Writing Personalized Monologues
The artists at Flat Tire Theatre company got together to pair playwrights with actors, writing custom monologues during this virtual time. After a great discussion of artistic goals, I wrote a short scene for the amazing Tasneem Islam who wanted to play a character that had to choose between living her goals as an artist and meeting the expectations of her parents (Tasneem was recently featured in Flat Tire Company Company’s new virtual thriller 2560x1600 by Jake Fiedler).
The monologue as performed can be seen in the video below and you can check out the entire scene for context.
Setting:
Modern day Portland.
Characters:
Aarya: mid-20s, first generation Bengali, artist, never sure how she’s making rent this month but hasn’t missed a payment yet
Bansuri: early 30s, lawyer, successful in her parents’ eyes, has six months of expenses in a joint account with her husband
Aarya and Bansuri are sisters born 5 years apart.
Given Circumstances:
Aarya is on trial for grand larceny. She is being sued by her one and only client willing to pay her for a commission. Aarya claims that he tried to sleep with her and when she refused, he had her arrested for a bogus reason.
Bansuri is working pro-bono as her sister’s attorney.
Aarya spent the night in jail.
Bansuri has paid her sister’s bail.
Having just left the session, they arrive at Aarya’s apartment to prepare for the case.
AARYA and BANSURI enter Aarya’s apartment. It’s covered...no invaded...no completely conquered by art projects, clothes, papers, materials, all in various stages.
AARYA
I’ll clear off a place for us to sit.
BANSURI
It looks like your high school room.
AARYA
No. It’s much messier.
BANSURI
Do you have chairs?
AARYA
I don’t have much company here. Usually I meet friends and clients at the coffee shop down the block.
BANSURI
(Referencing a to-go coffee cup and food packaging.)
I can see you go there a lot.
AARYA
Yeah. There aren’t a lot of surfaces here so the stove is prime real estate for the larger sculptures.
She’s done making a place to sit.
I’ll put on some cha.
BANSURI
No. I’m good. Thank you.
AARYA
Ma made sure I left with plenty of cha. I’ll just clean a coffee cup real quick. I think you’re sitting next to the kettle.
BANSURI
I’d rather get started working.
AARYA
I’ll at least get some for me.
AARYA moves to the kitchen -- or rather the work area with the sink.
BANSURI
Do mom and dad know that their rent money is going to you living like this?
AARYA
They knew their tuition money was going towards art school.
BANSURI
But that doesn’t mean you have to live like an artist.
AARYA
I am an artist, apu. How else would you expect me to live?
BANSURI
Doesn’t going to jail make you look at this place any differently?
AARYA
That I’m glad I survived that night. That I have freedom now.
BANSURI
That it took money to get you out. That maybe you wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you weren’t sleeping with your clients.
AARYA
Did you look through my file or something?
BANSURI
It’s my job to look through files. I get paid to look through files and find solutions for my clients. You get paid to sleep with them.
AARYA
You’ve never, ever let me tell me my side.
BANSURI
What side is this there to tell? You can’t make money with your chosen profession so you have chosen to make money in other ways.
AARYA
He tried to rape me. I pushed him off! We were having a consultation about the painting --
BANSURI
In his bedroom, Aarya?
AARYA
In the fucking study!
BANSURI
You watch your language. Don’t speak to me in that tone.
AARYA
You’re in my home. I’ll speak to you in any tone I please.
BANSURI
You call this a home.
AARYA
You can leave anytime. Go back to your husband, your kid, your PALACE. To everything mom and dad wanted for you.
BANSURI
I’m not leaving my sister to rot in jail again. I will win you this case.
AARYA
Why? You don’t even believe me. It’s that what you get paid to do? Defend people that you don’t even believe?
BANSURI
And after I win this case, we are going to talk about your future.
AARYA
Do all of you just around and talk about my future?
BANSURI
You were so gifted. So funny. So pretty. It killed me to see you locked up like a common criminal. To throw that all away.
AARYA
I threw nothing away, apu.
Every disapproving look from ma after I cut my hair short, it’s in that red paint, right there, in that painting on the sofa. Every time baba asked how I was going to bring up 94 average in chemistry, I put that into this sculpture here. And the second chair for violin in that one there.
When you passed the bar and mom and dad threw you a party in FUCKING HAWAII and I endured for days about when I was going to back to school or why I couldn’t date one of the nice boys that our aunties knew.
Every time our family wanted to save me, every PHASE, every “when will you grow out of this.” I put that into my work.
I don’t know how to hide it away like you. I don’t know how to walk into a room with a picturesque life like you. I wish I knew what it’s like to have one conversation with mom and dad without feeling like I have to defend myself.
Apu. The cha is ready. I would like to work on the case with you. Here. In my home where I move half-painted canvases to find a seat and use coffee mugs for every glass and pencil holder. But if you’re here to be another person that wants to save me then I can make it for you to go.
BANSURI
I want to help you. I’m not going to continue to put my effort into someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.
AARYA
Seems fitting. I gave up on you a long time ago.
BANSURI
Then why did you call?
AARYA
Some part of me wanted to believe that we were still sisters. But now I can see that this is still a business transaction.
BANSURI
Well. You have clients too. So you know how business transactions work.
(Walking to the door.)
Goodbye, Aarya. Call me when you’re ready to talk.
AARYA
That’s okay. I’ll see you at the next wedding or funeral.
BANSURI leaves.
Cool people:
Tasneem Islam | Flat Tire Theatre Company
