One line stories

As I sat bursting bubbles off my foamy latte, I realized the only thing I like here are the coffee machines.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was fighting the urge to write on the car window.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I want to wake up where you are.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was enough to know that love like that existed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘C as in Cat, H as in House, O as in Open… Opps! That’s not right…’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s time to live and let die.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JanuarY Too-uh-oh-NIN

Shitfest started this week
It ends soon apparently
i wanna do another lit-crit and just not turn up for the heck of it
I mean my school friends are getting more guilt on their consciences than I am..ah my perfonified superegos! how I miss ya!
*************************************************************************************
There used to be a time when I was so addicted to you I used to think in Blogger
Like what's Music of the moment today..ah this line..this song..
Ah now it seems lame...blogger, I hereby outgrow u!

• 2009 rings in my space...but thats kinda...celebrity-ish!....na!

• um..how bout wordpress? It's bloody diff to figure out...as in I got super confused with the templates there...well, that's not really saying much...but then again....who wants a user-unfriendly blog!?

• ok so hotmail spaces!! open up to the worldo! Unfortunately all my faithfuls have long-abandoned their MSN ids for cooler gmail ones..ah the monopoly of google! sigh...

• So I guess I'm sticking to u..just a template change...ah blah...no time to be picky...tic tac toe...here I go...blue? u? ...na!

• ok so I'll change the title and all...gosh! how somberi can u get!?

**************************************************************************************

Yeah so I've grown outta the blogger craze, but the apparent lack of a different comfort zone and the massive migrane induced by dreamboi makes me sing

'hello again..
it's you and me...
kinda like it always used to be...
sipping wine..killing time..
trying to solve life's mysteries..'

Bon Jovi, Make a Memory..never heard of it?!! really!!

Youtube now! I can almost see Shar's mouse clicking on 'new tab'

But really getting a new blog is like when ur mom insists on clearing ur room and u come in and find such a bloody neatmess! and every morning you have to yell: 'where's my freaking deodrant!? I can't find my belt!! aaaa!'...so much for lousy mondays...I went to coll in my pyjamas once last week with a half ironed kurtha on top..ha ha...thankfully no one noticed soon enough to say smt nasty..
afterthought: i think they just like having things to do and ppl to correct!
*************************************************************************************
The truth is I can't stand change.
I wanna yell "Leave me alone, u freaking jobless fool...61 and retired means 'lie on ur back and watch tv...set up kitty parties if need be' ..Dont tear apart my thermocol photowall!
Don't rearrange my mattress every two days!
Dont abscond with my blanky!!!
ah..then they wonder why we prefer their bedrooms which has stayed static for the last 16 years...
Seriously, there's enough 'change' in the world and within me to get home everyday and see my dressing table torn apart! mirror, mirror on the wall....wait..which wall? I sure it took only one kung fu slam to distantle the teak..but teh tweak was as vain as Chans princess resque!

And u wonder why I dint have a troubled teen life! well, here's a bowlful of adolescence for u!
Twenteen indeed! I'm moving out next month! u can stop complaining bout my room not being a replica of yours..thank you very much!
*******************************END OF RANT***********************************
So, what I intended to write about was this realisation thingy
You know like gullsense when you bump into rocks and suddenly something just hits u
and its not like its painful or anything
and I dont go all 'ah why dint I see this before'..well not anymore..cos it's happened too often
But this is what a migrane does to me...it kinda makes me think till it hurts..and then think all the way back till it stops...and no amount of running cold water alternated with steel tap bumps can help..
I burst into uncontrollable angry tears at room changes when I tried that (I'm only allowed Disprin as a sad alternative...... medicine?..I think not!)
Oh and resting a wet head on ur own pillow is not allowed anymore apparently...

Note: rule change in democratic Reys/Gamat household:
1.Even if your sweet smelling pillow is on temper-tantrum-throwing thumbi's bed..u cannot lie on it!!
2. TTTT as described above is allowed to comment on how poorly you have been brought up with statements like 'The only remedy is a good tight slap'
Outrageous u say? Wait for ammendment no390795308...up next week...
Oh did I say end of rant....ah the angst...yes, even I'm left wondering when my twentieth birthday flashed past..
**************************************************************************************
So it's time to crown the new queen and all (image of crowned king of future month flashs past while struggling through chapter on stress)
I don't believe in gifts any more...Christmas, Birthday, Anniversary..it's all a pile of bull....you can add it to the Valentine day waste basket..cos really the only ppl who profit are Archies/Hallmark and Crosswords/Landmark and(or) Dairy Milk/Temptations...depending on how cheap/frugal the gifter is. Pardon the Industrial Psych tone..thank u, Stefen!

