Paul Sinha is marking 30 years in stand-up with a return to the Edinburgh Fringe. The comic suffered two heart attacks during his last appearance at the festival in 2023, having been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease four years earlier. A star of ITV quiz show The Chase, he published his memoir, One Sinha Lifetime, last year, recalling how he began performing comedy while working as a junior doctor. Here he talks to JAY RICHARDSON  – about doing stand-up on his own terms, about becoming a public face of Parkinson’s – and the time he nearly landed a major record deal…

So, how are you?

Well, I say this cautiously because I don't want to tempt fate. But I'm certainly feeling a lot better than last summer when I was still only six months past the bypass operation. The medication works and I'm more in control of my health. 

You always intended to return for this Fringe didn't you?

Unless the Olympics is on, the Fringe is the most fun I can have in August. Financially too, it feels like the best I can do for myself because there's no flourishing club comedy scene, no corporates to be had and music festivals aren't my scene. I do Edinburgh because I still really enjoy it.

Why commit to a full run when so many established acts do only a week or fortnight now?

I would never be critical of anybody's need to do things in a way that suits their own mental and physical health. If someone doesn't want to do a full run, I totally understand. I won't throw a word of criticism in their direction. 

But as a rule, I'm not exhausted at the end of the Fringe. Even in the last week, I'm still trying to work out how to improve the show and get the maximum out of it, even as there are bedraggled masses of broken comedians walking the streets.

Partly, that's because I'm married to a comedy fan. My husband absolutely loves the Fringe and sees more shows than anyone apart from a select band of critics perhaps. It's important for the marriage that we do things that we both enjoy. And there's no doubt that Edinburgh is one of those things.

Does it help you to stay engaged with comedy, with new acts and what audiences are into?

I'm 55. And the idea that I could stand on stage and end up looking like an out of touch granddad genuinely terrifies me. I can think of few things worse. Again though, I'm not going to throw mud in that direction. Many people have used Edinburgh to become big and to not have to do Edinburgh. Whereas, my attitude is that I'm using Edinburgh to do Edinburgh better. The Fringe is a highlight for me, not something to be cast away.

It all depends on your attitude to the festival doesn't it? Let's be honest, there are a lot of things wrong with it and you can't win an argument with someone listing their reasons why they don't want to go.

But it suits what I do and my ambitions. The art of it. It's not always about career progression. It's about going there and doing the best show I can. 

And you're trying to achieve a balance between writing an hour-long narrative that also includes bits for your club sets?

Yeah, that's always been the case. I'm working on stuff that's robust enough to do on a Saturday night at The Comedy Store. As well as bits that won't see the light of day in a club set. They tend to involve a narrative conceit or context that you can't really get around to in 20 minutes. My shows have always mixed the two and, if anything, I've been guilty of not doing enough of the Edinburgh stuff in clubs.

Relying on a callback, of having built a relationship with the audience, performing an hour gives you more scope. My last show ended with me hula hooping and wearing a T-shirt accusing a comedian of joke theft. I can't do that in a club set. It just wouldn't make comedic sense.

You've been loyal to The Stand as a Fringe venue. And vocal about critics overlooking Edinburgh's New Town during the festival. Do you still feel that way?

More so than ever and it seems like it's been like that for a long time. I understand why and I can't blame punters. If they're happier in the Old Town, it's hard to take issue because the depth of quality and the number of shows means that in many ways, it's a more convenient audience experience. 

But you can blame critics because it's their job not to ignore things. I wont name anyone but there are five or six critics every year who all watch the same shows. And that shouldn't be the case. There's so much variety at the Fringe and so much high-quality entertainment. We shouldn't have a situation where a very good comedian is only seen twice or three times over the month, while another is seen 18 to 20 times. Yes, critics could sit at the Monkey Barrel all day and see eight shows without moving a muscle. But they shouldn't be seeing shows based on location.

