Kirti K Spinster

KIRTI K, SPINSTER

Ketaki Chowkhani

A One Act Play

Character- Kirti K.

Scene 1

The home of a woman who lives alone. On stage is a single bed, a desk with a chair, a dining table with a single chair, a sofa set and coffee table, a bookcase, some stools, and an open kitchen. On the walls are paintings and photographs. The protagonist Kirti K, PhD is a 45 year old sociologist teaching at a university and is a happily single woman. She doesn’t have children, has never been married, or been in a relationship.

It is 7 in the morning on a Sunday. Kirti, sits up in her bed, stretches and yawns with her mouth wide open, and reaches for her phone. She unlocks it and opens a few apps, frowning as she reads. She scrolls down her phone a few times, and then puts it away. She swings her legs to her bedside, searching for her house slippers. She puts them on, gets up, puts her hands to her waist and arches her back.

Kirti- Ahhh.

She scratches her head and shuffles over to the sofa. She heavily plops down on the sofa, grabs her laptop and opens it.

Kirti- let’s check my email.

She peers at the laptop, scratches her face.

Kirti- exclaiming- Aha! My paper has been accepted by the Journal of Theory and Critique. Such good news, must celebrate.

Then her eye catches another email, and she quickly opens it.

Kirti- (reading aloud)- Dearest niece, thank you for sharing your latest column with me. Your thoughts on singlehood are very fresh and bold. I applaud you, continue being brave, love, Sima aunty. (rolling her eyes and looking at the audience) What’s this word bold? BOLD. As if I were running down a beach stark naked. Don’t you call me bold. I am not bold. (pause). If at all, I am courageous. Yes, courage sounds much better. One must have courage to not get married or coupled up in this day and age. Uggh. Marriage. (she shudders).

Closing her laptop she goes over to the kitchen and starts making breakfast. She sings loudly and off key, while cooking, and once in a while does a little un-coordinated dance.

Kirti- (singing) shake it off, shake it off, o, o, o, shake it offffff. (in a normal tone) Damn, almost burnt that, haha, close call eh. (she sniffs from her pan) Smells ok, I guess it is edible.

She takes over the pan to her dining table and after letting it cool a bit, eats her scrambled eggs straight off the pan. She lets out a loud burp and goes into the kitchen area to put the pan in the sink. She goes over to her bed and lies down, staring at the ceiling.

Kirti- oh the luxury of a day off! No snooty students to teach, no excel sheets to maintain. No writing to do. Well, no, I do have some writing to do. Must plan the second volume of my book on singlehood. I also need to review that book on gender and development, and…

Her thoughts are interrupted by her phone that rings by her bedside. She picks it up.

Kirti- hello, good morning. Yes, yes, this is Dr Kirti speaking. May I know who’s on the line? You’re from the courier service, are you? Yes, I am expecting some papers from my lawyer. What? You’re at my door, is it? I will be there in minute.

Kirti springs from her bed, puts on jacket over her night suit and quickly opens the door to her home. She picks up a package from a box outside, closes the door behind her, and goes over to her desk to get her envelop opener. She sits on her sofa as she opens the envelope and takes out a sheath of papers.

Kirti- (with visible excitement) eeeee, weeeeee, and here’s my will. Finally! (She opens it and reads aloud.) Kirti K, daughter of Smita K and Kiran K, spinster, has herewith decided to leave all her movable and immovable assets to… (she exclaims) SPINSTER! Is that what one calls a single woman today.

She gets up and dramatically declares to the audience.

Kirti- I am a spinster- behold the spinster. I should hence sign all my books as Kirti K, Spinster instead of Kirti K, PhD. Spinster, what a loaded word that is. Historically women who used to spin and earn their own money were called spinsters. They were independent women. (pause). I shall carry forward that legacy. Imagine, being called a spinster in 2024. Mind you, I didn’t invent that word, that’s what’s written in my will. I guess that is the legal terminology. Ha.

Kirti places her will on her coffee table and with her hands clasped behind her back paces up and down the stage.