Chapter 4
Gifter Psychology

Factors affecting giving of gifts

1. Budget for the month
2. Long term savings
3. Time of feacal year ('he means fiscal calender, I think'...'I can't really read triple zeroxes')
4. Intimacy of fiend
5. Immediacy of treat
6. Prepatory speeches given by peers-Highly motivation, btw!
7. Estimated gap between festival and b'day--Capricons get highly ripped off by Christmas....Muha haha ha ha! (oh common, he never likes my gifts anyway...can I blame it on the fact that we live in the same house?!)
8. Availability of cake and cake shops--Justdial is like super helpful man..they'll make places like Practising Pasteries call you and insist on delivering delicacies like Chocolat Tromborne!
9. Hunger and appetite for thrills-- On the arrival of D-day, are all gifters ready for lemon mint rassam? do you prefer Tuppa and chillis instead? or would you like to replace your stemming hot palao with steaming hot Gajjar Halwa?! (*roasted cashews assured. Conditions apply!)
What about carolling? really like to croak/bable, do we? or is it just the icing-smashed face we look forward to?
Ah the diluted truffle sauce...ah the mushroom subs dipped in chocolate..u just gotta walk out undertipping the coffee/beer places.

'Oh no! Information overload! we need a thingy! a thingy!?'
'A thingy?! An er...abbreviation...anagram...u mean'-a little ELT later works no chrms here
'That thing only!'
'HAEPITLB'
'THE PIT LAB!! ah..perfect!'
'no no no....how bout LIP BET HAL'
'Ah yeah...hal can be like this horney dude who bets on thickness of chick's lips!!'
'No then!'

Needless to say, candidate no 2 failed 'Gifter Psychology 1-o-1'
**************************************************************************************
Tonight, the tantalising Medha Goel( Bihari/Honarary Banglorean/Media dept rapist) calls out to overexposed to heat-and-cold mind.
....Ah...if only Guitar guys were not Blummerfubbers...sigh...click publish before rant 2! please!
***********************************************************************************
PS 1: Muffled Mind, Puddled Parnika....um....still looking for an alterego who does not condone alliteration...
I helped you with ur blog title, now comment on mine!
PS 2: I think the title of la post claims an A+ in Advertising and PR
Disclaimer: I hereby refuse to take blogger seriously!
Blur song 2 here I come! woohoo!
******************************************************************************************

Bright Blue Socks

Ankle length, cotton, bright, blue socks, rolled into balls next to the pink ones. A choice had to be made. Where are loners when you need them?
Two baby squirrels abandoned in their nest needed socks to sleep in. The pink ones were old- worn elastic, grubby heels. They were worn in Bombay, the last time...The blue ones were grabbed, lined with cotton wool and warmed on the rug by the fire.
They looked like rats. Eyes still closed, three white stripes on each back. Each one was lifted out of the smelly nest and placed in their cocoon homes. Lots of wriggling later, squirrel snores.

Into Dust

A Kabaddiwalla’s shack marks the entrance to a dirt road into oblivion. His children run naked around a burnt out Godrej fridge, empty cardboard boxes, stacks of old newspapers. At night you can see the whole family snuggling beneath a thin blanket under the sparkling sky. But no one would dare tread this path in the dark.

The best time to take a leisure trip down this lesser known tributary of Borewell Road is at sunset. The magnificent beauty of the orange sky is the only thing that can hypnotize you away from the stench. Plastic bags strewn by ‘civilized’ BPO workers contribute to the wasteland on either side.

A few steps later, on the left the grass that swallows the garbage erupts into tin tents sheltering migratory workers. Members of this community would gladly accept leftovers from the housewarming ceremony conducted across the road. Here, the village plumber has converted his one room space to a multi-storey money-making machine.

Further down the same side of the road you would find the greedy ration lady selling government provisions at outrageous rates. Ignore the public toilet on your right as you squeeze through an unruly Lantana bush where snakes hide.

