A Short Play entitled No Interpretation Required

By V. Shruti Devi (quill-o-the-wisp)

This is my poetry website. But in a small departure form the normal, i'm posting here, today, a short play i wrote about two years ago, broadly based on real-life.

No Interpretation Required
A short play by V. Shruti Devi

No Interpretation Required: A short play by V. Shruti Devi

Characters: An Australian man, Mark, in his late forties who is a musician; An Indian woman, Ruby, in her late thirties who is an activist; Seven cricket commentators; A group of cricket players

Scene: Half the stage is visible. A badly-lit, untidy room somewhere outside Brisbane. An old desktop computer is half-buried in the mess. Crumpled clothes, books, music equipment and a funky coffee mug dot the cramped space. An Oz guy, Mark, with a guitar is slouched on a beanbag.

Mark: (to the audience): You asking me? Yeah, its true. Everything I’d ever heard about India -and hadn’t- its all real. I’m not much of a tourist. Naah. Didn’t go to the Taj Mahal. Or anywhere. I just took a good look around. Woke up late, walked down the street outside the door. Took the message of my song with me. They liked it. (He stands up, hums what might be the song, starts walking around a bit) Asked em to spread the word. About our coal. Asked them not to buy it. That was the refrain. And played my guitar in a place or two. Drank some coffee, met some –people-. Rejoiced. Came back home to Australia. Back to working on my song. Need to start taking my music around the place. It’s five her time. Skype today.

(Mark goes to his computer, brings the screen to life. You hear the familiar sounds of logging in and the ringing tone of Skype Chat. The other half of the stage lights up. General bright lights for the entire stage from now on. You see an Indian girl, Ruby, in her late thirties in a room that has low-lying cane furniture, bamboo floormats and large floor cushions with colourful Indian patterns. She is hurriedly adjusting her hair at the front of a small mirror set in a handcrafted frame that’s hanging on a wall. She hears the Skype ring and goes to her laptop computer that’s lying on the floor, and settles down for a chat).

Ruby: Heyyy

Mark: Hi there, Ruby. How are you?

Ruby: Whatever. What’s up? What’s been going on?

Mark: Nothing, really. Been working on my song. Went for a swim. Got some stuff coming up.

Ruby: Ah.

Mark: And you? You been busy?

Ruby: Kind of. Assorted stuff.

Mark: What? Too many chocolates?

Ruby: THERE! See! Tell me, are you a mind-reader?

Mark: No.

Ruby: And you said you‘re not a spy. You’re a shrink, right? My latest theory is that you’re a hypnotist.

Mark: I’m not a shrink…maybe a bush psychologist….

Ruby: Ya, ya, you said that before. Haha.

Mark: Did I tell you that when I was in India?

Ruby: No. Never mind. What else?

Mark: Lets see. I’m going next week to the Lands. Doing a show with my aboriginal friends.

Ruby: When am I going to meet them?

Mark: Ya, so the show. The music’s a bit like the stuff you heard on the Turluku album. I told you about the album?

Ruby: Are you testing my memory now?

Mark: Your hair is looking really nice.

Ruby: (animatedly) Oh thanks. It’s quite long, needs a trim. You should’ve seen it in the eighties, cut in curly steps and then there was the blunt, and then the ethnic look, I know ethnic is politically incorrect, but here its just a style statement, and do you remember pumping curls? No you wouldn’t, it was the last thing I needed, but you know me (Mark feebly tries to interrupt with “No, I don’t”), I decided that pumping curls was it, and then the pinned up look and the Hawaiian hairband.

Mark: This is good. I like this tone of yours.

Ruby: Your hair is quite long, why do you wear that cap all the time?

Mark: I don’t know, it’s just a cap I wear.

Ruby: It’s not fair that you can see me but I can’t see you.

Mark: It’s really expensive to get a webcam.

Ruby: Ya, ya, you said that before. I didn’t expect to ever hear from you after you left for Australia, you know.

Mark: Now, this is nothing to do with being strategic, is it?

Ruby: The only strategic bits are the detective bits: you know, wondering whether you’re not just a singer-songwriter, but all sorts of other things.

