Clown

 

It is so easy, this mask I wear. It almost feels like second skin now, the photographs from a couple of years back show some stranger who looks like me staring back at me. Where is he now? Why did this happen to me? The answers I seek will forever elude me, I am so sure, but does that mean I stop looking. I know for sure nobody sees the broken heart behind the perpetually painted smile on my face, the face which they see and like, but do not recognize. The antics I carry out with the twisted limbs the moment the blinding bright lights go on, nobody sees the pain I go through, all they see is the clown with a painted smile, the one who scratches his armpits like an ape, the one who rides a unicycle waving his arms like someone drowning in the high seas, the clown who has no other emotions except a grin that was there, come rain or shine.

Life never was a bed of roses, jumping off from the terrace too did not seem too lucrative at the moment. The flyer that came in the newspaper announced vacancies in the circus company, so is it my fault that they found me fit to be a clown? The sentence from the owner was the most saddest of all, “People like you, whose eyes look like wells of sadness can smile only by making others smile.”

Didn’t I make them smile enough? Getting them to laugh by making fun of myself was never part of the job description. Will there be a day when the two faces need not be kept separate, when I need not hide and run away from who I am?

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Preeti read out the passages to an audience that sat dumbstruck, for they obviously had never given a thought to the clown who made them laugh at the circus. Now this little girl, in her neatly plaited pig tails and a brown check skirt made them see the other face of the circus clown, made them realize that there is another identity to those people other than that of the clown, that they too are people with needs, wants, dreams and desires exactly like them.

She did not know the reason why the audience was so enthralled, a few of them wiped a lone tear that escaped their eyes while the rest of them stood up and clapped till she left the stage and occupied her seat with the other students. She decided then and there to thank her father for letting her read out a page from his diary.

 

The story for April 3rd is based on the letter C where Leo and I have chosen to write stories on the word Clown.

 

 photo credit: Dean Ayres via photopin cc

 

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Bhavya

Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.
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35 thoughts on “Clown”

  2. This reminds me of a thing from Watchmen:

    Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says “But, doctor…I am Pagliacci.”
    Hrishi’s latest…Canara Coffee HouseMy Profile

  8. Haunting and most beautiful at the same time. You captured a life of so many people in so few words. And the ending … well, I can’t do it justice. 🙂

  11. Will there be a day when the two faces need not be kept separate, when I need not hide and run away from who I am? …. Don’t we all ask that to ourselves someday or the other …

    P.S. About the signed copy…. make sure you sign it for me n Meena at the same time 😀
    Sheethal’s latest…C is for …My Profile

  22. A daughter reading her dad’s emotional outpourings, unknowingly touching hearts. This is a lovely post, the tears behind the smiles are out in the open here.

  35. Bhavya, Ah, I will not lie. Its been a little while since I got back to ishithaa, but when the whole world (or at least on Facebook) recommends your stories, I felt its a sin if I didnt make the time to read it. And it wouls have been one, had I not read this beautiful piece. Kudos

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