This minor hardship is worth the wide expanse of open field encountered on the other side. Stretch your arms as you kick up the dust where neighbourhood cricket champions search for a sixer-ed ball.

But the only ball you should be focusing on is the fiery globe sinking behind the once thriving eucalyptus grove. Temple bells ring in the distance. The shrine of Kali is only visible to the familiar eye.

Your treacherous journey down one of the last dirt roads of the now hi-tech, Coffee-Day loving Whitefield draws to a close. The heavens darken above you as my village remains but a star in the night sky of your mind.

Barbed wire

Hey
The next 5 posts are part of a Novella I wrote. It's written in such a way that each chapter makes sense on its own. You can read each part separately and it would still make sense. Read them together and it makes even more sense :)
Just tell me what you think.
I wish I could put the music up too!
Happy reading :)

The Last Leaf

An adaptation of a short story by O. Henry

Characters

JOANNE- a young artist who has been in bed with pneumonia for six weeks

SUE- another artist who lives with Joanne and takes care of her

BEHRMAN- a French artist, who says he will paint a masterpiece someday

DOCTOR- the general practitioner

*************************************************************************************
SCENE I

(The living room of a small studio-cum apartment on the third floor of a block in Greenwich Village. Mediocre paintings of landscapes and peasants hang on the walls. Some incomplete. A single chair in front of an unlit fire. The NARRATOR stands on the right surveying the scene when the curtain rises)

NARRATOR: (facing the audience, may pace up and down the room while speaking, careful to be audible at all times) Have you ever felt like you had no reason to live? That there was no point trying? Have you ever given up the fight and closed your eyes, hoping you never have to open them again?

Then again, such a morbid thought may never have crossed your mind. But for 28 year old Joanne it was all she could think of. As she lay in bed day after day, refusing to eat, or drink or hope. You see, she used to be a vibrant young lady who loved her life. She was a painter who lived in a little district west of Washington square called Greenwich. She shared her squatty, third storey studio and home with another artist called Sue. They got along very well. This was in May. But in November a cold unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked the colony, touching one here and there with his icy finger. Mr Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. He was a red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer and he smote our dear Joanne mercilessly. For weeks his victim lay on her iron painted bedstead, looking through a Dutch window at the next brick house. Today the doctor came to visit her. He doesn’t look very hopeful. Let’s see what news he has.

(SUE and DOCTOR enter from the right. DOCTOR has a kit in his hand and a stethoscope around his shoulders. They look worried.)

SUE: Let’s be realistic about this, doctor. What are her chances?

DOCTOR: It’s not looking very good. She has a one in ten chance of survival. Pneumonia is deadly, dear. Two deaths this week and four more in critical condition. The weather is only becoming worse.

SUE: Is there anything we can do?

DOCTOR: Keep her warm and keep her spirits up. Don’t let her think of this as the end.

SUE: But she has resigned to her fate. She has no hope left. She has made up her mind that she’s not going to get well.

DOCTOR: That’s not a good sign. Has she anything on her mind?

SUE: She-she wanted to paint the bay of Naples someday…

DOCTOR: Paint- bosh! Has she anything worth it on her mind. A man, perhaps?

SUE: Is a man worth-but no doctor; there is nothing of the kind.

Well, it is the weakness then. I will do everything science can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession, I subtract 50 per cent from the curative powers of medicines. If you get her to talk about the latest fashion-the clock sleeves in style this winter, I will promise you a one in five chance for her, instead of one in ten.

SUE: I’ll try doctor.

DOCTOR: I better get going then. Good day.

(SUE walks the DOCTOR to the door on the left and returns to the chair by the fire and starts weeping profusely)

CURTAIN

*************************************************************************************

SCENE II

(A bedroom. The bed is placed horizontally in the centre of the stage. A bowl of broth with a long spoon, a tall glass of water and a jug lie on a small table in front of the bed. There’s a small Dutch window on the wall close to the head of the bed. JOANNE lies on the bed with a thick blanket wrapped around her body. She seems to be staring out of the window. SUE has her canvas set up on the right and she is busy with her easel.)

