bombay

in bombay the air is hot thick and muggy and it's a little harder to breathe. more pollution. definitely more western more modern. nice to be in a place that isn't relying on tourism to survive. the places that are all hip, young, modern and "alternative" aren't made for white people. there's more of an underground scene here. more individuals. people with their "own style" a concept which i haven't seen existing here at all. so that's new. the beaches are dirty but the sky line at dusk is magical. people everywhere lining the boardwalks. sitting with their families nursing their ice cream cones.

teaching my clown class to privileged international students (no street kids this time) is a whole different scene. everyone knows english. the kids are so aware of pop culture of course, video games and too much t.v. that they are hyperactive, can hardly focus, some are down right obnoxious. too much pokemon and fruitloops.

i got some of the worst trouble makers interested in being clowns. putting on a goofy costume and acting ridiculous is right up their alley. so my challenge is this: how do i keep them engaged, without stepping on their toes, how do i direct the play so it stays productive without being a clown nazi?

i got one group working on a simple scenario which involves two clowns and a dance-a-thon, each one doing their best to out-dance the other. it ends with the both of them dancing and shaking into some kind of strange frenzy, and they fall down dead. then two other clowns, total goof-offs have a hard time disposing with the floppy clown bodies. it's getting there.

another group is doing a rendition of the "bus stop" scene. two clowns sit down and read their newspapers. a third clown sits in between them and hiccups. one of the reading clowns, gives an irritated take to the audience and resumes reading. the third clown hiccups again, louder. the other reading clown takes notice. this builds until the hiccups become some kind of unusual sustained sound, like he's been possessed. he can't shut up. one of the reading clowns gets up, picks up his chair and hits the hiccuping clown unconscious. the two remaining clowns continue their reading. then one of the clowns starts sneezing. and the whole thing builds until more clown violence erupts. eventually the knocked out clown wakes up and scares the two clowns offstage. he takes his seat, picks up a fallen paper, and yes, one last time...hiccups. the end.

the group as a whole is extremely enthusiastic. but very antsy. very fidgety. typical for western 4th and 5th graders (all but about 4 or 5 or so are that age, the others are a little older, the oldest is a 9th grader who is doing her best to overcome her adolescent awkwardness by wearing bagging clothes and habitually folding her arms in some act of circus defiance.)

at the beginning of class everyone goes through a hula-hoop. it's their portal into circus land we tell them. at the end, the same thing, through the hoop and back into the real world they go, where their parents can deal with them. some of the rowdy boys won't leave the hoop which is fine, but sometimes they hold up the rest of the group putting one foot in and screaming, "i'm stuck! i'm stuck! i'm stuck in circus land!"

cute.

.....

anne is leaving the group and going to thailand. i said my goodbye and set off on a solo mission walking around bombay at night and getting a feel for my neighborhood in the dark. it's a happening place.

i found myself in some crazy whirlwind by the train station in bandra, a very hip urban district with billboards everywhere and people walking around in the latest fashions, beautiful people everywhere and horns honking of course and cows lying in cement rubble and cafes everywhere, coffee houses and pizza hut. it's like time square, there's that much going on, music playing from a source i can't spot, and huge glass window displays boot-cut jeans and bright lights, kitchen appliances and muslim women with shopping bags, every inch of flesh covered, just a slit for the eyes. men holding hands. men peeing on walls. woman smoking. 5 people on a motorbike zoom by. and then i see an elephant, an actual elephant, marching through the chaos with a boy on top, in some little basket affixed by a rope tied under the legs and strapped up under the tail. just bouncing its saggy grey flesh on the sidewalk. it's trunk picks up something and hands it to the boy and no one seems to notice. i'm staring, and people look at me like, "this guy's not from here..." i laugh.

