Still single? No parroblaame.

Besides, it turns out that sex is a disease. Well, a diseases, to be precise. In fact, it appears that suffering from one of these diseases could very well lead you down a dark and very diseased road.

I am fortunate indeed to have escaped at least some of these diseases - I think. I may have bleahed foully a few times, but I'm pretty sure I've never had Pilsh, at least not with patches.

At my current age, though, I'm concerned I am now a high-risk candidate for Late Marraige. I wonder if oll this is a result of my many years of Improper Menstruction.

Thankfully, I have at least a few hundred rupees stashed away for just such medical emergencies, and as long as that van stays parked where it is, I have nothing to worry about.


P.S. If anybody knows what the symptoms of Paesent Nabje Chaek are, please let me know.

Still here.

I suppose his bones are dust by now. Why can't my grief be like that? It should have crumbled apart and settled into the dark earth that is my past. Why is it still here? How do I bury my grief? I carry it around with me everywhere, and it just won't die.

People die so easily. No matter how, that final moment, that very last moment when they pass from life to death, is so simple and straightforward:  they're here, they're gone.

Why can't grief die, too? I want to sentence my grief to death. I want to murder it savagely or mercifully, but quickly, but I don't. I carry it around with me everywhere, like a corpse that will not rot.

Because housework can get depressing.

Why I walk the roof.

I could barely manage to describe what I saw yesterday, with
the kites. How can I begin to describe the sky? It doesn't matter
 if it's not over a beautiful lake or an ocean, mountain or forest.
It is just as beautiful when it blankets a city infested with
humanity's ugliness. Clumsy buildings, piles of garbage,
cell network towers and black cables zigzagging all over
can't  touch it. Even photography won't do it justice (and mine
is off my phone camera)! But even a simple phone cam
can't hide how amazing it is.

Clouds spread out to dry after a rain?

Big heavy rain clouds that sometimes get blown away

A distant golden pyramid, or a snowtipped mountain? Cloud catching the sunset, and my imagination.

And as I walk, the sky keeps changing

The colours deepen or melt

The clouds shift and evolve in the wind's hands

 I'm supposed to be up there burning calories but it is more than
my exercise hour, it's a time of worship.

MY NOSE IS BLOGGED: Gladys in the news

Click on the scan to view an enlarged version of this article that just came out in the Oct 31- Nov 13 issue of Time Out Bengaluru, a local fortnightly magazine. The article's been very well written by Akhila (good writing style, thorough, concise and interesting - well, she's a fellow Cottonian, after all!) and photographed by a rather gorgeous young man named Aashith (which might explain Gladys' adoring expression). I must add, however: although I can't honestly confirm that I DON'T have multiple personalities, I can say with conviction that Gladys isn't one of them!

My neighbourhood

A friend sent me this link to a site full of pictures of the part of town I live in. Just thought I would share it with you so you can see what it's like here! Or what it used to be like, at any rate.

Click here to visit!

You may want to turn down your speakers a bit, because there's some odd trumpety music that comes up and it doesn't seem to have a Mute button!

It helps if you're already insane.

Ah, the joy of caregiving. Although this was taken after Dad's lung infection in December 2007 B.C. (Before Cancer), it's a picture that speaks a thousand words. It verbalises so beautifully why I am an excellent caregiver, and why I have not lost my mind over all the stresses, fears, worries, anxieties .. there was no mind to lose.

P.S. the mad caregiver - me - is on the right; the silently suffering sedate care recipient - Dr. Tonsils of egg-painting fame - is on the left.

P.P.S. Don't miss the green snake in the background .. oh, all right, it's just a garden hose.

Fifty years! My goodness!

Today is my parents' golden wedding anniversary. They were married 50 years ago, on January 30th, 1958, in Madras. For some reason, I'm at a loss for what to say. I thought I would write here about all they've done, been, seen, created .. but it seems too huge a task to write about a 50-year relationship! And yet, they've done something even bigger: they've lived it!

There have been times when I wasn't sure they would make this date, especially last year when Daddy was sick. So I'm grateful to God for giving them this incredible milestone. And grateful to them for sticking it out through all the ups and downs of life.

Aah.

Shut up, Gladys.

Bad news, I think. Those of you who've had the honour to meet Gladys in person, will know that she talks in a high-pitched Cockney accent. And I've just found out that doing that for 2 or 3 hours at a stretch is not really the greatest thing for my vocal chords.

So here I sit in silence. It started with a little lump in my throat that didn't hurt but wouldn't go away. Finally got the courage to go see a doctor about it. The good news is that I don't have throat cancer. The bad news is that I must have total voice rest for at least a week.

That means no talking. (And those of you who've had the honour to meet ME in person, will know just how hard that is!) It's very strange. Very funny. And very frustrating. It's less than 24 hours since I succumbed to silence, and it is So Damn Difficult.

Plus everyone has started to talk really loud (I'm not deaf, just mute) and also speaking in one-word sentences and waving their arms around with lots of gestures and what appears to be their idea of sign language. I now must carry a note around to remind people that just because I can't talk, doesn't mean they can't use full sentences.

