The Keeper of the Rules
- Apr 16
- 5 min read
A Family Dialogue on Knowledge, Power, and Quiet Rebellion
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CHARACTERS:
Gowri (65) – the matriarch; guardian of tradition, deeply respected, feared
Ramesh (42) – her son, lives in a passive shell, emotionally shut
Latha (38) – his wife, silent survivor of subtle oppression
Pooja (17) – their daughter; perceptive, sharp, beginning to question
Ajay (12) – their son; observant, gentle, and internally rebellious
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SETTING:
A modest urban home. Evening. The family is seated in the main hall for dinner. A ceiling fan hums. The air is warm, but thick with unspoken tension — like walking into a room that’s been holding its breath for years.
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SCENE 1: THE RITUAL BEGINS
GOWRI:
Latha, today’s Friday — Lakshmi’s day. You forgot to light the lamp before sunset again. How many times must I remind you?
LATHA (softly):
I was helping Ajay with his schoolwork, Amma. It slipped my mind.
GOWRI:
Schoolwork? And what will that teach him — to disrespect the goddess?
You want prosperity, but you forget the simplest things that bring it.
RAMESH:
Just light the lamp now, Latha. Don’t argue.
LATHA:
I wasn’t arguing.
GOWRI (sharply):
Intentions don’t matter. Actions do.
There are rules. We must follow them.
We don’t tamper with what’s been handed down for generations.
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SCENE 2: POISONED BY KNOWLEDGE
POOJA:
But why, Paati?
Why must every day feel like a test with rules no one explains, but everyone fears?
GOWRI (sternly):
Because I know. And that should be enough.
I was taught by my mother, who was taught by hers.
POOJA:
But if you don’t explain why, how do we know we’re not just repeating fear?
GOWRI (coldly):
Careful, Pooja. You’re speaking like the people who forget who they are.
Our traditions are our spine. Without them, we collapse.
POOJA:
But Amma looks like she’s already collapsed.
(Latha freezes. Ramesh lowers his eyes.)
GOWRI:
Watch your tongue, girl.
You think you know better than centuries of wisdom?
POOJA:
I don’t think I know better.
I just think silence isn’t the same as respect.
And obedience isn’t the same as love.
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SCENE 3: CONTROL DISGUISED AS CARE
AJAY (softly):
Every day I see Amma trying not to upset you, Paati.
But it’s like she’s walking on thorns, even when she’s done everything right.
GOWRI:
So now you’ve poisoned the boy too, Latha?
LATHA (tired, but composed):
No, Amma.
You did.
With rules that change based on mood.
With rituals no one understands, but must fear.
GOWRI:
Everything I say, I say for your benefit.
So this family doesn’t fall apart.
LATHA:
This family already has, Amma.
We just wear nice clothes and don’t talk about it.
POOJA:
You say your knowledge is sacred.
But you use it like a whip.
AJAY:
Like a remote control.
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SCENE 4: THE SHAME OF QUESTIONING
RAMESH (suddenly raising his voice):
Enough!
We are not having this debate at the dinner table.
POOJA:
Why not, Appa?
Isn't this the only time we all sit in one room?
The only time Amma can speak without being corrected?
RAMESH:
You don’t understand what it’s like to hold a family together.
LATHA:
No, Ramesh.
She does.
Because she sees me trying every day, with no power, no voice, and no rest.
GOWRI (voice trembling):
All of you... after everything I’ve done for you...
this is how you repay me?
POOJA:
We’re not repaying you, Paati.
We’re trying to breathe.
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SCENE 5: THE PURPOSE OF POWER
GOWRI:
What do you think will happen if we stop following these things?
You think this house will be happy?
That your futures will be bright?
No! You will bring misfortune upon yourselves.
My knowledge protects this family.
POOJA:
It protects your position, Paati.
Not our peace.
LATHA:
You’ve turned tradition into a throne.
And we’re all forced to kneel.
GOWRI (quiet, wounded):
I carried this knowledge like a treasure chest on my back.
You see it as a weapon.
POOJA:
Because that’s how you’ve used it.
To silence.
To control.
To remind us that you know, and we don’t.
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SCENE 6: THE EXHAUSTION OF CONTROL
AJAY:
You say you know everything.
But you never laugh anymore, Paati.
You don’t listen.
You don’t play with us.
You just correct us.
LATHA:
Every tradition that enters this house becomes a tool of fear.
No eating during eclipse. No cutting nails after dark.
No talking back. No thinking differently.
POOJA:
And every time someone questions, you don’t answer.
You escalate.
You isolate.
You dominate.
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SCENE 7: THE ROOT OF IT ALL
GOWRI:
So you think I’m evil?
POOJA (gently):
No.
I think you were trained in a world that rewarded control.
And now, you don’t know another way to feel loved.
LATHA:
We see your pain, Amma.
But it’s time to stop passing it down as law.
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SCENE 8: THE WORLD BEYOND THIS HOME
POOJA:
This isn’t just about our house.
Every house on this street has a keeper of the rules.
Every village has one.
Every religion, every nation, every tribe.
Someone who “knows” and uses that knowing to keep others small.
And the rest —
they obey, they suffer, they shrink.
Because consequences are too scary.
Because rebellion often means exile.
AJAY:
But if no one rebels…
we’ll just keep polishing these chains and calling them gold.
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[SILENCE. Gowri says nothing. Her face has fallen. For the first time, she looks tired, not powerful.]
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Let’s create a series of short, brutal truth-bombs in the form of sharp dialogue fragments, each like a slap — cutting, unmistakable, grounded in everyday family life.
These aren’t part of a single conversation — they’re glimpses, overheard lines, emotional punches that expose the sickness of control through traditional knowledge.
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“I KNOW AND YOU DON’T” — A SLAP COLLECTION
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1.
“Don’t ask why. Just do it.”
That’s not love. That’s a leash.
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2.
“We’ve always done it this way.”
And we’ve always suffered in silence, too.
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3.
“This is for your own good.”
Then why does it only feel good for you?
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4.
“I’ve seen more than you.”
Yes, and you saw injustice and kept repeating it.
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5.
“A good wife never argues.”
No — a good wife slowly dies inside and you call it sanskaar.
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6.
“I’m doing what my mother did.”
Then your pain has become inheritance, not wisdom.
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7.
“Our family name must be protected.”
From what? The truth?
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8.
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
No. I understand now. You’re afraid I already do.
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9.
“Your duty is to obey.”
And yours was to evolve. But you chose control.
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10.
“Don’t question your elders.”
Why? Because your answers are hollow?
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11.
“We survived because of these rules.”
No. You endured them. Survival is not success.
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12.
“This is tradition.”
No. This is trauma dressed in ritual.
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13.
“It’s your karma.”
No. It’s your conditioning — and I refuse to inherit it.
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14.
“Respect your grandmother.”
I will. When she stops using fear as her language.
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15.
“Don’t dishonor the house.”
Then stop making silence the only accepted emotion in it.
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16.
“We do this for the gods.”
Then why does God look exactly like you?
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17.
“If you don’t follow, you’ll suffer.”
Funny — I’ve been following, and I am suffering.
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18.
“Don’t talk like that in front of guests.”
So truth is only forbidden when others might hear?
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19.
“Why are you being so difficult?”
Because I’m tired of dying politely.
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20.
“You think you know better?”
No. I just think you don’t want to admit you never questioned any of it.
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