....

we took a 400 rupee cab ride to the other side of town to catch a show. RAZMATAZZ claimed to be a "a celebration of the magic of music." it was hysterical. words cannot express the sequined cheese and all-american (registered trademark) pulp this little number spat out. like some cruise ship nightmare, one middle aged diva sang her heart out to american chart toppers while backed by 24 bollywood hopefuls in unitards and top hats with all the fame-seeking, fake-eyelashed, over-produced sensationalism of a half-ass super-bowl half-time show. it was awe-inspiring. truly. i was thinking of all my friends who would've loved it. laughing for all of them. but the group wanted to leave before it was over, my guffaws were really pissing off the blue-hairs in front of us. so we left. the best part was the over-weight woman (a rare thing in this country) sitting next to us, belting her heart out, eyes watering with delight, her hands permanently clasped under her chin, clutching her pearls, the big queen. she was really in heaven.

at one point the back up dancers where holding up a fabric backdrop behind the singer during one of the one-to-many elvis numbers, and they were actually swaying it back and forth. the fabric got stuck on something, and it created a nice clam shell effect that i doubt was intentional.

at another point the spot light guy must've fallen asleep while miss thang was belting it out while walking through the aisles because his spot stayed on the corner where she was standing for quite a while, illuminating the wall and a few heads of the audience, eyes squinted, hands blocking the rays.

...

i leave india in 10 days. that is so hard to fathom.

i'm homesick. i can't wait to return. see people. hug my family.

cohdi and laura are thinking of going to australlia to train with some circus folks there. there's talk of working together this summer on a project to take to the oregon country fair. a collaboration with RAY CHARLES IVES a rockin' two man band from sante fe. sounds like a good time.

....

walking through the streets to find a cyber cafe i get lost in some back alley neighborhood where everything looks less developed, there's a gutter running along the side walk where the sewage goes and there are kids everywhere without shoes and boys hanging out, smoking cigarettes, leaning against walls. they look at me like i'm lost and they point and call things out in hindi. i smile.

i pass butcher shops where goat heads, skinned, black eyes budging, lay out on a plastic table, displayed like some kind of haunted house attraction. and pale sticky carcass of some unknown fowl hangs limp from it's toes, like on a trapeze.

as i walk i smell spices and fish and smoke and gravel. pollution like gasoline, some kind of oil, lamp oil maybe, and food simmering. i keep walking, with my little bag bouncing against my thigh, eyes open, meeting the glances as i pass, a caffeinated curiosity itches to see what's around the next corner.

fragments and photos

weaving my way through the narrow alleys past cows and dogs and monkeys screaming, jumping on the tin roofs, noisy and obscene, watching where i step, and smelling milk curd bubbling and foaming, being scooped into clay bowls and spoon-fed to happy children. stopping for tea almost too sweet to drink, but i do stop anyway and talk to my friends, i go everyday and sit in ajah's shop and all his nieces and nephews climb on me and i play with their toys, spinning metal rings on strings, and card games and sometimes i buy them some sweets.



walking down the steps from my guest house, the smoke of burning bodies billowing up from behind the sinking temples, the ganga glistening, little offerings small banana leaf shrines, floating candles and wreaths. my sandals sink in the mud, it'll come off in the walk. some of the boatmen remember my name and they shout hello and say good morning as i make my way out into the world, not knowing what the day will bring, i breathe it all in.

always, the touts, the pestering people asking me where i want to go, you want hashish? astrology? a boat? a girl? "you tell me, i give you..."

the skinny water buffalo snorting and pissing and dripping, sopping wet, climbing out of the water like strange black silken kings. ribs sticking out, nostrils winking.

past the man sitting on the cloth, selling postcards and plastic jewels. every article placed precisely on the mark, kept in line. he takes his work seriously. there's a sign that reads: BIT SHOP. i've sat with him twice now, just to chat. to pass some time in the shade, stare at the water, he made me a necklace.



one day i went to a movie. entirely in hindi, no subtitles. but i think i got the gist. an indian man being pushed and shoved through london, or some british metropolis, unwanted and discarded. young lovers with jealousy issues, cricket game obsessed husband and pop-singing wife. pause for musical interlude. wind blown hair, constant fans blowing, eyes twinkling, almost kissing, romantic cheese. also a swishy chinese man in a hospital gown and a mean doctor with a heart of stone. something about a feather duster, and the audience roared...i missed the joke...but it was air-conditioned, a lovely escape from the chaos outside. i left the theatre and a cow pissed on me, immediately i was back in varanasi. i rinsed off at a spigot, sharing the spray with a holy man, dread-locked and swathed in orange, "namaste."





the man from the shop by my guest house invited me to lunch at his home. i went and took a million photos of his family. i got them printed at a local color lab and when i gave him the photos he smiled so large i thought maybe his face would change forever.