I first blogged about this in 2010, so it's been a bugbear of mine for nearly 15 years. I'm not unrealistic or unaware. I know that comedically there are fewer reasons to be in the New Town than the Old Town. But critics shouldn't reflect that. I can think of at least ten who are very good at not doing that. 

What I would add is that there's room to breathe in the New Town. They have bars where you don't have to wait half an hour to get served. And restaurants where you don't necessarily need a booking. There's a lot of very good reasons to be there and the comedy is one of them.

You're talking about your heart attacks in your new show. But you've said there will be 'no pathos'. Are you being tongue-in-cheek?

A little bit. But I'm also aware that my comedy has changed since my Parkinson's diagnosis in 2019. It's freed me up. On stage in Edinburgh, I'm very much about having fun and not being too po-faced or didactic about what I do. The introduction of the keyboard and the musical numbers is very much nodding to me doing things on my own terms. So when I say no pathos, I kind of mean that. I'm not playing what happened to me for tragedy. 

Not least because I don't feel I'm alone. I mean, I might be the only [working stand-up] out there with Parkinson's. But I'm not the only one who's had a serious heart condition. My prognosis isn't what makes me unique. I'm just looking at the Parkinson's and heart disease as springboards to make people laugh. 

Fundamentally, no pathos is not a bad ambition. To see if you can concentrate on making people laugh rather than having an overriding message. That's the ideal scenario. In 2023 I wanted no pathos and I fell short. But only slightly. 

Will you be singing again? Because I hadn't realised that you almost landed a record deal with a major label.

It was bizarre. The band never actually met and we never actually recorded any songs. The sister of my best friend at school was this absolute force of nature who went round record companies asking if they'd be interested in signing us.

We were called Ekash. I wrote music and she wrote lyrics. I've been writing tunes since I was 13, 14 years old and extraordinarily, we were lined up for a record deal. It was Arista Records, who released Whitney Houston's debut album in 1985. And they were genuinely interested, even though we produced a grand total of zilch, nothing.

There was no such thing as a British-Asian band then. They were looking for an Asian Five Star is probably the best way I could put it. Our main song was a ballad called A Guilty Conscience Needs No Accuser. I'd written it, in that I'd taken the chords of The Winner Takes It All and just transferred them into a different tune. And my friend had written properly horrific lyrics.

Those tunes have had no place to go. So in the last five or six years I've been dropping melodies I wrote as a teenager into my Edinburgh shows. An amazing effect of the Parkinson's is that it's sort of given me an excuse to do music. And you never know, that story may well come up this summer. 

I enjoy the fact that I'm a moderate keyboard player and a poor vocalist, yet have managed to successfully bring music into my comedy. I'm aware of my limitations but that hasn't stopped me.

Will you be acknowledging your 30 years in comedy?

I'll be talking about how much comedy has changed in 30 years, for sure, and what I've learned from being a comedian in terms of the art.

I was unbelievably lucky to find an escape from medicine given that I came into comedy without any entertainment background at all. Before stand-up, I'd acted in a local Hindu drama society in 1990 and two medical school revues. So I can't quite believe the quality of the ride I've experienced. At no stage in my life, leading up to getting an agent in 1998, did I ever genuinely think I could be a professional comedian. It hadn't even occurred to me as an option. It was just a distraction from medicine.

Your Fringe hours have been generally well reviewed. Do you feel any pressure to maintain that level of consistency?

Realistically, I know that run must end. But since 2006, every full Edinburgh run has been critically very well received. And I can't not be proud of that. So yes, it is pressure. 

But I don't necessarily feel that I have to prove anything in the industry anymore. People know who I am. And live comedy remains the thing I love the most. I don't feel the need to schmooze the right person at a party to get me a TV deal. Because I didn't get into comedy to get on a panel show, on Live at the Apollo, a Netflix deal or anything like that. I came to stand on stage and put my thoughts out there. 

When I started going to the Fringe in the early noughties I was vaguely obsessed with who everybody was and their importance. I'm pleased to say that I have no idea who the industry's genuine movers and shakers are now. I wouldn't recognise them. I'm much happier this way.