Kirti- I am glad this will has finally been drawn. We single folks need to make our will, otherwise when we die, all our money will go back to the State. I don’t want that to happen. I pay such high taxes as it is! I’d rather distribute my money among my loved ones, as I see fit. Not that I have a lot of money hoarded up- I am not Ambani or Adani. (pause, to the audience). Do you think somebody can contest my will? I suppose not. It is registered after all.

Kirti continues pacing, head down, deep in thought

Kirti- It is a good thing I did not marry. I cannot imagine all my money being inherited by a man, or worse a child. It is not that I don’t like children, but… children of my own- the thought makes me shudder. Should I change nappies or write books? I cannot do both- I ain’t a superwoman. Books are hard enough to birth, let alone having children. Such a long gestation period! My last book took me five years to write, and the one before that, almost 10 years. Imagine carrying a child in your uterus for 10 years!

Kirti goes over to her desk, sits on her chair and puts her feet up on the desk.

Kirti- talking of uterus, I am so fed up of bleeding every month. What’s the solution? A hysterectomy? Nah, that would be too drastic. I guess menopause should hit me by 50. It hit mummy by 50, should be the same age for me I guess. (she sighs). No children to run after and feed and send off to school. (she puts her hands behind her head). Let my uterus hold books, I am happy with that.

Pause

Kirti (looking fondly at her sofa set) what a gorgeous combination of colours- yellow and blue, just like the Macaw birds of South America. It matches so well with my paintings- all in shades of yellow, blue, pink, white. Those are my colours. (sigh). I love my home, I have decorated it with so much care.

She gets up and talks to the audience.

Kirti- You know that little stool in the corner, that was picked from a local carpenter near the Krishna temple. And that book case, that was made by that other store, I forget its name- they made it exactly as I wanted it. Bless them. I must have my home just the way I want it. And most importantly, only for myself. I don’t mind a guest once in a while, but not for more than a few hours. This space is mine, and mine alone. It is my little cocoon, which envelops me every day when I return from work, tired, after having dealt with people the whole day. This is where I find myself. My true self. Not the self that I show to the world, not the academic, not the professor in flowing mulmul saris, not the able administrator. But myself, the artist, the bad singer, the lover of music. This is where I can commune with my soul, go within, find that little spark within, express myself freely, dance when I want to, and embrace myself. (She puts her hands around herself and stays like that for a while).

Kirti- Ah, sweet solitude.

Scene 2

The same set as scene 1. The book case now holds a number of trophies and medals. There are plants around the sofa, and a ceramic statue on the wooden stool. Kirti’s hair has become a little white. It is Sunday again.

Kirti- (Sitting at her desk, sorting out some papers. She mumbles to herself) This certificate is from 2022, this one from pre covid, 2019, and this one from 2025, and ah, here’s the latest one from this year, 2026. My my, my swim timings have fluctuated a lot over the years, but the goal was never to win or break records, but to participate. My favorite swim was from last year, I was in peak form. Imagine, feeling one’s fittest at 46! Next year, I plan to try open water swimming. Enough laps around the pool- time to hit the vast stretches of open water.

She gets up and puts away the papers in the drawer of the desk. She goes over to the front of the stage.

Kirti- I love Sundays. It is the only day I get to spend with myself. The rest of the days are spent with people. Yesterday I went out with my friend Sheela to the beach. We spotted some pelagic birds. Sheela is such a sport I tell you. So sprightly and enthusiastic, even at 70. Age has never come between our deep friendship. Now that my parents are no more, my friends are my lifeline. You know who my youngest friend is? My five year old niece. Cute as a button- we made a puzzle together the other day. She is such a darling. Calls me Kiki. I quite like that name.

Kirti walks over to the stool and picks up the ceramic statue.

Kirti- (kissing it lightly) oh my love. You are so beautiful. (She places it back). You took me so long to make; I felt every curve of your body beneath my fingers. And now that you are fired, you are even smoother to the touch.

Kirti sits on the sofa and closes her eyes. She hums to herself softly. In the background one hears strains of Beethoven’s ninth symphony. As the piece progresses and arrives to the portion ode to joy, Kirti gets up and acts as if she is conducting the orchestra. As the music crescendos, she finishes her mock conducting with a flourish. As the music continues, she dances around her house with gay abandon, unmindful of anything around her.

