Was revealing a particular detail in service of my journey of self-discovery and transformation? Was my vulnerability inviting the reader to be honest with themselves? If the answer was yes, it invariably meant that I had found peace with whatever it was I was discussing, and so sharing it didn’t feel scary. In fact, it felt necessary and joyful.
Was there ever an element of insecurity to tell your story? What were you afraid of? What did the process look like?
My first attempt to write Both Not Half came from a place of ego and deep insecurity about my worthiness as a writer. I felt like I had to author the definitive book on the mixed experience. I felt like I had to provide answers and prove my value in order to be accepted. I was terrified of failing. I imagined that to fail would be to remain forever lost. But I did fail. In March 2022, I was struggling to complete a single chapter and I was forced to re-evaluate my approach. I stopped trying to write a book for other people, and started writing for myself. I stopped pretending to be an academic, and embraced what I am: a storyteller.
You are constantly in dialogue with other writers. You often use quotes. What kind of purpose do they serve?
After I realised that my book was a journey into the unknown, to be in dialogue with other writers seemed like a very natural choice. I was looking for guidance and answers. And I also wanted to invite readers to enter into those conversations, to ask questions of their own. I suppose using quotes ensures a degree of transparency about my own thought processes as well. That’s the heart of it really. I didn’t want to just share what I understood to be true, I wanted to share how I had arrived at that understanding. Using quotes also meant I was far less likely to misrepresent other people’s work.
What has been your encounter with Punjabi literature like?
It’s been quite limited to be honest. My only real engagement thus far has been with Sikh texts, like the Guru Granth Sahib, or snippets of poetry by Bulleh Shah. But these encounters have been deeply meaningful and formative, which is why they appear as epigraphs. I’m really looking forward to deepening that knowledge over the coming years.
At one point in Both Not Half, you talk about the function of an Indian hybrid. That ‘fluid childhood must lead to fixed adulthood.’ How do you engage with this statement?
‘Fluid childhood must lead to fixed and bordered adulthood’ is my own interpretation of Rudyard Kipling’s work. I think it’s actually quite a commonly held view: that growing up is all about becoming defined and finite. But I’ve come to reject this idea. The real work of life, as I see it, is to grow older and wiser by remaining connected to our vast potential to imagine and reimagine ourselves.
You recount being recognised as your parents’ lover before being recognised as their child and many other jarring experiences that shaped you. How did you ultimately get to the core of the experience in your writing?
I knew I had experienced jarring moments, but I didn’t really know what the function of those stories would be in the overall narrative. My breakthrough came from realising that those moments only had meaning because I had grown up without any sense of incongruity. I realised that that was the core of my experience: feeling whole and totally at ease as a child.
Assimilation has always been seen in a bad light. But in your case, the decision to embrace both heritages is a case both for and against it. What is your take on this? Where do you draw a line?
I think there’s a false binary at play here — assimilation vs separation — which comes from a mindset that views identities and cultures as static and fixed in time. It’s not a zero-sum game, there are no winners and losers. We are constantly evolving, and always have been, both as individuals and as societies. I refuse to draw a line. I prefer to embrace the process.
How can positive and accurate representation (in literature, cinema etc) of individuals from a mixed heritage such as you contribute to broader societal acceptance and understanding? Do you think there’s an ‘accurate’ representation?
The answer is in the question: representation. The arts reflect, and help us to understand who we are. If certain people are being excluded from those stories, it invariably means they are being marginalised within our societies. Mixed heritage people are an incredibly diverse demographic, that this is not well understood is down to a lack of representation. When you have representation, accuracy follows.
What unique forms of discrimination or privilege have you encountered due to the intersectionality of your identities?
I think the most unique privilege I have is the platform I have been afforded to share my story. Both Not Half is really no different from anyone else’s search for home and belonging. I hear from so many people who recognise themselves in my journey, but I went viral and continue to be celebrated largely because I am a white man who happens to speak fairly decent Punjabi. I think that’s quite revealing.