NARRATOR: Ah! Here she is. Too weak to move, Joanne has been lying in bed for the past 6 weeks. Last Friday she refused to eat her lunch. Now, she won’t even sip wine. She just lies in bed staring out of that window all day long. What’s she looking at anyway? (walks to the window and looks out) there’s just a brick wall here. Nothing interesting. There’s an old, old ivy vine creeping up the wall. But it’s all gnarled and withered. The cold autumn winds have stricken the leaves of the vine until it’s skeleton branches cling almost bare, to the crumbling bricks. What could she get from staring at it so intently? Let’s find out.

JOANNE: Twelve, (pause) eleven, (pause) ten, nine

SUE: (leaves her work and rushes to JOANNE’s bedside) What is it dear?

JOANNE: Eight, seven, six. They’re falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But it’s easy now. There goes another one. There’re only five left now.

SUE: (looking out of the window) Five what, dear?

JOANNE: Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go too. I’ve known that for three years. Didn’t the doctor tell you?

SUE: (Angrily) Oh, I never heard of such nonsense! What have old ivy leaves got to do with you getting well? And you used to love that vine so…You’re being ridiculous, Joan. Don’t be a goosey! Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well real soon are-well let’s see exactly what he said- he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that’s almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Susie go back to her drawing, so she can sell it to the editor man, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.

JOANNE: You need not get anymore wine. There goes another. No, I don’t want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then, I’ll go too.

SUE: Joan dear, will you promise me to keep your eyes closed and not look out of the window until I am done working? I must hand these drawings in by tomorrow. I need the light or I would draw the shade down.

JOANNE: Couldn’t you draw in another room?

SUE: I’d rather be here with you. Besides, I don’t want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.

JOANNE: Tell me when you finish because I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor tired leaves.

SUE: Try to sleep. I must call Behrman up to model for me. I need an old hermit miner. I’ll not be gone a minute. Don’t try to move till I come back. (Exit right)

CURTAIN

*************************************************************************************

SCENE III

(A dark room full of old painting material, dusty bottles, and other miscellaneous items. The bed is covered with rags. A wooden chair lies on its side next to an empty canvas set up on the left corner. A man is fiddling with a glass on the mantelpiece. He looks old and weary with a long beard and dirty clothes. )

NARRATOR: This is the ground floor of the same building where Joanne and Sue live. The man who lives here is more than 60 years old. He was an artist for forty years but he was a failure in art. Yet Mr Behrman never gives up. You see that empty canvas in the corner. It’s been like that for the past twenty years waiting for the first stroke of his masterpiece. Meanwhile he earns a living by serving as a model to young artists who could not pay the price of a professional. This fierce old man would scoff at softness in anyone. He drinks gin to the excess and regards himself a sort of guardian to the two young artists in the studio above.

(Doorbell rings. Mr BEHRMAN looks up from his glass, trudges to the door and opens it)

BEHRMAN: Oh! Susie! Come in. come inside. It’s awful cold, yes? Come in. (turns the chair to the upright position and invites SUE to be seated)

SUE: Thank you. How have you been, Mr Behrman?

BEHRMAN: (sitting on the bed) I’m vell. How’s de Jonzy? The doctor came today?

SUE: (shaking her head) The doctor says she’s getting worse. She won’t eat or drink and today she nearly scared me sick talking about those leaves.

BEHRMAN: Leaves? Vat leaves?

SUE: You known that ivy vine which grows up the neighbours wall? It’s a withered old thing. Almost dried out. She says she will die the moment the last leaf from the vine falls.

BEHRMAN: Vass! Is dere people in de world mid der foolishness to die because leaves dey drop off from a confounded vine!? I haf not heard of such a thing.

SUE: She is very ill and weak and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. I came to ask if you would pose as a hermit for me. I need to finish the painting by the evening and send it to the editor.

BEHRMAN: No, I vill not bose a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der prain of her? Ach, dot poor little Miss Yonsy!

SUE: Very well, Mr Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn’t. But I think you are a horrid old-old flibbertigibbet!

BEHRMAN: You are just like a woman. Who said I vill not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half and hour I haf been trying to tell you dot I am ready to bose. Gott! Dis is not any base in which one so goot as Miss Yonsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill paint a masterpiece, and ve shall go away. Gott! Yes.

(Grabs his coat from the bed and leads SUE out of the house)

CURTAIN

************************************************************************************

SCENE IV

(JOANNE’s bedroom. The old canvas is replaced with a new blank one. The side table is empty. The window has the shade drawn. Yet JOANNE lies on her bed and stares at it.)