Scene 3

The same set as scene 2. Kirti is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her legs in the air. She wiggles her toes. Her hands are behind her head. It is Sunday, 2030.

Kirti- My feet have developed bunions. What should I do?

She sits up and opens her phone.

Kirti- How to cure bunions- (she types on her phone). Aha. This advert shows socks to relieve bunions. Should I buy these or go to my local orthopedic? The last time I was there, the doctor asked me who was accompanying me. Why does anyone need to accompany me? I am 51 years old. I am not ten. Just because I don’t have a husband or a child doesn’t mean that I cannot go alone to the doctor. I am more fit than half my married women friends. I still have it in me to manage alone. Idiots.

She stares ahead of her with a disgruntled expression on her face. She takes a deep breath.

Kirti- I do know one doctor who won’t bother me with such questions. Let me try talking to her.

Kirti picks up her phone and dials a number.

Kirti- Hello, Oh Hi Dr Chellamma. This is Dr Kirti K. Yes yes, you remember me? How are you doing? I would like to take an appointment with you. Can I come next week? How about Thursday evening. huh. ok. ok. Does Saturday work? Wonderful. Bye Dr!

Kirti hangs up the phone and does a little victory dance.

Kirti- appointment, check. Cool doctor, check. No judgement, check. This Sunday rocks.

Looking directly at the audience

Kirti- what are you staring at? Never seen a cool 51 year old? Even I can speak the Gen Z lingo. I still haven’t learned the Gen ZZ lingo, but I can manage Gen Z. It is not that hard. Why don’t you try some day. The latest research shows that keeping up with the latest lingo keeps one young. I am not lying, google it!

Kirti springs to her feet and dances around her house a little. She goes over to the kitchen and makes herself a sandwich which she eats standing over the counter.

Kirti- (looking at the audience again) don’t judge- that how we single folks eat- fresh off the pan!

Scene 4

The same set as scene 2. It is night and Kirti is snoring loudly in her bed. It is Saturday night, 2032. Kirti’s phone rings.

Kirti- (Waking up with a startle and groggily picking up the phone. In a hoarse voice). Hello. (long pause). Hmm. hmmm. ok. I will be right there.

Kirti gets dressed in the dark and switches on the light. She is wearing light blue pants and a green shirt. She combs her hair which has become a little whiter. She sprays some perfume, switches off the light and exits.

When she enters again it is broad daylight on Sunday morning. Tired, she flops on the sofa and removes her shoes. She puts her head back and sighs. She sits up after a while and goes to her desk. She takes a sheet of paper and begins to write.

Kirti- Dear Uma, I cannot believe you are gone. When I came to the hospital to see you last night, I thought you might make it, but you didn’t. Trust me, I prayed very hard for you. I imagined you hale and hearty. I tried my best to give you as much support as I could. But at the end everyone dies alone. I too will die alone someday, even though I am sure I will be surrounded by my loved ones, I will still be alone- we are all on this journey on our own, we have wayfarers for a while, but in the end, we are alone. I don’t know why being alone is such a bad word. I have lived alone for the last 30 years of my live, but I have never felt lonely. Alone is very different from lonely. It is a beautiful thing to be alone, it allows one to connect with others, the world, and oneself. It is a most wonderful feeling. Needless to say, I will miss you deeply. I will always cherish our trips together, the fun times we had with you, Prerna, Sheela and Gautam. We single folks know how to live it up, to make the most of our time. You have taught me so much about birds, butterflies, and how to make the best sandwiches in the world. I will pass on your recipes and knowledge to younger friends who are now in their twenties. Remember, we had met when we were in our twenties. We were so naïve back then. And we are still naïve today. I would rather be this way than be a know it all. Life still has so much to teach me, and I am sure in some other world you must be also still learning. This letter is my way of letting you go gently into the night; but I shall not bid thee farewell, for we shall meet again. Your loving friend, Kirti.

Fade out.