A Sarcastic Play in One Act
Characters: • Mr. Kohli – A vocal resident, always complaining on WhatsApp.
• Mrs. Sitharaman – A pragmatic resident, part of the RWA. • Mr. Iyer – A passive resident, enjoys complaining but avoids responsibilities.
• RWA President (Mr. Mandana) – Overworked and underappreciated. • A Government Official – Mysteriously elusive. • The Watchman (Raju) – A silent observer of the chaos.
Scene: A dusty, pothole-filled street in South City 1. A broken sewer line gurgles in the background. A group of residents stands under a flickering streetlight, angrily staring at their phones.
Mr. Kohli: (furiously typing on phone) This is UNACCEPTABLE! The potholes are now big enough to swallow my car! Look at this picture! (Shows a blurry photo on his phone) Does anyone even care?!!
Mrs. Sitharaman: (sighs) Kohli ji, you’ve posted the same complaint 37 times. Maybe instead of just posting, we could…you know…DO something?
Mr. Iyer: (dramatically) Why should WE do anything? Isn’t that why we pay taxes? The government should fix this!
Mrs. Sitharaman: (raising an eyebrow) Do you even know where the municipal office is?
Mr. Iyer: (pauses) I… I believe it’s somewhere near… umm… where they sell the good chole bhature?
Mr. Mandana (RWA President): (arriving, looking exhausted) Alright, what’s the crisis today? Is it the broken roads? Overflowing garbage? Water shortage? Or the fact that no one pays their RWA fees but expects miracles?
Mr. Kohli: Everything! Everything is a crisis! Look at this WhatsApp group—pure outrage, 24/7!
Mr. Mandana: (mockingly) Oh yes, the Sacred WhatsApp Group. Where problems are shouted into the void and nothing ever happens. You know what would help? If people actually contributed to the RWA!
Mr. Iyer: (indignant) Why should we pay? What does the RWA even do?
Mrs. Sitharaman: (sarcastically) Oh, not much. Just attempts to arrange security, coordinates with the authorities, cleans up after residents, and listens to endless complaints. But sure, who needs funding for that?
Mr. Kohli: Security! Ah yes! That’s another issue! There are a dozen road entries and six side entries from Silokhra and Saini Khera. Anyone can just walk in! What are you doing about it?!
Mr. Mandana: (frustrated) We tried to put up security gates. People protested because it was “inconvenient.” We asked for security fees. Nobody paid. We hired a watchman. People refused to give him tea!
(All turn to look at Raju, the watchman, who is silently sipping from a chipped cup of tea.)
Raju (deadpan): I bring my own tea.
Mr. Kohli: (outraged) This is all the government’s fault! Where is the municipal officer?!
(A dramatic pause. The Government Official enters… or rather, a random breeze rustles the trees, but no one appears.)
Mrs. Sitharaman: (sarcastically) Ah, the ever-present, ever-responsive government! Maybe if we chant a spell, he’ll appear!
Mr. Iyer: (chanting) Fix-the-roads-alakazam! Clean-the-drains-shazam!
(Nothing happens.)
Mr. Mandana: (rubbing his temples) Look, if we all just contributed even a small amount, we could hire better security, repair some roads, and make real progress.
Mr. Kohli: (scoffs) Money? What am I, made of money? I already pay so much tax!
Mrs. Sitharaman: (dryly) Ah yes, your ¹ 100 contribution to the nation’s economy must have shaken the finance ministry.
Mr. Kohli: (ignoring her) I say we protest! Let’s all march to the municipal office!
Mr. Iyer: (nervous) Today? But there’s cricket on TV…
Mrs. Sitharaman: (claps) Wonderful! An idea! Let’s go right now!
(Silence. Awkward shuffling. One by one, the residents slowly back away, returning to their phones.)
Mr. Mandana: (smirking) That’s what I thought. You all prefer the sacred WhatsApp group over actual action.
Mr. Kohli: (proudly) At least I’m raising awareness!
Mrs. Sitharaman: (rolling eyes) Yes, Kohli ji. A true revolutionary… on WhatsApp.
(They all sigh, returning to their usual complaints, as the broken sewer line bubbles ominously. The lights flicker and go out.)
Raju (sipping tea, in darkness): Welcome to South City 1.
Curtain falls.