getting into the boat i slipped and fell into the ganga river. avoiding it for so long, it swallowed me. maybe i needed it. maybe it'll cleanse me. maybe it'll fix everything, i thought immediately. once i got in, another man followed and started rubbing me immediately, and i let him. he gave me a half-ass full body boat massage and wanted 300 ruppess, we argued for a while and i asked to get dropped off at once.
i gave him 150 which still seemed like too much, but it was what i needed to do to get rid of him. soaking wet and irritated i went back to the guest house to shower and change. there was singing coming from the room next door. i could hear it through my window, singing and chanting, as i toweled dry.








i met some friends down at the main ghat and we went on a two hour search for a bottle of rum. we found it eventually but i felt sick and retired to my room. two days of stomach aches and headaches and feverish chills but i left one night, i woke up drenched in sweat, no longer aching. i went for a walk and knew it was gone for good.

next day met up with my friends again over breakfast at the german bakery. croissants, rolls, cheese and espresso...

there's a little boy i think is magic. he is so special i swear. the biggest smile and the most friendly eyes. he's the one who invited me up to meet his parents that first day. one of the kids i bought a coke for. he gets a kick out of me. here's his picture:

varanasi

there's cowshit everywhere so you have to watch where you step. through the stone maze of crumbling buildings and temples still standing little windows in the stone, men perched on stools and women weaving, sewing, veiled in all the colors of the rainbow, shy, but smiling. the water, they say comes up to the second story during the monsoon season, so the ground level has no carpets, no furnature, just a few tables and mats, things easily moved. the eternal fire still burns after 4000 years, and it is with this protected flame, at manikarnica that the bodies burn, right down the steps from the mishra guest house where i'm staying, where, in the morning, i wake to chanting and singing, and horns blowing, and bells. out my window the smoke i see is some family's grief, some child's tears, or sometimes no one at all to mourn, so the fire is quick and the location is over by the trash, so the boatmen can still walk on their path. they use the cheapest wood and burn the body as quickly as possible (one body burns in about 3 hours, a man tells me), so they can sweep up the debris, and quickly comb through the rubble searching for gold teeth and jewlery worth salvaging...as quickly as possible the workers sift through the smoldering ash and clear the way for the next burning to begin. the leper colony is also right next door and it looks like a scene from a zombie movie, hobbling, diseased outcasts wailing and wobbling, some without limbs, some with blackened faces, as if foaming, they stand watch, like gargoyals. the man at the burning ghat says it's good luck for the passing soul's future if animals pick at your bones, the man's chest and the woman's pelvis are always the last to burn, he tells me as he points to what i imagine is a chest cavity, broken and charred, not quite caved in. dogs sniffing. a man puts out his hand to shake mine, just some random man, red teeth, the smell of dust and bread... hands crackling dry and brittle, he starts rubbing my hand and then my arm and then my shoulder and neck, i get swept up and taken away, somewhere else, though i am still half here, on the steps of the ghat, above the river, whose presence is felt even in darkness. eyes closed, i sense her, her heart is beating, literally beating, the river, i swear has life. the part that stays is listening, being lulled by the birds and chit chat, footsteps and motor bike sounds in the distance, goats whining and hacking coughs and waves hitting boats and some street vendor frying dough in hot oil. sharp sizzles. the massage lasts at least an hour, i go limp and he leads me to the ground, i imagine people walking all around me, but i don't dare look, my eyes stay closed, lost in ecstacy. after he's finished i pay him several hundred ruppes and we say our namaste's and share a twinkling eyed smile. he holds my bills up to the sky like a blessing and kisses them before brushing the wrinkled paper to his forehead. i go back to walking... i'm drinking coke in a bottle, and laughing with the kids near me. in the shade, on a bench, just chilling. teaching them a handshake and poking at these two boys, both with torn shirts, dried snotty noses, and cracking feet, no shoes. i buy them both cokes and show them my family's photograph from home. they tell me about their family, how much they love their family, "most good family." and suddenly four more boys come over, all of them brothers, smiling, shaking my hand and jumping up and down like i'm doing some magic trick they've never seen, but all i'm doing is sitting there. i get them sodas too, they look as they're pouring it down their throats like it's some magic elixer, like it's pure golden nectar from the gods, a gift from on high. one of them tells the littlest of the brothers to run upstairs, his hand gesture says it all. and after a few moments he waves me in, to meet the parents, his face is beaming. we all climb the stairs dancing like bollywood stars, i boble my head a lot, and they love it. inside, they bring me chai and i spill it all over the floor. oops. luckily, we all laugh, and after a few moments of everyone scattering to find the proper cleaning tools, and the mother mopping me off with her dress as i say repeatedly, "no, no...please. it's okay." after all that, the house settles again, and the room goes back to normal. the father rolling some mixture of tobacco and calcium into a ball in his palm, slapping the mixture with his forefinger now and then, and then rolling it, pressing and rolling, like dough, working it into a glob so he can put it in front of his teeth and play with it for a few hours, under his tongue, sticking to his gums and tingling his lower lip. i watch him do this, it makes me make a funny face i think, i try to control it. and then i say goodbye. i bought a few tapes to play on my tape player and they were a hit. without knowing what i was buying, i purchased two very traditional devotional tapes, recordings from unknown artists expressing their unyeilding love for shiva. i play the tapes at night and light some incense. i read and after a while walk onto the balcony of the guest house, where the employees are smoking hash and playing cards. some of them know the songs, and sing along, laughing, slapping eachother's knees and pointing, like, "check out this guy, he's all right!" i find an unaccompanied hamock and fall asleep smiling in a cloud of smoke and laughter, flies buzzing and the holy ganga river sparkling back at the moon until dawn.

