Bridging the Hyphens: Celebrating Meera Syal’s Cultural Impact

There are conversations that pass through you, and then there are conversations that hold you and hit something real — they reach into your story and remind you you're not the only one. Listening to actor, screenwriter and author Meera Syal CBE and McCann WorldGroup global CSO Harjot Singh at the IPA Talent & Diversity Conference for a fireside chat, was just that. As an Indian immigrant woman navigating the hyphens of British identity, I’ve often stood at the intersection of cultures—not confined by one, but fortunate enough to be shaped by both. And embracing that in-betweenness not as limitation; but a radical act of self-definition. To listen to Meera Syal and Harjot Singh was to remember that the margins are not always quiet — they are where the most vital, messy, necessary stories begin.

And it mattered when they talked about Partition - the 1947 division of British India into two independent nations: India and Pakistan. It was a rushed and violent process that led to the displacement of over 14 million people and the deaths of millions. For advertising and marketing, it's vital to understand why stories like Partition matter. These narratives matter not just for cultural accuracy but for emotional truth. In the UK, Partition is still barely taught in schools, yet it shaped the migration stories of millions.

The conversation between the two has been reproduced below.

What they both offered in this dialogue was more than reflection; it was reclamation - reclamation of voice, of narrative, of space. She spoke of code-switching and invisibility with an unflinching honesty, echoing the stories of so many of us. It was also an important conversation for our industry that is realising that humour isn’t just a creative indulgence – it’s a commercial multiplier. Syal said that for her humour isn’t just survival — it’s resistance, it’s power, it’s truth told sideways.

And the conversation also stood out because Singh asked the kind of questions you won’t find answers to on Meera Syal’s Wikipedia page. Let's not forget as the global CSO at McCann, Singh brings an instinctive understanding of people, power, and purpose to the table. In an industry that often chases noise, Singh is known for listening for the truth. Quietly brilliant, fiercely strategic — he is, quite simply, one of the most defining planning minds of our time.

The following conversation between Singh and Syal was stitched together with humour and tenderness — and an urgent call to keep creating and to keep pushing. She named the things we often feel but don’t say; and that legacy is not marble statues or column inches, but perspectives that continue to change and reclaimed stories reminding us that we all belong.

Following is the transcript of the fireside chat.

Harjot Singh: Good afternoon, good people. It’s a privilege to be standing here today—on a stage where so many brilliant minds have already spoken—though I did check backstage and, no pressure, but apparently this is the bit everyone's been waiting for. But honestly, I get it. Because we’re about to sit down with someone who has done the near-impossible—she’s made generations of us laugh at ourselves, think about the world differently, and question why our aunties are always fighting over who made the lamb curry better.

This conference—Unity: Moving Everyone Forward—is about progress with purpose. It's about refusing to leave anyone behind, especially those whose stories have too often been edited out, diluted down, or subtitled incorrectly.

And when we talk about unity—not as a buzzword but as a brave, sometimes uncomfortable, but always necessary act—we have to talk about voice. Who gets to be heard. Who gets to be funny, wise, angry, complex. And who gets to be fully seen.

Meera Syal has spent her career breaking down those barriers with wit, compassion, and a sharp pen. She has shown us that our hyphens—British and Asian, woman and warrior—are not divides. They are bridges. She didn’t just represent us on screen—she reflected us. The complexity. The contradictions. The WhatsApp family drama. The joy. And she’s done it with such elegance that sometimes we forget how radical it was.

As someone who grew up watching her on screen, I stand here not just as a host, not just as a strategist, not just as a British Asian man—but also as someone who knows the power of seeing yourself in someone else’s light. Please join me in welcoming the iconic, the hilarious, the boundary-defying—Meera Syal CBE.

Harjot Singh: I said this to you—I’m not going to ask anything that’s already on Wikipedia. So when I was doing my research, I stopped at something you once said: that storytelling is one of the most political acts. Your storytelling, Meera, has always insisted on complexity—on being fully human, not just a type or trope. Did you always know that laughter could be political? That one day it might become your sharpest tool?

Meera Syal: I think yes, I realised it quite early on—mainly because I was often the only one.

I grew up in a little mining village in the West Midlands, and we were literally the only Asians there. Then at school, maybe three Asian kids. At university, I was the only woman of colour in the entire arts department—which is wild, considering this was Manchester. But of course, all the Asians were studying pharmacy or medicine. Nobody was doing anything creative.

So if I was going to survive, I had to shape-shift. As a first-generation kid, you’re code-switching constantly. Inside the house, I was the good girl, no Midland accent. Outside, I talked like this, hung out with white girls, tried to fit in—it was a schizophrenic existence. No wonder so many of us turned to creativity. We were learning the tools all the time. And what worked best, I found, was humour. Because comedy is a powerful weapon—you’re absolutely right.

If you're old enough to remember sitcoms from the '70s like 'Mind Your Language' or 'It Ain’t Half Hot Mum', we were always the butt of the joke. We were never the ones making the jokes. Then you'd go to school and have that stuff repeated back at you. It was rough.

Look at the mainstream BBC shows back then— 'The Black and White Minstrel Show' was Saturday night entertainment. That was the world I grew up in. You felt invisible. I certainly did. I didn’t see anyone like me on screen.

Then we did 'Goodness Gracious Me'. Suddenly, we had the power of the punchline. We could joke about ourselves and the host community. And that’s when barriers began to break. Because if you want to start a dialogue, humour is so much more effective than a lecture.

Harjot Singh: Exactly. It’s powerful. But do you think people—especially those with experience or in positions of influence—truly understand how political comedy from marginalised voices can be?