NARRATOR: It has been a stormy night. The wind was more violent than the thunder. The rain hasn’t yet abated. It still drizzles as the sun rises warming the wet world. When Joanne awoke, she saw that the shade was drawn across the window and she was anxious to have it drawn. There were just three ivy leaves clinging onto the vine last night. Do you think they’ve survived? Will Joanne survive if they don’t?

(SUE enters with a tray of food.)

SUE: Good Morning, Joan. How are you feeling today?

JOANNE: (still staring intently at the window) Pull in up. I want to see.

(SUE wearily walks to the window and pulls up the shade)

JOANNE: (sigh) Just one, Sue. It’s the last leaf. I thought it would surely fall during the bight. I hear the wind. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time.

SUE: Dear, dear! Don’t Jo—think of me, if you won’t think of yourself. What would I do?

(Silence. SUE seats herself on the chair and watches JOANNE as she watches the last leaf)

NARRATOR: The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to the earth were loosed.

The day wore on. At twilight the north wind swept past the window as the rain relentlessly beat down. But the tiny green leaf with its neatly serrated edges refused to let go. It seemed to know that a feeble life depended on it. The last leaf was determined to stay alive and this made Joanne hopeful.

JOANNE: Sue, Sudie!

SUE: (rushing to the bed) What is it, dear?

JOANNE: I’ve been a bad girl, Sudie. Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I’ve been. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me some broth now and some milk with a little port in it.

(SUE brings the bowl of broth and feeds JOANNE slowly with the ladel. After a few spoonfuls)

JOANNE: Susie, someday I hope to paint the bay of Naples.

SUE: (smiles) Of course you will dear. (Doorbell rings) That must be the doctor. (Exit left and returns with DOCTOR)

DOCTOR: Hello, Joanne. How are we doing today. Hungry, I see? (walks to the bed and checks temperature and pulse. To SUE) Much better. There’s been a big improvement since last night. I see you’ve been taking good care of her. She’s out of danger. A few days of good nursing should do the job. Nothing to worry about.

SUE: Thank you doctor.

DOCTOR: Now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is-some kind of artist, I believe. Pneumonia too. He is an old man, too weak and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to hospital today to make it more comfortable.

SUE: But he was perfectly alright when I met him yesterday. When did this happen doctor?

DOCTOR: He was out all night painting his masterpiece he says. Crazy fellow if you ask me, going out on such a dreadful night to paint—

JOANNE: He’s always talking of painting a masterpiece. Poor man. He was out all night, was he? Did he complete it?

DOCTOR: I believe so.

JOANNE: Sue, why don’t you go down with the doctor and pay your respect to dear old Mr Behrman. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you. And if you do get to see his masterpiece—

SUE: Joan, there’s something I have to tell you.

JOANNE: What is it dear? Is something wrong?

SUE: I found Mr Behrman in the early hours of the morning. He was wet through and through. His shoes and clothing were icy cold. I called the doctor immediately. And I found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green yellow colours mixed on it, and –look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall didn’t you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, its Behrmans masterpiece –he painted it there the night the last leaf fell.

CURTAIN

THE END

************************************************************************************

NEED A NANNY?

A short plot with a hilarious twist

For the fun loving teenager and the lazy parent

Revolves around a pleasure seeking mom and her 15 year old Nanny

Explores the lifestyle of carefree parents, greedy teenagers

No further explanation.

Settings:

A typical modern American home. The living room. A comfortable couch in the centre. A small low table in front, an old bean bag on its right. A side table in between the couch and the bean bag with a cordless phone, yellow post-its, paper and pens on it. A television on the left, facing the bean bag. A medium side cupboard next to the tv table, filled with coloured rubber balls and a toy train.

Props:

A jar of Skippy’s peanut butter.

A jar of mayonnaise

5 large packets of chips

2 big bars of Hersheys milk chocolate

A tub of icecream

A boy wearing a black leotard, strapped with a cardboard sign saying ‘6 hours , 5 Packets of Chips, 2 Bars of chocolate and ½ a jar of peanut butter later’

(Note: All props need to be readily available backstage. All props have to be distinctly large enough for the audience to notice)

Costumes:

Mom wears sweats and a jacket. Hair tied in a pony tail. Hardly any make up.

