HBO’s follow-up to the Sex and the City series and films, And Just Like That…, has divided viewers and critics. Some find it a bit cringe, others are adjusting to some major character absences, and plenty are watching out of sheer nostalgia. As a recent convert to Sex and the City fandom, I can only tell you this: And Just Like That…’s hidden gem is Sarita Choudhury, who plays the powerful and ethereally self-confident luxury real estate broker Seema Patel.
It would do both Kim Cattrall and Choudhury a disservice to say that the latter is replacing the former—Samantha Jones was unabashedly and happily herself. But if AJLT gets a second season pickup, I hope the writers will make more use of Choudhury’s ability to balance sex appeal, precision, and vulnerability. The show needs her in the mix.
Some may have only met Choudhury via HBO last year, but I’ve been following her work since I sneakily checked out a copy of her debut film, Mira Nair’s Mississippi Masala, from the Fort Worth public library. The interracial romance, starring Choudhury and one Denzel Washington, was a watershed moment for both South Asian representation and for my eighth-grade self.
I had the chance to speak with Choudhury just before the AJLT season finale. Among our discussion topics: bicycling in New York City, the nuances of Seema’s flawlessness, and what it’s like to miss India, our home.
When we meet Seema in Episode 4, you do something most Indian women in their 40s and 50s don’t do that often. You call out a white woman. You do it very respectfully, very gently. When you read that scene, what was your reaction?
I loved that scene when I read it. It’s what made me want to do the series, actually, because I never saw it as a calling out. In the previous scene, my feelings got a little hurt. And then, when I’m being told I’ve hurt her because of the photograph, I realized, “Oh, these two are equal.”
One thing I love about Seema is that what she thinks comes out. When I read that scene, I remember thinking, “This is what’s gonna allow Carrie and Seema to be friends.” I recognized immediately that this is what’s going to allow Carrie to be like, “Huh, who is this person who is looking me dead on?” There’s an equality level.
That’s something I’ve noticed in essays about the show: Your character doesn’t really know Carrie yet—you haven’t had those years and years of multiple meals and drinks a week. You are able to have that conversation with her because you’re not trying to spare her feelings.
Also, it’s not like I need anything. I’m just in that moment thinking, “Oh, well, actually I didn’t mean to do that. You actually did that.” To me, it’s just a conversation. But I think for Carrie, it’s a moment of like, “Oh, we can reckon with each other.” Reckoning is something we look for in a friendship. Love, laughter, all those things are important, but your best friends are always the ones who give you that look at some point. And you’re like, “Oh, they know me.”
When you finally join the table with the girls, I was kind of upset that an, okay, admittedly beautiful purse was blocking our view of you.
I put it there on purpose! I was so happy it was there. I was a little nervous about doing that scene, because I’d only worked with Sarah Jessica. If you do a four-scene at a table, first of all, the rhythm is different. Second, even though I knew Kristin and Cynthia by then, I hadn’t worked with them. Acting is so much about listening, but in this case, because it was one line/one line/one line, you’re listening but you also have to be on your cue. So it’s not a great scene to be nervous about, because you actually have to be loose. When I saw the bag, which was placed kind of near me, I was like, “Yes, this bag is gonna save me!”
It is a gorgeous purse. What do you even put in there? Were you worried about breaking off part of it, staining it?
I was worried about every prop of mine. Everything was so interesting. First of all, because they’re so expensive and made so well, you can fit everything in there. They don’t make you pay that much for nothing. There’s secret compartments and all that. With Seema, I had to practice opening the purses. For me, they don’t open in a normal way. Seema cannot look like she’s fiddling with something. So I used to have to practice that.
I really liked the sari you wore in the Diwali episode.
So did I! I want it! And you can’t even get it if you want it. It was from a runway. It was just made. It’s so inaccessible. We had to send it back, because it was moving to another runway. High fashion level. When you look at it, you know how rare it is to see an expensive sari, but the material looks like it’s just normal cotton? It’s that weird mix where the design is so high level but the texture felt like something I go to bed in. So when you put it on, it never felt starchy or itchy or all of the things we deal with. It was flown in from Bombay. These costume designers are so unbelievable. Also, they know Seema. Seema is going to get—
Whatever she wants! But it was also such a thrill to see a sari on HBO. I do not think that I’ve seen that before. I know you were on Homicide, but you played a doctor, so I don’t think you were dressed in anything but a lab coat.
Definitely wasn’t in a sari. I think people don’t realize what you’re saying—it’s so big for us.
I was reading that it’s your dad who is Bengali. I have a Bengali dad. It’s not that my dad wasn’t supportive of my efforts in the arts, but he always said, “I don’t know. There’s no money in it. What are you eating? How can you possibly live like this?” Did you have a similar back-and-forth with your parents?