What will happen to Gladys? I don't know. After the swelling's gone down, I'll have to do some speech therapy exercises or something. And then we'll just have to see. Oh, I'd miss Gladys. I don't think she'd like being a mime quite as much.

Where the hell is Gladys?

I have been SO busy of late. And sick too. Not horribly. But as those of you who follow this blog know, a cough, cold or upset stomach is a big no-no on the job, so I haven't been clowning for nearly 3 weeks. I do miss Gladys. But if all goes well, she should be back in action this Tuesday at Philomena's. Must go check all her clothes and props are ready.

Meanwhile, here is a lovely pic from the Alliance show we had in June, it was taken by a young journalist Rajiv Bangera who covered us for a new magazine that should be out in August. I think it is the sweetest picture and it sums up the heart of Gladys and Rose and what they're here for.

Before the show.

Here are a few pix from rehearsals at the Alliance Francaise before our show.The first pic is of Biclown and Gladys with the little French "pixies" who put on a wonderful acrobatic routine with Fabiola and Miss Rose on The Planet of Acrogaz.

Next we have Mamu looking very happy with his lady friends from the Planet of Fire! Fabiola (the pixies' leader is second from right, and if your eyesight is better than mine, you'd already have noticed Miss Rose peeking in from behind.Finally Miss Rose in one of her delightful specially tailored outfits (Calvin Klown, I think) with Eric, director of Alliance, a man who appears to be a sedate professional here, but later turned into an hilarious Crowd Checker at the show, armed with his feather duster to dust the heads of people in the audience (and Gladys, much to her surprise!) after zooming around the stage and ramps on his bicycle and honking a wonderful bulb horn!

I must get me one of those horns. They take me back to my childhood when every self-respecting auto rickshaw was equipped with one. Nowadays all the autos have those irritating hi-tech buttons that go "nyeet-nyeet-nyeet", and I do so miss the mellow "pwarrrrmp" of those old bulb horns.

Over-awed by her beauty, Mamoo forgets how to take decent photographs.

Gladys is most upset. Mamoo's brave attempts to photograph her are shaky, to say the least. Seen (I use the term loosely) here, is Gladys with Prashant and Ashwita - brother and sister if I remember correctly. Fortunately my memory is not as blurry as these pictures, so I can tell you that in the first, Prashant and Gladys have struck "Don" poses in honour of Shah Rukh Clown - Gladys' boyfriend .. allegedly .. well, she does have long romantic phone conversations with him on that plastic banana she carries around.

Quite a striking chap, this Shah Rukh Clown. I was initially intrigued by his resemblance to one Shah Rukh KHAN: quite uncanny likeness, apart from the red nose. Gladys says this is because they are distant relatives, cousins of some sort. Apparently this Shah Rukh Khan cannot walk freely down the street for fear of being mobbed by fans of HER Shah Rukh. Poor man. To be nearly as irresistible as Shah Rukh Clown is, it appears, both a gift and a curse.

In the second picture, Gladys is using her stetho-ho-scope to do a laughter check on little Ashwita. Test results showed that the child was hale and ha-ha-hearty.

One fine day at St. Philomena's.

First day at St Philomena's.

Miss - sorry MRS.- Rose and Gladys got off to a good start when they found a poor ailing banana who wasn't peeling well, right there in the doctors' changing room. There was a nice bed in the room, so after giving Mr. Banana a once-over with the stethoscope, they tucked him in and left him to rest.

First stop was the neo-natal ward, where the little preemies got their first taste (well sound) of French lullabies. And then onward and upward to the pediatric wards. On the way Miss Rose came upon a bunch of gloves just hanging around listlessly. 3 whole rows of them. Realising that these poor flaccid souls were in urgent need of medical attention, she gave them some music therapy, while Gladys taught them some finger physiotherapy.

On the way to the wards, Mrs. Rose stopped for an impromptu magic show. Meanwhile Mamu's driver Kishore showed up so Gladys hurried him off to the transporter room so that he could deliver Mamu asap.

And then the three went about making noise and bubbles and all sorts of antics - one of the highlights was when Gladys, looking peakish, had to lie down and Mrs. Rose took out her humongous rectal thermometer ...

Much love and laughter dispensed. Plenty of smiles all around, and one little toddler followed them about, actually guffawing with laughter. (Not a common sight, guffawing toddlers. Giggling, maybe, but guffawing quite a rare sight even for clown ornithologists). Even a crotchety cleaning lady ended up with a smile on her face, and another actually got into the act, twirling Gladys about to "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai".

Finally back in the doctors' changing room, Mamu was safely locked in the toilet for about a month while Gladys and Mrs. Rose got changed. One last check on Mr. Banana, who was looking quite rested after his peaceful nap in the doctors' bed. He's sure to have been peeling well by the afternoon.

Happy patients. Smiling nurses. Bemused passers-by. Sleeping banana. A day well spent, a job well done. And so to lunch! Exit the clowns.

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.