Nanny wears a T shirt and jeans. Fashionable hair style and simple jewelry and nail polish.

Music:

It isn’t absolutely essential to have background music for the whole play. But when the television is on theme songs from the American idol, FRIENDS, The Simpsons and perhaps even Desperate Housewives could be played.

Scene

(A modern mom seated on the couch with a fifteen year old nanny. Her bag and car keys lie on the centre table)

MOM: You understand don’t you? I’m not a bad mom. I just need some time for myself. There’s no point spending 24 hours with my baby if I’m going to be tired and irritable the whole time.

NANNY: (nodding) I know how it is. You need a few hours to yourself, to rejuvenate. It makes you a better mom in the end.

MOM: Exactly. I’d rather spend some quality time with him the evening. He’ll be asleep till 12 in any case. (looking at her watch) You have almost an hour to yourself. When he wakes up, he’ll trot down for his chocolate milk. It’s already in the microwave. Just make sure you heat it for exactly 3 and 1/2 minutes. Alfa is very particular about his milk. Anything else? Oh ya, the emergency numbers are on little yellow post it’s by the cordless. You probably won’t need them but—

NANNY: Where are the toys?

MOM: Good question! (pointing to the cupboard) That cupboard next to the TV has all his colored balls. He loves trains. So you can set the tracks for him. Don’t worry, he’s very well behaved. You won’t have any problems. Nancy did say you were a very capable young lady. And I trust you with Affy. Now bout your fees, I pay by the hour. Will 15 dollars do?

NANNY: That’s what I usually charge.

MOM: Fair enough. I’m off to Walmarts now. Have to pick up a couple of thin—

NANNY: What about lunch?

MOM: Oh! (waving her hand carelessly) I’ll just pick up something from McDonalds at the drive through. You mean your lunch? Help yourself. There’s plenty of meatloaf left over from yesterday and you’ll find peanut butter and mayo on the counter. Make yourself a sandwich if you like.

NANNY: Great. What time will you be back?

MOM: I have a hair appointment at 2 and I’ll hit the Gym by 4. So, let’s say quarter past five?

NANNY: Sure. That’ll be fine.

MOM: Ok then. I’m off. (picks up her handbag, keys and cell phone)

NANNY: (getting up) See ya!

MOM: Have fun.

(They wave. MOM exits left. NANNY exits right and returns with jars of peanut butter and mayonnaise, packets of chips, bars of chocolate and a tub of icecream. She sets the stuff down on the coffee table and reaches for the remote. Turns on the television. American Idol theme starts playing. She plonks down onto the bean bag, opens the jar of peanut butter and sticks her finger in it. Licks that off and starts on the chips dipped in mayonnaise. Next she reaches for the phone, dials a number)

NANNY: Hey! Guess where I am! (pause) Yup! (pause) I don’t care, the longer I stay the more I get paid. (Still crunching on chips) So, wassup?

(The prop guy wearing a big board saying ‘6 hours, 5 Packets of Chips, 2 Bars of chocolate and ½ a jar of peanut butter later’ walks in, stands in the centre of the stage for a five seconds and walks out)

NANNY: (over the phone) It’s five already! Oh crap! (Jumping out of the bean bag) She’ll be back any minute now! That damn kid hasn’t even woken up yet. (pause) Lazy family, I swear! Ok, I’ll catch you later. Bye!

(She hurriedly picked up the remnants of her ‘snack’. Exits right. Returns to the cupboard near the television. Opens it. A few colored rubber balls fall onto the floor. She takes out the toy train and throws it onto the couch. Shuts cupboard. Walks up and down the room wondering what else to do. Suddenly, turns towards the side table where the phone is kept. Picks up a piece of paper and scribbles on it. Doorbell rings)

NANNY: (seats herself on the sofa) Hey, how was your day?

MOM: Oh great! Great! Thank you so much. This wouldn’t be possible without you. So, how’s my baby been? Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.

NANNY: Oh no trouble at all. We played with the train and the balls. I read him a story and he fell asleep.

MOM: Aw! Good doggie!

NANNY: (looking for the piece of paper) He made a little picture for you too. It was right here. (finds it on the table) Here.

