“All Is Well” — A Dialogue Between Denial and Truth

A visitor meets Madhukar the Hermit. One hides behind smiles. The other has no use for masks.

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CHARACTERS:

Raghav – 46, middle-class, works in IT.

He’s always polite, smiling, “put-together.” He believes optimism is strength.

His default line: “All is well.” Even when everything is falling apart.

Madhukar – The Hermit.

He has no job, no possessions, no image to maintain.

He sits in the ruins of human delusions and gently holds up mirrors.

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“When ‘all is well’ becomes a mask, healing begins with the courage to admit — I am not okay. Truth doesn’t weaken you. It sets your spine straight, your breath free, and your soul in motion.”

SCENE:

A quiet afternoon. A mud hut in the hills. Raghav steps in, removing his shoes with great care.

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MADHUKAR:

Sit, son. You’ve come from the city?

RAGHAV (smiling):

Yes, but it’s peaceful here. All is well.

MADHUKAR:

Hmm. You always begin that way?

RAGHAV:

Habit, I guess. I mean… I believe in looking at the bright side.

MADHUKAR:

And which side is bleeding?

RAGHAV (laughs nervously):

No bleeding, really. Minor acidity sometimes. Bit of back pain. Everyone has something, right?

MADHUKAR:

You see? The bleeding begins with “everyone.”

That’s how we avoid looking at our own wound.

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PHYSICAL CONSEQUENCES

MADHUKAR:

How long have you had the back pain?

RAGHAV:

Four years. But I manage.

All is well.

MADHUKAR:

“Manage” is a prison word.

So is “well” when it means silent suffering.

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MENTAL + EMOTIONAL

MADHUKAR:

And sleep?

RAGHAV:

Five hours max. I use music or sometimes a podcast to distract myself to sleep.

MADHUKAR:

Ah.

So you fear silence too?

RAGHAV:

No, no… I just like noise that doesn’t judge me.

MADHUKAR (quietly):

That was the first honest thing you’ve said.

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FINANCIAL

MADHUKAR:

Any debts?

RAGHAV:

Nothing major. EMIs for house, car, some credit cards. You know — normal middle-class life.

But all is well.

MADHUKAR:

Does your salary feed you — or feed the illusion of being well?

RAGHAV (pauses):

I… don't know.

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RELATIONSHIP

MADHUKAR:

Married?

RAGHAV:

Yes. For 19 years.

We’re… functional. We don’t fight. We also don’t talk much.

But that’s common, right?

MADHUKAR:

“Common” is not “well.”

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SOCIAL + PSYCHOLOGICAL

MADHUKAR:

Friends?

RAGHAV:

I have many contacts. Thousands on LinkedIn. Some school friends on WhatsApp.

We forward jokes.

Once a year we meet at someone’s funeral.

MADHUKAR:

So you’re surrounded — but alone?

RAGHAV:

...yes.

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WORK

MADHUKAR:

Do you like your work?

RAGHAV:

It's... okay. Pays the bills. I lead a team.

But most days I wonder if I’ve become a machine.

Still… all is well.

MADHUKAR:

Son, if you repeat the lie often enough, it will dig a home in your throat.

You won’t even know you’re choking.

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THE BREAKING POINT

MADHUKAR (softly):

Raghav — what is not well?

RAGHAV (long silence):

I don't know how to answer that.

I’ve never said anything else.

Saying “not well” feels like failing. Like collapsing.

And I can't collapse — I’m the strong one.

The eldest son. The father. The boss.

MADHUKAR:

Then you’ve mistaken silence for strength.

Strength is when your mask shatters — and you stay.

RAGHAV (eyes wet):

I’m tired.

MADHUKAR:

Good. That’s a beginning.

Tired is the voice of your truth trying to survive.

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PART TWO — WHEN “I’M OKAY” STOPS WORKING

The silence grows heavier. Raghav finally stops smiling. He stares at his own hands. For the first time, they’re trembling.

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RAGHAV:

I don’t know how to speak without pretending.

Even now… there’s a voice inside me saying — “pull yourself together, say something normal, smile.”

It’s a disease, isn’t it?

MADHUKAR:

Not a disease — a defense.

You built it to survive.

But now… it’s killing your ability to live.

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THE ROOTS OF THE MASK

MADHUKAR:

When did you first start hiding?

RAGHAV:

Maybe when my father lost his job.

I was 12.

He cried once. I had never seen a man cry before. It terrified me.

After that, I promised myself I’d always be “strong.”

I never cried again. I became “the good boy.”

Always okay. Always well.

MADHUKAR:

So your mask is not pride. It’s protection.

You feared that showing pain meant crumbling.

And now pain lives in your bones because it was never allowed out.

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LETTING GO

MADHUKAR (gently):

Speak one sentence you’ve never said aloud.

Something that is true.

Not polished. Not polite.

Just true.

RAGHAV (breathes, long pause):

“I don’t want to go home.”

MADHUKAR:

Why?

RAGHAV:

Because home isn’t a place.

It’s a mirror.

My wife looks at me and sees a stranger.

My kids talk to me like I’m a checklist.

And I don’t know how to be real with them.

Because I was never real with myself.

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THE BODY SPEAKS

MADHUKAR:

Your back pain is not in your spine.

It’s in your silence.

Every pain you ignored — every truth you buried — found a home in your body.

RAGHAV:

Then what do I do now?

MADHUKAR:

Start where you are.

Speak.

One honesty at a time.

Cry.

Not for pity — but for freedom.

Sleep.

Not out of exhaustion — but release.

Eat slow. Breathe deep. Walk barefoot. Look at the sky without photographing it.

And stop saying “all is well.”

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THE FAMILY REUNION

MADHUKAR:

When you go home, sit your family down.

And say:

“I have not been honest.”

“I am not okay.”

“But I want to learn how to be.”

Let your children see you human.

Not heroic. Not broken. Just present.

That is your real strength.

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THE HEALING LIST

MADHUKAR (writing on a slate):

These are your new truths:

Stop using “fine” as a shortcut to end conversations.

If you don’t know what to say — say that.

When someone asks how you are, pause before answering.

Make time for friendships that allow you to speak freely.

Journal. Not to impress — but to unravel.

Rest is not laziness. It’s repair.

Say no without guilt. Say yes without pressure.

Find one person — just one — with whom you don’t have to wear the mask.

Let it begin with you.

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FINAL SCENE

RAGHAV (rising):

I feel something strange.

Like I’m falling apart, but also waking up.

MADHUKAR (smiling):

Good. That’s the heart leaving its cage.

RAGHAV:

And what if people don’t like the real me?

MADHUKAR:

Then at least you’ll know they liked the mask, not you.

And now, you get to find people who can love what’s beneath it.

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ONE YEAR LATER — RAGHAV WRITES A LETTER TO MADHUKAR

> “Dear Madhukar,

I don’t say ‘All is well’ anymore.

Now I say:

‘I’m healing.’

‘I’m confused.’

‘I’m hopeful.’

‘I’m exhausted but alive.’

My daughter hugged me yesterday and said, ‘I like it when you’re real.’

That one sentence healed more than twenty years of silence.

I’m not well.

I’m not unwell.

I’m finally real.

And that… is enough.”

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