Authors’ Notes: Prev Reddy on Qualified Disappointment, growing up queer in a conservative household, and finding community through comedy

A Q&A with Prev Reddy

At what point in your life did you realise you had officially become a "qualified disappointment"?

There wasn’t one moment – it’s been a greatest hits collection, honestly. It started with being cast in my first musical in Grade 9. Then graduating film school. Then big roles, etc. Each time I achieved something that, growing up, I was quietly – and sometimes not so quietly – told wasn’t really on the cards for me... I felt it again.

It’s become my compass. Every time I accomplish something that my younger self had no business dreaming about, I know I’ve hit another one. A “qualified disappointment” moment. It’s almost like every milestone is a quiet rebellion.

What is your biggest hope for readers who currently feel like outsiders in their own homes?

Find your people. And I mean that with every fibre of my being.

My home life wasn’t a horror story. I had caring parents, a roof, people who loved me. And yet there was this part of me that desperately wanted to live freely, and just... couldn’t. Fear has a way of making even a loving home feel like a very comfortable cage.

So I found my people. In theatre, in high school, in every room I ever walked into where someone looked at me like I belonged there. I wasn’t even conscious of it – I just gravitated toward the people who made me feel like I could exhale.

Here’s what I’ve learned: confidence doesn’t come from within. Not first, anyway. It comes from being around people who allow you to be exactly who you are. And sometimes that family doesn’t share your last name or your address.

So if you’re reading this and your home feels like a waiting room for a version of yourself you’re not allowed to be yet, go find your oddballs. Your people.

‘Fear has a way of making even a loving home feel like a very comfortable cage.’

How different was the process of writing a full-length book compared to writing scripts for your comedy shows and sketches?

Oh, wildly different. And cheaper than therapy, which was an unexpected bonus.

With scripts and sketches, I’m always writing toward something: the punchline, the reveal, the laugh. There’s a finish line and I know where it is. With this book, I had to actually stay in the room. I had to delve further than I did in the script. Sit with the things. Resolve beyond the punchline. Which, for a comedian, is genuinely uncomfortable territory.

The one thing both have in common? I write first. No thinking, no second-guessing – I just go. Because when I have something to say, that part of me completely takes over and it’s really not worth arguing with.

But the reading back, that’s where it gets different. With a joke, I can call a friend, do a dry run, watch their face. With this... it’s so much more than a joke. I had to write it, close the laptop, and just trust. Trust that just like my comedy, it was going to land somewhere. Maybe make you laugh. Maybe make you cry in a parking lot. Hopefully both.

How did you balance staying true to yourself while growing up queer and ambitious in a conservative household?

I had two survival tools: my people and my passion. And I found my passion first, which, looking back, was the greatest act of accidental self-preservation I ever committed.

‘I was one of those kids who knew exactly what they wanted to be from an embarrassingly early age. No career counsellor needed.’

I was one of those kids who knew exactly what they wanted to be from an embarrassingly early age. No career counsellor needed. No ‘what do you want to be when you grow up’ anxiety. I was going to perform. Full stop. And I was doing it long before I had any concept of sexuality, or taboos, or what any of it meant. I was just this little ball of energy causing a scene, staging impromptu dance spectacles, absolutely certain that everyone in the room needed to be watching me.

So by the time hormones arrived and the real world started showing its complicated face, my passion had already done most of the heavy lifting. Because no one could ‘diagnose’ the performing in Nani’s shoes. It was just... Prev. ‘Oh you know him, always performing.’ And I’d smile and think, ‘Yes, exactly. You have no idea.’

It also meant I knew where my people were before I even fully knew who I was. The industry was always going to be home. So I made sure I got there as early as possible.

When did you first realise that humour was your best weapon against a world obsessed with appearances?

You know that age when everyone starts asking about girlfriends? And if you’re lucky, they stop there? I was the child who learned very quickly that the fastest way out of that conversation was a good deflection, and the best deflections came with a laugh. Say something funny, shift the energy, and suddenly nobody’s asking about me anymore. Crisis averted.

I didn’t have a word for what I was doing. I just knew it worked. Humour got me off the table. And once I realised that – that a well-timed joke could do what avoidance and subject changing never could – I started using it everywhere. Not just to dodge questions about girlfriends, or God forbid, my sexuality, but to navigate a world that had a very specific idea of what I was supposed to look like, sound like, be like.

It stopped being a defence mechanism and started being a craft. The same instincts – I just redefined them. Instead of saving myself from one uncomfortable dinner conversation, I’m now doing it on stage, in front of a room full of people who don’t even realise they’re being gently ambushed.

What does Aunty Shamilla honestly think about you exposing family secrets in a debut memoir?

Have you seen how crazy she’s been on social media since we announced? That’s honestly what she thinks.

I do, however, believe she has nothing to worry about. For once, this is about me and not her. ;)

What would the adult, internationally recognised Prev tell that young, glitter-loving kid back in Durban?

YOU DID IT!

And knowing how sassy that little boy was, he’d probably look me dead in the eye and go, ‘I’m not surprised. I am surprised, however, that you finally lost the weight. What’s the secret?’

I think about him a lot. Sitting on his single bed in Durban, walls absolutely plastered with posters of Disney stars, singing ‘I Want It All’ from High School Musical at full volume with zero shame. Fantasising about a life of sets and scripts, calls from managers and agents. Big stages, books. The whole thing.

He didn’t know it was possible, not really. Nobody in his world was handing out roadmaps for the life he was imagining. But something in his chest kept whispering, ‘Maybe for you. Just keep going.’

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Why read this: This moving and hilarious debut memoir offers a rare, unfiltered look into growing up queer, brown, and unapologetically ambitious within a conservative South African Indian household. Award-winning comedian Prev Reddy expertly charts his journey from a glitter-loving child in Durban to an internationally recognized stage performer, turning cultural taboos into a triumphant comedic craft. Ultimately, the book delivers an incredibly empowering message about breaking out of comfortable familial cages and discovering your true, chosen community.

If you're looking for: LGBTQIA+ stories, South African comedy books, queer South African Indian identity, Indian diaspora biographies, chosen family narratives, queer identities in traditional homes, Durban cultural stories, performing arts autobiographies. 

Great for fans of: Born a Crime by Trevor Noah, Look At Me: Recollections of a Childhood by Nataniël, and The Lost Love of Akbar Manzil by Shubnum Khan.

What the experts think:

• ‘Real. Raw. And kak funny. Prev’s debut memoir detonates (almost) everything in the
  closet.’ – DEVI SANKAREE GOVENDER
• ‘A warm, witty, and deeply resonant exploration of identity that dares you to dream bigger.’
  – TUMI MORAKE

Buy the book