MOM: A picture? (looks confused)

NANNY: Ya, he draws very well for a 3 year old. Look.

MOM: Are you kidding me? Affy can’t draw. He may be very talented. He knows all the tricks. But he’s a dog for heaven’s sake!

NANNY: A dog?!

MOM: Ya, oh my baby! He must be whining in his room. (walks out right looking extremely worried)

NANNY: Who needs a nanny for a dog? (look of disgust) hey, wait a sec! What about my pay?

CURTAIN

CINDERELLA: A FAIRYLESS FAIRYTALE

Scene 1

(The scene is set in London in the 1940’s. Nakati Ville-A typical British home with a fireplace in the centre with a comfortable chair and an empty vase on the side table near it, three beds placed side by side to the left and a dressing table adjacent to a huge closet on the right. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace is a black and white picture of a family-a father, mother and two plain looking girls. Also on the mantelpiece is an old cuckoo clock.

A young girl dressed in old worn out clothes is straightening out the things on the dressing table. She looks at herself in the mirror and smiles sadly. She gets up and moves towards the fireplace, dusts the mantelpiece and picks up the photo frame. Examining it for a few seconds see wrinkles her brow.)

Cinderella: It’s a wonder I’m not in this picture? (She stares at it as if trying to remember something) It was taken 7 years ago, just after father married this horrid woman. She hides behind that perfect frame. I don’t blame papa. He didn’t know how mean she could be. Beatrice and Bernadette look the same- idle, spoilt, (she pouts in frustration trying to find another word to describe them) They think they’re so smart. (with bitterness in her tone) Huh! Just because they’ve been to fashionable private schools while I was trapt here washing dishes and dusting windows all the while. (Sigh. Sits in chair still mulling over her misery)

(Enter Bernadette)

Bernadette: Ella!! What do you think you’re doing there?! Have you fixed my bath? What about the flowers I asked you to get? I don’t see them in the vase yet? What is the matter with you? Lying around here while you have so much work to do! (Notices the photo frame in Cinderella’s hand) What’s that in your hand? How dare you touch that! It’s the only decent picture we have without your ugly face in it! (Snatches the frame out of Cinderella’s hands and places it back on the mantelpiece)

(Enter Andromeda)

Andromeda: What’s the matter, Berny? Is she being stubborn again? This is just like her father. Do you know how persistent I had to be to get him to make me the sole heir of Nakati Ville? It’s outrageous. After all I am his wife, his widow.

(Enter Beatrice)

Beatrice: Mother! Mother! Guess what I found in the letter box. Mother! Look!

(She produces a large envelope with the royal seal on it. It has the letters ‘You’re invited’ hand written across the front)

Andromeda: OOO! What do you make of this? What could this mean? Open it quick! Quick! Beatrice!

(Berny pushes her mother aside and grabs the envelope)

Bernadette: What is it? Let me see!

(The girls wrestle for the envelope as their mother screams and Cinderella giggles)

Andromeda: (turning her attention to Cinderella) What’re you laughing about? (slaps her on the back) make yourself useful. Go get me a letter opener! Go on, what’re you standing here for?

(Cinderella exists left)

Oh, stop it now girls. Try to act like adults. Here. Hand me the letter. Let me have it.

(Beatrice lets go)

Berny! (looks at her threateningly through her pince-nez trying to get the envelope out of her daughters hand. Berny pouts and let’s go)

(Enter Cinderella with letter opener. Hands it to Andromeda)

(opens the letter and reads aloud)

You and your family are cordially invited to a ball held at the ball held in honour of Lord Mountbatten, Viceroy of the British India (gasp)

(all stare in amazement)

Beatrice and Bernadette: Huh! Let me see that!

( they snatch the letter and fight over it until it is torn into shreds, they stomp out of the room as Andromeda orders Cinderella to clear up the mess.)

Curtain

Scene 2

(The day before the ball. Same room. The closet is open. A few evening gowns are strewn carelessly on the bed. Bernadette is trying to fit into a red dress which is way too tight for her. Beatrice is trying on jewellery in front of the dressing table)

Beatrice: (to her sister, teasingly) I told you to get a larger size. This is what happens when you eat too many apple pies with cream. (holding up a gold pair of earrings, to herself) Are these big enough?

