15 years later, an iconic play returns to explore the raw, messy world of sexual fluidity

Most often, love refuses to stay in the neat, labelled boxes we’ve made for it. And identity isn’t a fixed point but a shapeshifting blur of desire, memory, and fear. These are some of the observations that Cock, Mike Bartlett’s emotionally charged, uncomfortably hilarious play, presents loudly and unapologetically.

And now, 15 years after its Indian debut at the youth theatre festival, Thespo, Cock returns to the stage. Directed by Manish Gandhi and produced under actor Shweta Tripathi’s theatre company, AllMyTea, the new production premieres on June 6 in Delhi and June 10 in Mumbai, marking Pride Month with something richer than rainbow tokenism: a live-wire, queer narrative that asks the audience to sit with discomfort and, maybe, grow from it.

This isn’t a polite, packaged play, it's raw, real and right there in front of you. It’s staged without props or elaborately stylised sets—just live music and four bodies in emotional combat. The cast, which features Rytasha Rathore, Tanmay Dhanania, Sahir Mehta, and Harssh Singh, embody characters who are brittle, furious, funny, and desperately human. 

The plot goes like this: John, a man in a long-term relationship with another man, finds himself falling for a woman. It’s not a love triangle, it’s a crisis. Of identity, of sexuality, of desire, of self-understanding. And it plays out with the kind of ferocious intimacy that makes you laugh and wince at the same time.

For Tripathi, known for roles in Masaan and Mirzapur, bringing Cock back to Indian audiences isn’t just about staging a brilliant script. It’s also personal. “We performed this play when I was just starting out 15 years ago. Back then I worked on the lights,” she says. So, when the opportunity came to revisit it, she didn’t hesitate. “I’m a highly emotional person. Anything that I have an emotional reaction to, I like to respond to that.” She remembers re-reading the script recently, post-rehearsal. “I was sitting in the car, reading the text again, and I started laughing out loud. Because I know these people. I have such wonderful gay friends. And I love them. They’re intelligent. They’re sensitive. They’re caring.” But as the pages unfolded, so did a deeper purpose.

“I really believe that I want all of us to raise the barrier of human emotions,” she explains. “Let’s be more sensitive towards each other. Let’s listen. Let’s go beyond I, me, myself. I want to focus more on the us, on the we, on the community.” And John’s story of confusion, confrontation, and connection is her vehicle to do just that.

Cock doesn’t offer tidy answers or preach easy messages. It dares to dwell in uncertainty. And that’s precisely what makes it feel so current even as we claim we’ve “come a long way” with queer representation. As Tripathi puts it: “The queer community deserves more than cameos. They deserve whole, messy, beautiful stories. And they deserve them told with care.”

That care is evident in this production. Tripathi made it a point to collaborate with queer creatives—her director, designer as well as consultants from Gaysi Family, a community platform for desi queers. “I’m not from the community, and that comes with responsibility,” she says. “That’s why I brought people on board who do have that lived experience. I’m here to support, to hold space. To listen.” And she’s fiercely vocal about allyship. Not as a performance, but as a daily choice. “I want everyone to be an ally. Not just in June. Not just online. We all need allies in life. We all need someone to have our back. That’s what this play is about too. About showing up for each other, even in the mess.”

In Cock, love is messy. Attraction is confusing. And certainty is a myth. John isn’t a role model. He’s indecisive, flawed, scared. But in his unravelling lies the play’s power: a refusal to simplify what it means to be queer. It doesn’t label its characters. It sits with uncertainty, and that’s exactly why it still matters. Even in 2025.

Yes, the world has changed since the play first premiered in 2009. But has it changed enough? In India, Section 377 was only read down in 2018. But the fight for safety, dignity, and visibility is far from over. On screen, even today, queer characters remain largely on the sidelines. Bisexual people, in particular, face constant invalidation. Just look at the headlines: JoJo Siwa’s shifting identity has turned tabloid fodder. Heartstopper’s Kit Connor says he felt “forced” to come out as bisexual after being accused of “queerbaiting” for holding hands with a female co-star in 2022. Ambiguity is policed. Fluidity is distrusted. There’s an obsession with labels as if not declaring them instantly is a threat. That’s why Cock is still essential viewing. It’s not about coming out. It’s about the in-between. The mess. The fear. The freedom.

“For people from the community, I want them to see this because I want them to know we are here for you. We hear you. We see you. We feel you,” she says. And to straight audiences? “I want them to just sit with it. You don’t have to agree. It’s not easy. We’ve all been conditioned a certain way through our parents, jokes, school, whatever. But that doesn’t mean we stop trying to understand each other.”

At its core, Cock is about what happens when the old frameworks fall apart. When love, identity, and desire resist the tidy boxes we’ve made for them. Tripathi puts it simply: “I hope people leave the theatre with questions. About themselves, about each other. I hope it makes them a little more curious, a little more compassionate.”

In a time when queerness is often reduced to hashtags and headlines, Cock offers something far better: a raw, beautiful reminder that it is a lived experience—and it belongs centre stage.

Cock will be on at the Max Mueller Bhavan in New Delhi on June 6, 2025 and at the Prithvi Theatre in Mumbai on June 10, 2025. Click here for tickets in Delhi and Mumbai.