Preeti Dhanda

Your journey in Hollywood has been built from the ground up. What was the biggest obstacle you faced breaking into the industry, and how did you overcome it?

Aside from navigating scams and quick schemes, my primary goal has always been to be a working actor who loves what I do, not to chase stardom. I never entered this industry to pursue fame for the sake of fame; you can gain attention much faster through social media than through acting. I started by taking on indie films, short films, music videos—anything I could get my hands on. I worked with a low-end agent, did school films, and built my resume and experience. Eventually, I signed with a talent agent who I could communicate with and navigate my career alongside. This new partnership allowed me to approach my journey more strategically and with more confidence, even though it still came with its own set of challenges—being sent out for stereotypical roles like doctors, lawyers, and engineers.

But I knew there’s no such thing as a small role, just small actors, so I took whatever came my way. As I progressed, I became more selective, but I didn’t want to limit myself. One of the biggest things I’ve learned is that ethnic actors shouldn’t feel compelled to portray stereotypical accents or characters. As a South Asian community, we need to stop expecting that those are the only stories left to tell. There are stories of lust, vengeance, and fully realized characters—immigrants, women, people with their own ambitions, who are not defined by stereotypes.

The hardest part of my journey, aside from battling the industry’s narrow views on representation, was convincing my parents that acting is a legitimate career. Coming from a South Asian background, the arts were never seen as a viable path—stability and traditional careers were always prioritized. For years, I kept my ambitions hidden from them, but eventually, I had to be honest. They still don’t fully approve, but I’ve learned to let go of their expectations and focus on what makes me happy. It’s not an easy road, but I refuse to give up.

And perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned is to never let rejection define you. Even though 99% of the time, you’ll never know why you didn’t get the role, you keep auditioning. When they keep bringing you in, it means they like you and they’re rooting for you. Your agent and casting directors are on your side, and no one is your competition. Whoever gets the role simply had a different interpretation, look, or quality that fit, and that’s okay. Stay focused on your journey and trust that your time will come.

You’ve worked on major projects. Which role has been the most challenging or rewarding for you so far, and why?

The most challenging role I’ve had was filming 35 pages of dialogue in one day for eight different scenes. Normally, an actor would do just a few pages over several days or weeks for a major supporting role, but since the production didn’t have the budget, I had to film everything in 18 hours. It was intense—constantly changing wardrobe, hair, and makeup while delivering dialogue with no breaks. That experience pushed me to my limits, teaching me resilience, adaptability, and what it truly means to stay immersed in a character, even under pressure. It really showed me how much you can push yourself when you feel like you’re at your breaking point.

But beyond the technical challenges, one of the most emotionally challenging roles was in the film Copless, where I played the wife of an abusive husband. This bilingual film, in both English and Punjabi, centers on domestic abuse—a topic that is rarely discussed in South Asian culture. As a child, I witnessed verbal abuse at home and in other homes, with the husband often playing the role of the “domestic” figure who would go to work and “earn.” In the generation I grew up in, duties were assumed, communication between husband and wife was minimal, and love, passion, and respect were absent. Instead, the relationship was transactional, a partnership to run the family. There was little space for emotional connection, and abuse was commonplace.

In the film, I felt like I was portraying my own mother—standing up for herself against an abusive partner. There was a particular moment that felt too close to home, and it resonated deeply with me. Watching your parents fight as a child, witnessing it behind closed doors or trying to shut it out as though it wasn’t happening—it’s something kids are never taught to process because we’re taught in school that violence, yelling, and swearing are wrong, yet they happen at home all the time. I remember feeling in that moment in the film, “I wish my mother had stood up to my dad.” It was terrifying but empowering, and it hit home for so many viewers who saw the same dynamic in their own lives. The scene where my character yells at her partner and he grabs her was described by many as surreal—it felt like they were witnessing something all too real, too familiar. The film resonated at festivals because it exposed a painful truth that’s often hidden in plain sight, and it was deeply rewarding to bring that story to life.