You described your 2023 show, Pauly Bengali, as your 'lash out' hour. Was the experience of doing that emboldening? 

It's pretty difficult to not reach that conclusion. I don't necessarily know why. I don't consider myself a bitter or angry person. I consider my main obsession in comedy is making people laugh. I must stress this. I don't feel I'm a comedian who's on a mission to do anything else. 

It just so happens that I think lashing out is funny. The more I think about the 2023 show, the more proud I am of how comedically bitter it was at times because that's not necessarily who I am as a person. The industry has given me a good time and a good career. Starting with the Edinburgh Comedy Award nomination in 2006, that took me by surprise and was very much a dream come true. However, I will say to those people who have treated me badly, watch out. You never know when you might appear in one of my shows.

I was intrigued to learn how seriously you took the 2006 festival, paying your sister £100 to see Inder Manocha to make sure that you didn't have an overlap with his material. How much did you want that award nomination?

Well, in 2004, I took my Aspects of Love, Actually show to Edinburgh and it was seen by nobody. It was reviewed by virtually nobody. It wasn't a particularly good show. I had an amazing time, hung out with amazing people and got drunk most nights. 

But I knew I couldn't afford to do Edinburgh again unless I took it more seriously. It was almost insulting to those that couldn't afford to take the risk because I turned up to the festival in 2004 on a GP's salary and knew that I could afford to fail. But I couldn't afford to fail again. So yes, 2006 was very much the big push. It was the one where I decided I was going to do things the way it was meant to be done. With a PR person who was very, very good, who managed to convince journalists that I was flavour of the month.

I remember colleagues telling me that they'd heard a lot of things about the show. And there were only about 25, 30 people turning up every day. Who were these people? There was no evidence anyone was talking about me. 

But it turned out that the preparation I'd put in, in terms of making sure that I was a distinct voice – which is why I paid my sister to see Inder Manocha  – was because I was aware that I was going to be the first non-camp, openly gay Asian comedian at the Fringe. 

So yes, it's very unfashionable to admit. But while I wasn't necessarily gunning for the nomination, because that was way more ambitious than anything I thought that I was capable of, I was gunning to be successful. I saw it as my last shot at getting out of medicine.

Speaking of distinctiveness, you've joked about relentlessly ticking boxes. Why appear on Radio 4's disabled stand-up showcase The 13 Million Club? How do you feel about being a representative for Parkinson's?

Well, it's a very difficult question because you don't go into comedy thinking you represent anything other than yourself. I'm the only person I can speak for. 

However, I'm very much aware from doing gigs around the country in the last two or three years, talking about my life and my illness, that for a lot of people with Parkinson's, I'm doing a valuable job just putting it out there that our lives haven't finished. We're not on the scrapheap. We're still fighting, we're still trying to enjoy what we do and what we love. And I feel that's important.

I was invited onto this disability show and I'm grateful for it. I'm not going to spend a lot of time analysing whether I was the right act for that bill, given that my disabilities are relatively invisible and relatively minor in comparison to some on the show. I know that one day they won't be and that's a different matter. 

But as far as I'm concerned, if you want me on the show to represent, I'll go on and represent. I'm in the hands of the bookers and it's a lot of responsibility to take on. I always have this caveat though, which is that I'm really only representing myself. If others want to take messages from what I'm saying on stage, fine.

Even within Parkinson's, I'm very much aware that we all have a different story. Many things in common and many not. There's big variety. I hope people with Parkinson's who've seen me enjoy what I do.

You've talked about an attempted sexual assault that you experienced when you were younger. So is there anything you can't talk about on stage?

There are a couple of instances in my life from the last five or six years that I've been toying with for quite a while. And it's tricky but I had a particularly traumatic incident in the lockdown year that set my mental health back quite a long way. But it involves someone who's no longer with us. And therefore, I just don't know.

