"Without you ...

Dear me. In the midst of all this chemical torment, I somehow managed to be in love. I do remember that Bops and I once talked about (well, argued about) how our love was really a threesome - it was not just him and me, it was him, me and smack. And yes, it really was. With both of us feeling resentful and jealous when the other would make smack a priority over us. All quite dark and depressing, but fortunately memory is a hazy thing. Which might explain why this poem is so over the top. Oh well. Teenage love. My "first". I'm far too cynical about "love" now, but this is what I made of it back then. Of course, now I see it as immature and exceedingly emotionally unhealthy, and anything BUT love. Obsession, maybe. Infatuation, for sure. But I don't think this poem describes true love. Today this poem just shows me how empty I was inside, if it took another person to bring these things to life for me.

Without you life is not life
You give my sunsets their glow
You give my stars their sparkle
You give my afternoons their lazy warmth
My twilights their tender chill
You give my dawns their hope,
carried on fresh breeze
You give my nights their passion and dreams
You give my life its meaning
You give me a reason to live.

Written in September 1986

Bollywood gets down and dirty ..

There's a spate of recent ads starring Bollywood stars, that are just a bit too earthy for me.

We have Aamir Khan belching over his Coca-Cola, Preity Zinta scratching her dandruff-filled scalp before she discovers Clinic Shampoo, and now Zayed Khan picking his teeth in someone's car window reflection, presumably prior to gargling and washing it all down with his Mirinda.

Any day now we can expect to see an ad for easy-fit jeans that enable some star stud to squat comfortably by the side of the road while he takes a pee.

It's about having fun, not making fun.

Mamu and Gladys made a mistake at their last visit to Ramaiah Hospital. They made fun of each other. Mamu laughed at Gladys' wedding plans with Salman Khan because "who'd marry a fattie like you?" and Gladys yanked off Mamu's hat to reveal a bald head underneath.

Yes, it was funny. Yes, the audience laughed. But it wasn't good clowning. Clowning is not laughter at someone else's expense. Clowning is kind, innocent and harmless. We're supposed to be above baser humour that needs a target in order to get its laughs. No Sardarji jokes, no sexist smut or four-letter words. If we can't get them to laugh without these things, then we have a long way to go before we can call ourselves clowns. Because that other type of humour contains a veiled hostility - "It was only a joke!" or "You're too sensitive .. " or "Oh, you just don't have a sense of humour." or "You just don't get it because you're a girl." (or a guy, as the case may be).

People who've survived domestic violence or emotional abuse will find those last examples quite familiar. All the more reason a clown needs to be sure her jokes are never at any one's expense. The last thing a clown wants to be associated with is aggression or hostility or abuse.

Yup. There is certainly a deep philosophy behind the red nose. And inbetween the funny posts, I shall explore it further.

What I see when I look

The miracles are all around me, but sometimes I just don't look. But I'm happy to say that these days I look. And look what I see!

Mathematic trees,
assaulted by stone paving,
reply with square roots.

Over at the Alliance Francaise there's a wonderful tree who refuses to give up. Her roots fuse into perfect squares, making the stone slabs look as though they were embossed into her. She survives by conforming, but it's not a grovelling conformity. She does it with such dignity. Old trees are so wise.

In the beginning, there was Gladys.

I have just realised that I am the first Indian clown doctor! What an amazing feeling! In this country of one billion, I am the first! I can't think of any other thing I'd be happier to be first at. To celebrate, I share this delightful picture of Gladys who made an unexpected appearance at Kumari Aunty's 60th birthday party. I had informed her that I'd be unable to attend but had baked her a cake and would have a neighbour drop it off. The neighbour turned out to be Gladys of course, who kept the guests in giggles all afternoon. I also discovered that whether the audience is six years old or sixty, bubbles work magic!

Until Saturday, I was the one and only Indian clown doctor, but this weekend Kishore made his debut - Gladys and Mamu kept a bunch of little kids at Ramaiah's Teaching Hospital well-entertained. Gladys was busy making plans to marry Shah Rukh Khan on Tuesday when one of the children's mothers solemnly informed her that he was already married and even had two children. Not one to dwell long on heart ache (really should learn from her!) Gladys promptly called up Salman Khan and rescheduled the wedding and the groom for Wednesday (he had a gym appointment on Tuesday.)

Not to be left out, Mamu decided that he too wanted to get married, and decided that Aishwarya Rai would do. Gladys had to inform him that he was too late, as just that morning she'd spoken to Ash who had been busy brushing her teeth with Abi, newlywed and off the market. But not to worry, Gladys said, she knew another young lady who was eminently available: a Miss Jhanvi Kapoor.

Ah, the delight of being able to bring current events into hospital rounds! It was a great moment for laughter therapy.The whole ward, Mamu included, erupted at that. For a minute there, I think Mamu forgot to be Mamu!

And now, not content with being the first, Gladys also wants to be the best. With the book fairs in town, I've managed to pick up some delightful books for her, that will help build up her repertoire of song and dance games, art and craft ideas, puppet show ideas, and even one book about "mouth noises", appropriately titled "Mouth Noises". Many of these noises have been emanating from my mouth for decades, but now I know their technical names.

Gladys is also trying to build up a little database of Tamil and Kannada phrases. For now, she manages Urdu. Amazing how she does that with her Cockney accent, which, to my surprise, most people can decipher.

So Gladys and I shall be busier than ever, practising songs and dances, tunes to play on the recorder and flute, making puppets and practising a few little skits, fine-tuning my rather pathetic juggling skills, and oh, let's not forget the funny mouth noises. But for now, it's past midnight and Askios awaits my attention.

Snape. Someone else's face.

Some years ago, I went for salsa classes but had to drop out. One of the young men there, just a teenager perhaps, was the spitting image of one of my childhood abusers. We would dance in a circle, and change partners every few bars. I tried not to look at his face when it was his turn to dance with me. But then came the step where the man stands behind the woman, crossing her arms over as if pinned, and holds her from behind. I had to excuse myself "to go to the lady's room", and walked calmly down to my car, where I broke down and wept for ten minutes.

I never went back to salsa classes. Snape's expression as he looks at Harry in this picture reminds me of that moment. Memories of evil triggered by an innocent face.