many things

walking by the encampment (slum) across the street from the embassy school to catch an auto-rickshaw to the market and seeing three or four students from the circus after school program...one, raju, a smiley stocky guy with a beard, 16 or 17 years old, but already made into a man by circumstance, is selling pineapple juice from a rickety old wooden cart he's pushing...i stop and say hello. another, nitesh, is fixing bicycles on a fraying brown tarp, under a tree. we talk for a while. umesh i see riding on the back of a bicycle, sitting on the rack, with his feet up high, trying not to interfere with his brother, who i don't know, steering. it's so strange seeing these guys outside of class, without a clown nose on, not goofing off or playing, but working, some of them. thinking to myself, i know that guy selling juice on the street, and there are thousands of juice sellers in india that i wouldn't give a second glance too, i might even judge them harshly (ashamed to say it, but it's true) telling myself something, like, that poor victim of society, what a tragedy...not realizing that of course, he's got a family, of course he's got a home life, and fun, and laughter and play. of course he'd make a great clown if he tried, of course we could engage in that way. it's like the whole world is opening up and bursting open and all the old rules are breaking, and i can see now, why people say india changes you, traveling changes you. eating a meal at a restaurant and not finishing it makes you feel guilty. because these kids, many of them, have never even seen a toilet that flushes.

gene (cohdi's dad) said tonight, before dinner, that he had to chaperone the bathroom outside the theatre last night (when we had our big circus show with all the kids) that there were boys from the camp who'd never seen a urinal and that they were peeing on the wall and amazed beyond belief that the hand dryers blew air at the push of a botton.

....

THE SHOW

the kids got to the gym early to get their t-shirts. we printed 50 or so, red shirts with the "circus across cultures" logo on the back, and they each changed immediately and gathered for our opening circle. uday led the warm up as usual, and we ran through the bows once. then we split into each group for a quick 10 minute check-in, my clowns made sure their props were in order, that their noses hadn't walked off, and to huddle and get juiced.

backstage in the wings as the show started and their friends and family members applauded one of the boys who speaks little english turned to me and said "this is a golden moment of my life."

performing on a state of the art stage, with colored lights and a killer sound system, with their new shirts and encouragement from us was such a powerful thing for these guys, i just know it. when hugging gulshin, a funny fellow with a most sincere interest in clowning (he came the first day with a photograph of a clown decked out in full augustine make-up and said "i want, please, to look like this") he said to me after the show as he shook my hand "a most large heart connection with you." and i said gleefully, "yes, i agree."

kailey, one of the american girls from the embassy school, has apparently caused the administration a bunch of trouble. she's the AES equivelant to "leave it to beaver's" eddie hascall. no one thought she'd stick with the circus program, she can barely even make it to school twice a week.(she's been given warnings of expulsion but her powerful parents threaten with legal action.) but she stuck through it, came every day but one, because she caught an over-night bug (confirmed by her mother) and she was up there, on stilts, this big, tempermental, stubborn girl, was smiling full of pride, just thrilled, to be up there, without help, walking on stilts, doing the choreography, after only one week's work.