Copless was a little too close to home, but it allowed me to see the character stand up for herself—even if it was for a brief moment after years of abuse. It was so relatable, and it was also the first time I got to do a film in both Punjabi and English.

Abuse is real in many homes, often seen as taboo or kept hush-hush in many South Asian households. It’s treated like a family secret, something no one should know about, whether it’s emotional, physical, or verbal. Abuse is real and wrong, and I wish people didn’t silence others about it. We need to call the police when it’s terrifying and unsafe, especially when it involves physical abuse. Abuse should be against the law if it isn’t already, and no one should tolerate, hide, or accept it. It’s wrong, and it needs to stop.

Representation is a key theme in your career. What do you think Hollywood is getting right—and still getting wrong—about South Asian storytelling?

Hollywood is slowly making progress, but there’s still a long way to go. We’ve moved past the days when South Asian actors were only cast as doctors, cab drivers, or terrorists, but leading roles are still scarce. When South Asian stories are told, they often center around arranged marriages, immigrant struggles, or trauma. While those are valid narratives, we need more variety—thrillers, rom-coms, action films—where South Asians are just people, not defined solely by their ethnicity.

What’s often missing is the opportunity to see South Asians in stories where their culture doesn’t overshadow their personality or experiences. It’s essential for us to be able to explore diverse characters and stories that don’t rely solely on cultural backdrops or stereotypes. I want to see stories where South Asians are superheroes, complex romantic leads, or strong professionals navigating life and love just like anyone else. We need roles that reflect the real diversity and richness of our lives, without being confined to any one narrative. Hollywood needs to understand that while culture and background are important, they shouldn’t be the defining traits of the characters we play. It’s about finding balance and telling stories that transcend just being “South Asian.” That’s the next step for representation in film—moving beyond the labels to truly complex and multifaceted portrayals

What was the moment when you first felt like you had truly “made it” in the industry, or do you feel like that moment is still ahead?

I don’t think I’ve had that “made it” moment yet. While I’m grateful for all the wins—big and small—my dream role is still ahead of me. I’d love to land a leading role in an action-packed adventure film, something like Tomb Raider or Mission Impossible. I want to be the South Asian version of Indiana Jones—fierce, fearless, and ready for anything. South Asian women can be powerful, daring action stars too, and I want to show that. Until I get a role like that, I feel like I’m still working my way to “making it.” You’re never really there, you’re always just trying to get better.

That being said, I do feel like I’ve made it in some ways. I’m a professional actor, and that’s something I would’ve been so proud of as a kid. Seeing my friends and family watch me on screen, getting texts from them saying they saw me—it’s huge for me. Those moments make me feel like I’ve made it, especially for the younger version of myself. But I’m still working toward breaking barriers and taking on roles that don’t fall into stereotypes. For me, the real moment of “making it” will be when we see South Asians in all kinds of roles, not just defined by our ethnicity, but by the richness of our experiences. I want to show that South Asian women can be powerful, adventurous action stars, just like Indiana Jones. Until I get there, I’m just going to keep working hard, pushing myself, and striving to do great roles

You’ve spoken about the limited roles available for South Asian women. What kind of characters or stories do you hope to bring to life in the future?

I want to portray South Asian women as strong, flawed, funny, adventurous, and unapologetic. We’re just like any other women—quirky, full of life, navigating love, lust, trauma, and ambition. Why should we be boxed into the same old stereotypes? I would love to take on roles that break free from the traditional narratives of arranged marriages or trauma and instead focus on stories full of dark humor, edge, and passion. Why do South Asian women in Hollywood always have to be nerdy, socially awkward, or conservatively dressed? Why not portray us as badass, sexy, and unapologetically bold? I want to be a part of that change and tell stories about South Asian women who are powerful, multi-faceted, and unafraid to take up space.