Meera Syal: I think comedy’s in a healthy place at the moment. So many stand-ups now of all races, genders, and backgrounds. Social media's helped too—people are building audiences outside the mainstream system.

But public life? We’ve forgotten what comedy can do. There’s a comedian I love, he said: “A joke is a pleasure grenade.” All the things we’re afraid to talk about—sex, death, race, religion—they’re all inside this attractive little package. You’re tempted in by a laugh, but that laugh releases a kind of tension that normal dialogue just doesn’t.

We don’t have enough public spaces where people feel comfortable talking honestly about race, age, sexism. We’re suppressing so much. And because of that, we’re not moving forward.

Harjot Singh: That’s it. People don’t want to have the hard conversations.

Let’s shift a bit to the industry we’re in. You’ve worked across formats, platforms, and generations, but I still think the creative industries are guilty of celebrating diversity while keeping power in the same hands. What needs to really change? How do we go from tokenism to true transformation?

Meera Syal: It’s about representation at the decision-making level. At the table.

Take theatres. There’s a South Asian artistic director now at a major venue. She’s making bold programming choices, and the fact that she has the power to do that means audiences will see new stories, and their minds will expand. That kind of shift —10 years ago, it wouldn’t have happened.

That same change needs to happen across the BBC, in commissioning, in drama and comedy. Inclusion can’t just be about who’s in the canteen—it has to be about who’s in control.

Harjot Singh: Right now, it feels like a lot of the industry is making declarations, not doing representation. One person on the board, one “diverse” voice in a meeting—it’s cosmetic. It’s time to move from being an accent piece to being part of the actual composition.

Meera Syal: Exactly. We need to be part of the narrative. Entertainment’s making strides because when a show hits the mainstream, it has a real cultural impact. But other parts of the creative sector need to catch up.

Harjot Singh: Inclusion still feels like decoration, not representation. The streamers have changed the landscape.

Meera Syal: They have. Before, British television was incredibly gatekept. If one commissioner didn’t get what you were trying to do, that was it—it didn’t get made. But streamers came in and forced a change. Suddenly, British TV realised it wasn’t global anymore.

Take Bridgerton. That happened because Shonda Rhimes—a Black woman with her own production company—had full power. She didn’t need to ask anyone’s permission. She just made it.

We can’t replicate that scale in the UK yet, but we can hire commissioners and execs who don’t see diverse stories as risky. Who don’t say, “Oh, that’s a bit niche.” That mindset is the real problem.

Harjot Singh: So, if you could redesign the creative industry from the ground up—what would you leave behind?

Meera Syal: I’d give producers more autonomy. Hire people you trust, and then trust them. Stop forcing them to sell their ideas up seven layers of management. Shows like 'I May Destroy You', 'We Are Lady Parts', 'Baby Reindeer'—they happened because one producer believed in the project and pushed it through. We need more of those champions. Let them fail sometimes. Let them experiment. Not every show has to be a ratings hit. Some shows shift the culture in ways we only understand years later.

'Goodness Gracious Me' was only on air for two years—three series. Huge hit. Awards. But then it was dropped. Meanwhile, other shows made at the same time—some of which didn’t perform as well—got renewed. So you do start to ask, "Is it because we were Asian?" Because we were, right? Or did they just tick the box and move on?

Harjot Singh: That’s why the conversation must move from compliance to culture. It’s not just, “I’ve done the diversity thing.” It’s about shifting the thinking behind it.

And that brings me to this conference—Unity: Moving Everyone Forward. Sounds lovely. But let’s be honest, unity is hard, especially when people have different histories, power dynamics, and realities. What does unity look like for you? Is it about being comfortable? Or can we only move forward when we’re willing to get uncomfortable?

Meera Syal: We have to get uncomfortable. I don’t believe in cancel culture. I believe in dialogue—even if we completely disagree. I’ll still listen to you. You may say things I find offensive, but I’d rather we talk than stay silent.

Stories matter because they’re empathy machines. That’s why kids want the same story read over and over. It’s why our ancestors sat around fires and told tales. Stories help us make sense of the world—and of each other.

Facts can be rejected. But if you feel a story—if you cry with that character or laugh with that therapist—you’ve connected. And that changes people.

Harjot Singh: Speaking of story—you’ve changed the game. For so many. But what brings you creative joy right now? And when you think of legacy—not the statue, but the story—what would you want it to say?

Meera Syal: Honestly, the thing I’m proudest of?

My first novel, 'Anita and Me', based on my childhood, is now on the school curriculum. I remember being in a bookshop, and I saw a study guide for it—GCSE notes. I flipped through and there was a photo of me and my parents, a whole chapter on Enoch Powell’s 'Rivers of Blood' speech, and on the 1947 Partition of India. I was in tears. I'm getting emotional now just remembering it. That’s legacy.

That these stories are out there. That kids are learning that we were here. That we mattered. That my parents mattered.

Harjot Singh: And we don’t talk enough about the millions from the Commonwealth who fought in the World Wars. It’s a gift—to be reminded that culture isn’t just something we consume. It’s something we contribute to.

Meera Syal: Exactly. And the stories we tell shouldn’t just reflect the world as it is—they should reflect the world we want. There was a study done around Obama’s election. Leading up to it, there were a string of films with Black presidents. People said, “Oh, that’s just political correctness.” But sociologists tracked it—it normalised the idea of a Black president.

So yes, storytelling can be aspirational. It can plant a vision. It can say, “We’re not there yet—but this is where we could be.”

Harjot Singh: Meera, thank you—for not just telling stories, but for changing the stories we tell ourselves.