Malayalam Monoact: Script

(Stands up, takes off his glasses, looks directly at the audience) ശരിക്കും പറഞ്ഞാൽ, We are all benches. Waiting for someone to sit. Waiting for someone to notice. Waiting for that one file to close. But nothing closes. Nothing moves. Except time. And time just filed a note: "Chandran, retired. Pending further action."

(Suddenly, the phone rings. He picks it up.) "Hello... yes, speaking... WHAT? Exam? Which exam? Not again! I told them—I am fifty-three! I don't want any more departmental exams!" (slams phone down, then immediately picks it up again, dials) "Hello, Amma? ... Yes, I'm fine. No, not shouting. Just... the exam again. Hm? No, I don't want tea. I want a transfer. To the park bench. At least there, pigeons talk to me." malayalam monoact script

A small, cluttered government desk. A pile of files, a broken fan, an old landline phone, a calendar from 1998, and a portrait of "Bharat Mata." (Stands up, takes off his glasses, looks directly

(Gets up, walks to the front of the stage) I am Chandran. Fifty-three years. Twenty-nine years, seven months, and eleven days in this department. My only promotion: from 'bench-sitter' to 'bench-file-handler'. Waiting for that one file to close

(Sits back down. Opens a file. Reads.) "Action initiated. Pending further action." (closes file slowly) My autobiography. Same title.

A slow, humid Monday afternoon. [Script begins] CHANDRAN (sitting, adjusting his glasses, staring at a file) "File number 124/23... Regarding the shifting of a bench from the east side of the veranda to the west side." (laughs dryly) ഇതിന് രണ്ടു വർഷമായി. Two years. This bench hasn't moved. But the file has travelled—section to section, table to table. Like a pilgrim. A bench pilgrim.

(Puts phone down. Stares at the portrait of Bharat Mata.) You look tired too, Amma. All these files. All this paper. If we burned all the files in this office, we could cook lunch for the whole state. But no—files are holy. Paper is god. And we are its priests. Lonely, underpaid priests.