– By Osama Farooqui
I’ve spent most of my professional life as a management consultant. That usually comes with airports, hotels, and long stretches away from home. In 2015, my partner and I moved to Dubai—excited, hopeful, and with absolutely no idea what we were doing. Like most new arrivals, we spent that first year slightly lost. Heads down. Careers accelerating. Life happening somewhere in the background. On paper, everything looked fine. Inside, we were anxious, disconnected, and not particularly happy outside of work.
The following year, work took me abroad even more. On one return trip—after nearly two months away—I came back exhausted, irritable, and completely out of social energy. While I was gone, my wife had seen a comedy show and suggested we go together. “You’ve done theatre before,” she said. “You might actually like this.” I wasn’t convinced. I thought it would just be a distraction. What I didn’t realise was that I was about to walk into my first live improv show—and that it would quietly change the direction of my life.
I’d seen improv on TV before, but nothing prepared me for seeing it live. The energy, the risk, the humanity of it all—it completely blew my mind. I started coming back. Then I started volunteering. Then I just… stayed. That was almost a decade ago. At first, improv was an escape from work and routine. Over time, it became something much deeper: a motivator, a mirror, and a way of understanding myself.
Not long after I became a regular, my wife surprised me by signing me up for three drop-in improv classes taught by Kemsley Dickinson. Those sessions were my real introduction to improv—not just as performance, but as a mindset. For the first time, I truly understood what it meant to fail—and more importantly, how to accept failure without judgement. That acceptance cracked something open. I became more spontaneous, more playful, more present. I loved it.
Along the way, I found my people. Individuals from wildly different backgrounds, all escaping something, all working on themselves through play. After volunteering for a while, one of the teachers, Jess Pratt, asked me to host a Maestro show. I invited all my friends. I walked on stage full of confidence… and immediately froze. Complete mental blank. I couldn’t get a word out. I panicked, looked desperately at the directors, silently begging them to take over. Instead, they gently pushed me forward, guided me, and refused to let me disappear.
At the end of the night, mortified, I went straight over to apologise. Before I could finish, Jess stopped me and said everything was fine—and that I’d be hosting again the following week. I said yes. The second week was better, but shaky. The third week, something clicked. I nailed it. From there, I started taking bigger risks—on stage and off it.
Around that time, I began hosting improv jams and practice sessions at home. That went on for three or four years. Many of those people are still close friends today, scattered all over the world. What I love about this community is the mix: creatives, technicians, analysts, performers—everyone bringing their quirks, skills, and perspectives. Warming up together, playing games, failing loudly, accepting each other fully, and walking away with richer lives.
A few years ago, our community was shaken by a deep loss. A beloved actor and improviser, Manju Naidu, passed away on stage while doing what he loved. He was larger than life, and losing him so young changed us all. In that grief, something powerful happened. We stopped being just friends on stage and became family off it. People stepped up in extraordinary ways—supporting each other, organising, simply showing up. That period fundamentally changed how I understand community. Sal and Rushdi are some of my closest people probably because of that.
Then came Covid. Lockdown hit all of us differently, and work was especially challenging for me during that time. Like everyone else, I remember the isolation, the uncertainty, the mental strain. I’m incredibly grateful to The Courtyard Playhouse, and Marie in particular, for keeping the community alive—weekly challenges, online shows, anything that gave us connection and hope when things felt dark.
Post-Covid, two worlds that had always lived separately finally merged: my corporate consulting life and my life on stage. I began using improv techniques in executive coaching and leadership development—helping people with spontaneity, presence, communication, and the simple power of saying “yes.” Today, I continue teaching through the Courtyard Playhouse Corporate Academy, where improv becomes a practical tool for leadership, not just performance.
One of the longest-running shows I’ve been part of is The Mystery of the Toilet Monster. I started as a side character and eventually became the Toilet Monster itself. Kids’ shows, I’ve learned, are something else entirely—their energy is fearless, honest, and wildly generous. You can’t fake it with kids. They’ll keep you sharp and humble. Then something unexpected happened: a director spotted me on stage and gave me a shot at a TV series. Since then, I’ve done a few more podcasts, TV shows and commercials. The old version of me would’ve said no and missed out on those experiences.
These days, I also have a daughter of my own. She attends theatre regularly and has even done kids’ camps here. Playing improv games with her off stage has unlocked a whole new level of bonding. My wife… not so much 😂
I’m proud to teach improv to both kids and adults because someone once gave me their time and trusted me enough to fail safely. My responsibility—as an improviser, an actor, and a member of this community—is to pay that forward in whatever way I can. Whether I’m teaching, coaching, making popcorn, or showing someone to their seat, I love every part of it. The belonging is what brought me here and what kept me here. Now it’s my turn to be that for someone else.
The magic doesn’t stop with a course, a show, or a single good interaction. I carry it with me—into meetings, workshops, rehearsals, and unexpected situations. Improv taught me that I don’t need to have everything figured out. I just need to show up, listen, and trust that I’ll find my way forward.
Osama Farooqui
Osama has been part of the Courtyard Playhouse community for over ten years and a familiar face on our stage for more than eight of those. As an improviser, he’s known for his warm, supportive, good-natured approach — and for bringing a healthy dose of silliness into the room.
He has a natural ability to put people at ease, creating spaces where others feel safe to take risks, play, and try things they might otherwise hold back from. His improv is generous rather than flashy, grounded in listening, connection, and shared fun.
Whether performing, training, or simply being around the theatre, Osama brings steadiness, kindness, and joy to the community. He cares deeply about the people he works with and the spaces he helps create — which is a big part of why he’s been such a valued part of the Playhouse for so long.