I don’t think I know any Indian daughter who doesn’t. In fact, we don’t even talk about it, because it’s so normal. I always found it interesting when I moved to America [and observed] any discussions about parents, or the way they thought. We were kind of brought up in a way where you don’t discuss what your parents think, because your parents think there’s nothing to complain about. One interesting thing, though, is that my dad would make sure I’m eating, or ask about how I’m paying my rent, but he would never say anything specific like, “Acting won’t bring in money.” He just couldn’t quite understand how I’d survive. Even when you start doing well, they’re sure that the next year something is going to happen. You know what I mean? It doesn’t amount to an upward hill for them.
HBO
How do your parents feel now?
I know they’re proud of me and they’re happy when I catch them up with what’s been going on in the week. But my dad will still ask what I’m eating. It’ll just shift to what I’m eating, within the busy schedule, not so much whether I can afford to eat. We don’t talk about it in obvious terms, but I can sense they’re proud. Because of COVID, I wanted to go home over Christmas and couldn’t, for obvious reasons. I think that’s what I miss: hanging out with them over dinner and just telling them stories, and that’s how they get to know my life.
When was the last time you were in India?
Just before COVID.
What’s it like for you to go back? Because you’re not going back as a kid or a teenager. Now you’re a grown woman, with a career; you’re on Sex and the City. What is it like now, or at least pre-COVID?
I mean, it’s always been the same, because I don’t go back to the business, I go back to Calcutta. I literally am in my parents’ house, eating, going shopping with my mom, or hanging out in the garden. So it’s kind of like the same experience as when I was a kid. I’ve done two or three films in India, and whenever I’m in Mumbai, I feel aware, definitely, because I’m there, and if you go to any of the popular cafés, there’s a scene. But anyway, my work, I would say, pre-Homeland, was so independent and varied that I don’t think people would recognize me. And I dress in my jeans—kinda like Hollywood actors over there dress in jeans—but I don’t wear makeup, so I just don’t think they would know who I was. You know what I mean? Now, I don’t know.
Mississippi Masala was actually my first realization that, “Oh, Brown women can have feelings that are not about getting straight A’s or pleasing their parents. They can have their own choices.” I remember feeling a furtive pleasure: “There’s someone onscreen who is older than me and she has hair like mine and she’s in a relationship and [lowers voice to whisper] she has sex.” Indian women aren’t used to seeing themselves onscreen having sexual feelings of any kind. Of being in love, of having romantic choices. I assume you’ve met scores of fellow Brown women—does that represent how they respond to that film?
Oh, yes. Everyone who comes up to me to talk about Mississippi Masala comes to me in a hushed whisper, like they have to hide the fact they saw it. [Laughs.] They’re so grateful, to the point that I wished I’d had a Mississippi Masala to watch. When you’re in a film, it’s hard to watch it the same way.
I was gung-ho because it was Mira Nair. I was gung-ho because I’d seen her documentaries, and Salaam Bombay!, so I knew I was in good hands. I was gung-ho because it was such a strong character and because she was offering my first film. But even kissing on the screen is a no-no. Do you know how sometimes, when you do things, you’re just in denial, like “Well, that page, we haven’t shot that yet, so I haven’t done it”? I just had to do it that way.
What I liked about Meena and her character and how they wrote it is that it made me kind of understand that rebels don’t go out to be rebellious. They’re just passionate about something and, actually, they’re always trying to hide it and not hurt the people around them. And then, they get into more trouble. [Meena] is fully attending the weddings and the traditional ceremonies, and then running out the back door. But she’s nervous she’s going to be late. So there’s nothing about it that’s like, “Oh, I don’t care.” It’s the caring that makes it so relatable.
You have had a more varied career than most, especially for a woman of color. You’ve done theater and independent films in multiple countries, including India. What is something you’re dying to do? Someone, a role or a director, that if it arrived tomorrow, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.
Because roles only exist if they’re well written, it’s hard to answer that question. So let’s assume that in the best world, it’s well written and directed by your favorite director. I would like to do something in huge landscapes, with horses and battle, but the language is almost like [Aaron] Sorkin. I’m always scared of epics falling into that backward language.
I would love to work in Norway in the freezing cold with a big sweater. Or I think I’d love to work in India. India fascinates me, because whenever I watch independent movies, there’s so many good ones, and so many good actors. Sometimes I watch Indian movies and think, No one has heard of this, and it’s better than most of the stuff I watch! It shocks me.
There was a part of me that was like, “Should I ask Sarita whether she’d be willing to be a part of a—I hate the word sequel—but something where we see Meena and Demetrius in their marriage, in the present day?”
MM is being rereleased on Criterion, and we did a Q&A one evening. Someone asked that. It’s so sweet. There’s something so tender, but also beautiful. I don’t think we’ve thought about it, but you’re the second person who’s said that to me. I’ll ask Mira. Maybe they have kids who have grown up learning, together, about themselves and their cultures.
I would give my left arm to watch you on a screen with Denzel Washington again.
Oh, my goodness, all right. I’ll put it in both their ears. See what happens.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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