Drama extract 3

Tell me Binoy, does Gora really believe in the caste system? In the seclusion of women? In

Sucharita walks quickly to a seat, and sits down at ease. Mocking.

Isn’t his profession of faith an exaggerated expression of her worship for the country?

BINOY – He plays softly with Lila building a house of cards, then strokes her hair, and starts braiding her hair.

Well… Gora says that anyone who looks at broken branches or dry leaves as the
of the tree proves his intellectual lightness.

SUCHARITA – Mocking, she gets up, rummages through a fruit basket, pulls out an orange, with which she starts juggling.

Surely, we must neglect the dead branches, but what about the fruit, Binoy, no, tell me,
really, let’s talk about the fruit. We lock women and men in compartments.
She resumes a light tone.
The poor that your Gora loves, we women.
She stops and then resumes, more seriously.

One can appreciate the voyage as long as one does not change wagon. The division of tasks? Haha!
She eats the orange and the mouth full.
What fruit, yes, what fruit has it given our country?

Ask your father he knows our history well. How we fought for our aspirations,
our glory denied.

I don’t know what those aspirations are, Binoy! Must we always go back to the past? Tackle the future, my children! Is the point of view of your friend Binoy the one from which the ordinary man perches?

Don’t think that my friend Gora is one of those people who boast as they eat, roughly
He looks at Sucharita busy with the orange.

Of course he respects all the principles of his caste…

SUCHARITA – She stops him
Gora, Gora, Gora! But when will he deign to come here? Are his Brahmin sandals too holy
for the threshold of a house where girls talk to visitors?

LOLITA – To Binoy.
Binoy, you look like a lizard that swallowed a fly. You need to get away from your friend!
Tell me my friend, would you be willing to act in the magistrate’s play?

BINOY — I look like…
Enter Haran
HARAN – Playful.
Binoy Babou, don’t listen to those girls! With their fawn eyes, they’d have you declare war
by whistling. In fact, Lolita and her mother have already planned your role.


Here are two white roses. There is still a trace of anger in the red

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