Regardless of how honest you think they are, it's important to realise that every comedian you see on stage is offering a censored version of themselves, a digestible version. I'm no exception. My mental health took an absolute hit in 2020. And if I can make it funny and be respectful to the other person involved, I'll give it a shot. But there's certainly no guarantee that it'll ever make it to the stage. 

No matter how brave you think a comedian is being or how likeable they are based on how honest you perceive them, we're all dishonest as well. We're selectively honest. Even when we're telling you about our flaws and things we get wrong, we're only telling you the things that we're comfortable telling you.

How do you deal with the press taking jokes out of context and making them news stories?

You know, it's arguably the most tedious aspect of my career. But interestingly, 2023 saw reviews in the Metro and Mail on Sunday that were very respectful in reporting what I was saying on stage, so it is possible for the tabloids to get it right. Reviewing in a sober, non-sensationalist way, which was nice. I'm not sure the problem is ever going to go away though. And quite honestly, with the jokes in this show, I'm not expecting this year to be any different. There's some fairly salty stuff, putting it mildly.

Can you elaborate?

Let's say a lot of current issues being tackled and leave it at that.

How did you find fronting a TV show for the first time with Paul Sinha's TV Showdown?

To be asked to present a show was an enormous honour. Looking back I found the whole experience … I hesitate to use the word surreal but surreal is what it was. 

Sadly, I don't feel I was a Natural in the job. And perhaps Parkinson's had something to do with that. And perhaps because the first series of the show was made during lockdown. As a result, both physically and it terms of the material, I was slightly restricted. 

But hey, I presented my own show under my own name and no one can ever take that away from me. It was just a bit sad, watching it back, to realise I was very much one of the things that was wrong with it.

 One of the things I enjoy talking about is failure because I think it makes you a better person to openly discuss it. Expect material about it in this year's show.

Paul Sinha's Pub Quiz is returning for another series on Radio 4, that must be gratifying?

This comes back to whether it's a great pose to be bitter about how your life has gone. I've been so lucky. I talk about [producer] Ed Morrish in my memoir, about what a great creative partnership we've been. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. He's backed me to the hilt since we made The Sinha Test [for Radio 4] in 2011. I picked up an award in Berlin in 2015 for an iteration of the General Knowledge show and I love doing it. The audience seem to really love the show too and being bombarded with facts that may be connected, may not be connected. 

Taking that show on the road, as we have done for the last two years, has made me enjoy it even more. Number one, it's great that Radio 4 loses its London-centricity. Number two, it means that Mark Steel-style, I get to improve my general knowledge about various areas of the United Kingdom. And you know, while it's great that I'm on The Chase, a show I love, realistically, I'm perhaps more suited to radio than television in terms of my skillset. That's not the worst thing.

John Cleese features in your memoir as a cautionary tale of someone losing touch. As someone who relies on making observations, that kills comedy doesn't it?

I agree. And who knows, maybe I am out of touch and nobody's told me. But I don't feel that watching other comedians. I see a lot of comedians tying themselves in moral knots about issues that I've long left behind. That's a nice place to be.

Being engaged with the world around you, one thing I've noticed is a lot less topical comedy in the clubs these days. Which is a shame. Because that's kind of how the alternative comedy world started. Looking out rather than looking in. 

Certainly, having a husband who's obsessed with comedy and 17 years younger than I am, he'd let me know if I was out of touch. I workshop ideas and thoughts with him. And if I'm way off the mark, he lets me know.

Are you glad that you're not starting now? As someone who's had issues with drinking and gambling, do upcoming comics seem more career-focused, straight arrows to you?

It's not just the straightness of the arrow. Certainly in London, it seems a far smaller scene than the one I entered in 1995. My second gig was compered by Simon Pegg and headlined by Ed Byrne. Later that year, I travelled four hours for a five-minute open spot on a bill with Stephen K Amos, Ben Norris, Gina Yashere and Harry Hill.

I feel that those sort of gigs aren't as common any more, the idea that you could sup at the big table isn't as common. The open spot scene doesn't seem nearly as big. But then maybe I'm out of touch?