Mark: Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just not your James Bond kind of secret agent character that you want me to be. This comes up in our conversations every time we chat.

Ruby: You’re just a regular guy? (silence) Hmmm. Oh, well…So when are you coming to India again?

Mark: Er.. I, I’m quite – I’ve got a lot of things to do and…I really need to find my stage legs first. I’m planning to travel with my new music. But I don’t know where that’ll be.

Ruby: You do know that India is the Place in the World right now, don’t you? Or we could meet in south-east Asia. No, no, too many Tsunamis there… It would be good to meet again?

Mark: Yes, I wouldn’t mind spending some time with the likes of you.

Ruby: Are you a detective? Or a channel?

Mark: What kind of channel?

Ruby: The spiritual kind.

Mark: No, no I don’t really know too much about the auras and the chankras. How’s the mantra yelling going?

Ruby: See!!! How could you be that insightful? Why did you call it mantra yelling? You could’ve tried to patent the phrase if it wasn’t for the minor political incorrectness.

Mark: Haha. Did I tell you the story about the black horse that my grandpa wanted his grand-daughter to have?

Ruby: About a hundred times.

Mark: And the one about the illegitimate child who might be a half-sibling?

Ruby: Not again.

Mark: You remember I told you how I went for a swim and I was the only adult in a pool full of children?

Ruby: Yes, and about how you went for a funeral in a Hawaiian shirt.

Mark: Ah yes, did I tell you that one?

Ruby: So you ARE a shrink?

Mark: No.

Ruby: Ok.

Mark: I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately, but I’m happy to keep the friendship going and the occasional skype chat.

Ruby: Do you always quote people you talk to? Verbatim? You’re mirroring me, I just don’t know whether you’re doing it consciously or not.

Mark: About us, the distance is beginning to wear out on me.

Ruby: It’s not like anyone’s inviting me to Australia for a holiday. I’m not going to invite myself over.

Mark: Is that a saree you’re wearing? Is it a traditional one?

Ruby: No, it’s a normal saree.

Mark: I wouldn’t know the difference. We don’t get to see sarees in Australia everyday.

Ruby: I wouldn’t have guessed.

Mark: See, there’s a cultural mismatch.

Ruby: Haha.

Mark: I think I’ll allow you to go now. It’s getting late here.

Ruby: Bye….

Two years later: Scene: Teams playing a cricket match. A large part of the stage is the cricket field, with players playing cricket in slow motion. Focus on a series of cricket commentators dressed in attires of various cricketing and non-cricketing nations.

Multi-accented Commentators: (Begin with a murmur of cricket-commentary related cacophony including words like runs, overs, bat, ball, batsman, pitch, stadium, umpire, six runs, four, drive, pull, hook, slip, keeper, stumps, gloves, pads, seams, grass, boundary, lineup, injuries, tea break that rises to a crescendo, following which voices of individual commentators can be discerned).

Commentator (British accent):  A marvelous, sunny day here at the Eden Gardens….

Commentator (Australian accent): …yes, and just the right amount of bounce…the medium pacers would do nicely for a few more overs, no spin doctors, from the looks of it….

Comentator (Sub-continental accent): Ha ha, and the fast bowlers are likely to make a comeback closer to dusk.

Commentator (European accent): I ask, once again, what is this Fine Leg? No, no, no, no, you do not understand, we need a cricketing revolution in the EU.

Commentator (American accent): Eeeeew! Too many mosquitoes dudes. Swing it out, swing it out! I have a dream that one day, there shall be cricket.

Commentator (African accent): A hundred years later, maybe. You got a problem, buddy. You not dancing to no good tune.

Commentator (Chinese accent): Lalalalala long; We got a little song; Wickets and bats and cricketing hats and markets make the world go round.

(All the commentators now repeat their individual lines simultaneously and in song to the tune of the sports theme song This Time for Africa. The actors who were playing cricket start dancing and singing with assorted folk and tribal dance steps from across the world, as they all exit or as the curtain falls, they all end the song with the line: “A cultural mismatch? Who said that? What’s that” Echoes.)