By Edinburgh Fringe comedian Raj Poojara

If you’re from an immigrant family, success is usually explained to you very early.

Not in a motivational way, more like a menu: Doctor. Engineer. Banker. Or disappointment.

The funny thing is, I actually listened.

Many stories about immigrant families focus on rebellion. The kid who refuses a sensible career, follows their dream and proves everyone wrong. Mine was a bit less dramatic. I got the grades, went to university and spent 13 years working in finance. I became a private banker, looking after wealthy clients and footballers. 

On paper, it was exactly the sort of life my parents wanted for me.

The problem was that I wasn’t sure it was the life I wanted.

That’s not a criticism of my parents. Quite the opposite. My dad arrived in Britain as a Ugandan Asian refugee in the 1970s. My mum spent more than 20 years working in a factory. They sacrificed a huge amount to give me opportunities they never had.

Like a lot of first-generation immigrant parents, they weren’t obsessed with status. They were obsessed with security.

There’s a difference.

People often joke about Indian parents wanting their children to become doctors and lawyers, but beneath the stereotype is a very understandable fear. If you’ve experienced instability, uncertainty or discrimination, you don’t encourage risk. You encourage safety. You encourage careers that come with pensions and payslips.

Stand-up comedy isn’t usually on that list.

For years, I lived what I thought was a successful life. I earned good money. I bought a property. I did all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re building a future. Yet there was always a small voice asking a very inconvenient question:

‘What if this isn’t it?’

I started doing comedy alongside my banking job. At first, it was just a hobby. Then it became an obsession. I’d finish work, drive across the country for a ten-minute set, get home after midnight and do it all again the next day.

The strange thing was, I felt more alive performing in the back room of a pub than I did discussing investment portfolios worth millions of pounds.

As men, we’re often taught that our value comes from providing. The job. The house. The financial security. Those things matter, and I’m proud of what I achieved. But I think a lot of men quietly struggle with the idea that success can look different to what they’ve been told.

The older I got, the more I realised that success isn’t just about what you’ve built. It’s about whether you’re actually living the life you want.

A few years ago, I reached a point where I could help my parents retire. Watching my dad get up before dawn every day, even as he got older, made me realise how much of his life had been spent working for everyone else. Being able to tell my parents they could finally stop was one of the proudest moments of my life.

A couple of months later, I was offered voluntary redundancy from my banking job. For the first time, I had a choice. Fight to stay on the path I’d spent years building or take a chance on the thing I genuinely loved.

I chose comedy.

I’m not pretending it was brave. Some days it feels incredibly stupid. There are moments when I miss the certainty of a salary. There are certainly moments when my parents miss the certainty of a salary.

But for the first time, the decisions I’m making feel like they’re mine. That’s what my debut show Dice is about. Not abandoning responsibility, but recognising that responsibility and fulfilment don’t have to be opposites.

I spent years becoming the person everyone expected me to be. Now I’m trying to find out who I am when nobody else is rolling the dice.

• Raj Poojara: Dice is on at Pleasance Courtyard at 4.35pm from August 5.

Published: 1 Aug 2026