The other thing is, when I started there were only two professional comedians from an Asian background, Jeff Mirza and Omid Djalili. And as far as I can remember in terms of gay male comedians on the circuit, there was Scott Capurro but my mind doesn't really remember anyone else. So I was noticed quite quickly for offering something different in a way that I wouldn't be now. Stand-up comedy is infinitely more diverse in terms of demographics. 

If I'd started in '85 rather than '95 I'd probably be a multi-millionaire by now because of how easy it would have been to get spotted, just for offering something different. But demographics are almost irrelevant now, the whole Fringe is a celebration of diversity. Even being gay, Asian and disabled hardly makes me stand out. 

So yeah, I don't envy those starting out now at all. Not least as in the last six to eight months, I've seen a lot of newer acts that are already brilliant.

Can you explain why seeing Daniel Kitson at the Fringe in 2005 was so important for you?

Yeah, Kitson made me realise that I'd been coasting for too long. The backup of being a doctor meant I hadn't put enough time in. Even though I didn't want to be a doctor, I hadn't worked hard enough at not being a doctor. 

His wasn't like any show I'd seen before in solo stand-up, it was just so effortlessly self-referential and looking outwards at the same time. It had this richness, richness of language. It was really showing his future direction of comedy with the longer form plays and whatnot. Those have been no surprise given the lyricism of his comedy. His 2005 show is the most that I've ever felt imposter syndrome.

It completely changed my approach. Instead of throwing out jokes that you spend one minute writing, how about sitting down making sure that every word is correctly written and expressed to maximise the power of the joke? It was Kitson. 

He's always been a brilliant comedian and always had this instinctive genius for comedy that I could never hope to match. I've never thought 'one day I'd like to be as good as Daniel Kitson'. What that gig taught me though was, if you try to be as good as him, you're more likely to reach your secondary targets. It's good to aim for the stars.

With your love of sport, would you like to write about it in the obsessive way Andy Zaltzman has achieved with cricket?

I put it out there every four years but nobody seems interested. I would love to be one of those people that writes rather pithy, looking-at-the-bigger-picture stuff about sport. Particularly about the Olympics because I find its relationship with the British public fascinating, how we tend to ignore most of the sports for three years and then suddenly become obsessed with them again. 

I'd love to be involved in the Olympics in some way but I can't tell you the degree to which my diary is full. It's hard to create space. 

Whereas Andy, to his credit, has always created space for cricket. And I have to say that his success is one of the most soul-invigorating things to witness. It's like how I feel about quizzing, he's made his obsession his career and it's great to see. Nobody with any sort of comedy soul would begrudge him a second of it.

You're not slowing down are you? You're still a hard-gigging comic.

I certainly say yes to pretty much every gig that make sense after taking the travel into account. I've just done four gigs in Devon over the weekend with Tom Stade, one of the finest comedians working in this country in my opinion. Has been for a long time. And it remains a genuine pleasure to work with great and talented people. 

This isn't something comedians talk about a lot because we're so busy talking about ourselves. You see Tim Key getting critical acclaim for his new film. Or Richard Ayoade being in the new Wes Anderson. I'm just amazed that I'm a niche part of the same scene, it's such a privilege.

When I started, I was obsessed with comedy. And maybe not enough comedians have that now. The idea of not staying till the end of a gig was anathema to me. Even gigs where I'd died horribly on my hole, I still stayed to watch the headliner. 

I know it's hard because of travel considerations. But my first recommendation to anyone starting out is to watch the entire gig. That's how you get a true assessment of how you've done. But it also nourishes you to see funny people on stage doing well. You can watch so much great comedy for free.

• Paul Sinha: 2 Sinha Lifetime is at the Stand 3 at 3.45pm for the duration of the Fringe. His memoir One Sinha Lifetime has just been released in paperback and is available from Amazon priced £10.99 – or from uk.bookshop.org, below, which supports independent bookstores.