Bernadette: (in a huff) why is it that you always have the better life? The better figure, the better clothes, the better shoes, the better grades, the better boys! And I’m stuck in this ugly skin struggling to live upto you. (Gives up on her gown, goes to the bed to choose another one. Exists left with three gowns in her arms)

Beatrice: (shrugs shoulders with arrogance. Smirks.)

(Cinderella enters with white gloves on a salver)

Cinderella: Is this how you wanted it done, Beatrice. I sewed them as per your instructions.

Beatrice: My! What an age you take to get things done! Really, you should be ashamed of yourself! (tries on the gloves, admires her slender arms) Perfect! These will look marvelous on the shoulders of the viceroy as I dance with him at the ball tomorrow, don’t you think, Cinderella?

Cinderella: And how can you assume he’ll want to dance with you?

Beatrice: He can’t possibly dance with you?

Cinderella: why not?

Beatrice: Cos mother says you wont be coming. You see, the invitation is clearly addressed to Lady Andromeda and her daughters. You don’t count.

Cinderella: But—

Beatrice: And besides what would you wear? Huh!

Voice from stage left: Beatrice! Beatrice, darling, won’t you come help your sister out of this dress. She’s stuck! Relax, Berny, you’ll tear it!

Beatrice: (an eyebrow raised) This should be fun. (exists left)

Cinderella: (centre stage) This is so unfair! I deserve to go too! (starts to cry, crumbles to the floor) If only he were alive. Papa would want me to go, wouldn’t he? He would have bought me the best gown and escorted me there himself. I would be the one feasting. I would be the one dancing with the viceroy. If only…..

Curtain

Scene 3

(The day of the ball. Cinderella is helping the sisters into their gowns. Andromeda is hovering around, fully dressed, telling the girls to hurry up, hurling abuses at Cinderella once in a while, complaining about her wrinkles and cursing the carriage for arriving on time. By and by, they get dressed and leave. Cinderella is left alone)

Cinderella: They’ve gone. They’ve gone to the ball without me. I couldn’t make it even if I tried. Even if had the clothes to wear, I would need a carriage to take me there and I suppose they check the invitations at the gate. It’s useless. There’s no way I could get there. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t deserve it. I belong here, obeying orders, keeping the fire hot and clearing up the mess they leave behind. Maybe—

(A doorbell rings)

Cinderella: (wiping her face) who could that be? Maybe Bernadette left something behind. Maybe they’ll take me if I plead one last time.

(Exists left. Voices heard. Enter strange woman with a portmanteau followed by a very confused Cinderella)

Agnella: But why aren’t you dressed yet dear?

Cindrella: Madam, I don’t understand. How can you just walk in like this? If I be so forward to ask who are you?

Stranger: Didn’t you get my letter, dear. I said I would be arriving today. I’m your Aunt Agnella. Your father’s sister. Oh may he rest in piece.

Cinderella: Oh but I don’t understand. How is this possible? My father never told me you were in London.

Agnella: (smiling) Well, that’s because I just arrived from India dear. I wasn’t in London till this morning. I wrote explaining all this to you. Whatever happened to that letter!

Cindrella: It was probably ignored with all the other mail that came in the day of the invitation.

Agnella: What invitation?

Cindrella: Haven’t you heard? There’s a ball held in honour of Lord Mountbatten tonight at the Town hall.

Agnella: (laughes loudly) oh that invitation. Well, that’s why I’m here darling. I’m here to make sure you attend the ball. The invitation was for all of Lord Mc Claken’s daughters. Specifically for you, dear. The viceroy has been waiting to meet you. After all you are the one he has been engaged to all these years.

Cinderella: Engaged??!!

Agnella: You see dear. Your father was no ordinary man. He was the one who made the deal with the vireroy of India. He made sure Lord Mountbatten would come to power. It’s taken a long time since his unfortunate death but the day is here and ball was held to commemorate him.

(Cindrella gasps in amazement)

Cinderella: So I can go to the ball?

Agnella: You can do more than that, my child. You can pack all your things and plan to leave this place forever. You’re going to India with the viceroy.

Cindrella: India! Wow! This seems unreal. I can finally leave my life in London behind and start over as the wife of a viceroy. This is better than anything I ever dreamt of.

Agnella: You deserve it darling. After all you’ve been through. You deserve this.

(They Hug)

Curtain

The End