Beyond acting, do you see yourself expanding into writing, directing, or producing

to further shape authentic representation in film and television?

Absolutely. If the roles I want don’t exist, I’ll create them—or help shape them for others. Writing and producing allow me to take control of narratives about people like me—stories that reflect my truth instead of forcing South Asian women into outdated, restrictive ideals. I’ve already started developing projects, and I can’t wait to bring them to life.

But my storytelling isn’t limited to film and TV—I do this every day through comedy, fashion, fitness, and social media. Growing up, I never saw South Asian women with abs, lifting weights, or showing strength in that way. But why not? We can have abs. We can post our glutes. We can wear bikinis, mini skirts, or whatever makes us feel sexy—without shame. I express myself through my own clothes, always classy yet bold. I don’t follow labels; I prefer plain colors, no patterns, and a style that reflects my confidence and individuality.

I challenge stereotypes not just in how I dress, but in how I perform. My stand-up comedy pushes boundaries, tackling cultural taboos head-on. I speak openly about sexuality, dating, love, and relationships—topics that South Asian women are often expected to stay silent about. Comedy is my tool to break stereotypes, disrupt expectations, and show the world a modern, unapologetic South Asian woman.

The entertainment industry is full of rejection. How do you stay motivated and continue pushing forward despite setbacks?

I remind myself why I started. If I gave up every time I got a “no,” I wouldn’t be where I am today. Rejection is part of the game, but every audition, every gig, every setback is a step forward. There is a fire inside me. I’ve always believed that practice builds talent, but you can’t teach someone grit. You need to have that relentless drive to keep going, even when everything seems absolutely bleak. So many times, you get so close—only to be back at square one. And so many times, no one even rejects you to your face; you’re just left waiting. But you keep going if you truly love it. That’s what separates those who succeed from those who quit.

You’ve lived in both India and Canada. How have these experiences shaped your identity as an actress and influenced the roles you choose?

Growing up in Canada as an Indian immigrant shaped my perspective in ways that deeply inform my work. I understand both cultures but don’t fully belong to either, which is something many immigrants can relate to. That duality makes me passionate about telling stories that reflect that experience—the feeling of being caught between two worlds, yet fully belonging to both.

One can take as many acting classes as possible, but true learning comes from living—traveling, experiencing life, failing, falling, being hurt in love, and navigating the full spectrum of human emotions. Acting is about understanding the human condition—living and suffering, joy and loss.

I was adopted to Canada by my parents and don’t remember much of my early childhood on a small farm in a village in Punjab, India. But I’ve been told stories about running around with my dog, going on adventures, and spending my days among cows and chickens in the fields. Then, I came to Canada at a young age. At home, we spoke Punjabi, and in school, I spoke English. At home, I wore traditional garments—until I rebelled—and at school, I wore conservative clothes, nothing fashion-oriented, just whatever my parents could afford.

I learned the value of hustling and entrepreneurship from my dad and the importance of education, intelligence, and creativity from my mom. These experiences have shaped me into an artist who seeks to tell stories of resilience, identity, and breaking barriers. I’m not saying you have to do method acting, but if you aren’t experiencing life, observing human nature, and reading or sharing stories about what it means to be human, how can you bring those stories to life? Whether it’s through personal experiences, travel, love, loss, or even through literature, poetry, and music—going through something helps you understand, grow, and learn. Acting is about living, being in the moment, and embracing each experience as it comes.

If you could go back and give your younger self one piece of advice at the start of your career, what would it be?

Take a chance on yourself. Make the mistakes. It won’t be perfect, and that’s okay. It’s through the falls that you’ll learn—whether in love, career, or life. Don’t be so impatient to make everything happen overnight. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and you will get there. And if you don’t, at least you’ll know you gave it everything. Every setback, rejection, and detour is shaping you into the artist you’re meant to be. You’re not behind—you’re exactly where you need to be. Trust yourself, embrace the process, and remember—you have nothing to prove. You already are enough.