In his debut play An Ordinary Muslim, Hammaad Chaudry dramatizes the place of a middle-class Muslim family in twenty-first century Britain. This family is at the crossroads of Britain and Pakistan (and India),  of secularization and Islam, and of tradition and modernization. The aching theme of belonging (and feeling like one does not belong) permeates the work.

Akeem (Sanjit De Silva) and Saima (Purva Bedi) are a middle-class educated married couple living in Hounslow in the Greater London Metropolitan Area. The year is 2011. They are attempting to navigate the intersections of all the cultural imperatives pulling on them, but they seem to be groping to a stronger embrace of their Muslim faith. Saima has decided to wear her hijab to work, while Akeem is up for a promotion at his bank despite the casual racism of his supervisor. They share a house with his more tradition-bound parents Akeel (Ranjit Chowdhry) and Malika (Rita Wolf), who are themselves struggling in marriage.

Chaudry nicely avoids the melodramatic paths his tale could take and focuses on the day-to-day psychological toll of what it means to be a Muslim at such a time and such a place. These characters struggle to arrive at an authentic place for themselves despite all the nets being thrown at them, and they suffer from their lack of authenticity. When do you push to express yourself truly? When do you hold back? How important is that higher end job, wealth, status? No one fully embraces an extreme position from where there is no turning back. Even David (Andrew Hovelson), the vaguely patronizing white liberal after he gets pushed to the limit, backs down rather than goes – as would happen in a drama of lesser nuance – full UKIP.

Akeem seethes with anger. The presentation of that anger, however, comes across as inconsistent, especially in the beginning of the second act. It is not clear where exactly he stands. As his wife says at one point, “You went from No Islam to Nation of Islam in about five seconds.” The structure of the play does not clarify that confusion, so as the audience we do not know if it is a product of his own turmoil or uncertain writing choices. In contrast, in the play’s coda, when the Akeem has no direction, we have a clear sense that that comes form the character.

Chaudry, however, is revelatory with the presentation of his female characters, particularly Saima and  her sister-in-law Javeria (Angel Desai). Their lives are presented in clear, sharp, and vibrant detail. Their performances fully convey their daily struggles in a society that may tolerate them as secular individuals but once the hijab goes on, all bets are off. They are flawed people with sexual needs and an articulated agency of their own. The emerging triangle between Akeem, Saima, and the Iman’s son Hamza (Sathya Sridharan) was a breath of fresh air that blew away stereotypes of a prudish religion. It is through the women that the play is most illuminating.

Jo Benney provides vibrant direction, particularly in multi character scenes where alliances shift quickly. As Chaudry continues to grow as a playwright, he will certainly build upon his gifts and better able portray the contradictory impulses that convulse a character like Akeem.