the curtain closed and we packed things up and walked the group over to the reception where we all ate pizza and cake and said goodbyes. my clowns were so surprised they got to keep their noses, i said, "no, no, it's yours. it's a gift." and they almost jumped up and down.

i walked across the street later that night and saw many of them, still wearing their shirts, eager to pose for some photos. rahul showed me, infront of his house, how he's mastered the "walking into a wall" with practice. there in their own community, clown nose on, seeing these boys playing and laughing, pretending to fall and bump their heads, ruffling eachother's hair and teasing, challenging each other with another clown move, each one thinking he could do it best of all...it was amazing. totally magic. the women covering their laughs with their veils and children who weren't in the class giving it a go, joining the play.

i walked back to the hotel smiling. and singing laura and anne cheesy love songs. passionately, belting to the polluted sky, all my best "BOYS II MEN" tunes, "ALL 4 ONE" and songs from the musical "RENT." it was the best way to end the day, with singing, putting all my pent up feelings into it, letting it out, my favorite of the songs, which has become this trips unoffical theme song WATER RUNS DRY:

WE DON'T EVEN TALK ANYMORE
WE DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WE'D ARGUE ABOUT
DON'T EVEN SAY I LOVE YOU NO MORE
'CAUSE SAYING HOW WE FEEL IS NO LONGER ALOUD
WHY DO WE HURT EACH OTHER?
WHY DO WE PUSH LOVE AWAY?
LET'S DON'T WAIT 'TILL THE WATER RUNS DRY
WE MIGHT WATCH OUR WHOLE LIVES PASS US BY
LET'S DON'T WAIT 'TILL THE WATER RUNS DRY
WE'LL MAKE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF OUR LIVES
DON'T DO IT BABY....

.....

the group all left to go north up to the himalayas. to perform for tibetan refugees to clown around without me (my choice) to spread joy.

i stayed behind to carry on solo. i've decided on varanasi. i'm flying out of delhi tomorrow morning to land in one of the oldest living cities on earth. legend says that the buddah came there to speak after he attained enlightenment. on the banks of the gange river men shave and women wash clothing and everyone bathes and splashes away their sins in the polluted holy water where its said if you die there, you will be freed from the chains of reincarnation. so it is there, in varanasi, where the sick and lame hobble to drop. where those who have left their homes, die nameless and burn in public flames. where drumming and wailing and singing and splashing water and sunight and prayer all mix into some chaotic whirlwild where the grand cycle of life is made painfully, beautifully clear.

i know i need this. some distance, some perspective. space to put things back together in myself. have an experience that's all mine. something to carry with me, through a clear lens, not foggy, not colored, not tampered with or broken. i am throwing myself towards this with a clarity and a power that i have been searching for outside myself for far too long.

let this be what i need. let this be what i have been asking for. let it be. let it be. let it be.

MY CLOWNS

my clowns are all boys from across the street except luke, he's from the embassy school, and it's such an interesting experience communicating through a middle man (translator) and seeing the results...luke is a good sport, creating a scene with haridas, a goofball who speaks good english, they work well together. really well.
luke plays mr. cool rockstar clown who doesn't realize the janitor behind him is mocking every move he makes. it's interesting seeing this play occur, a white "cool" celebrity type and an indian working class man coming out on top. there is much fun in watching the faces of the other boys who sit and watch and see the work that's been made for the first time, laughing and rooting on their friends.

some of the smaller clowns are getting violent, they love the pratfalls more than anything, the slaps, walking into walls, hitting eachother with chairs, making sounds with their hands that fool the audience, sounds that sound like their hurting.

i've let go a little. let them play. have this time. i give them proper tools, how to's on making the slaps punches and toe stubbings "read" for the audience. i look at what they propose on their own (from improvisation) and then i do my best to help them articulate their intentions more clearly.

tomorrow is the big show. we have t-shirts for the whole group. red shirts with a cool graphic on the back that reads: circus across cultures (in english and in hindi).

we gave each student 10 tickets in hopes that we'll pack the house.

.....

today i went to the ghandi memorial. walked through the house where he lived his last days. he was killed there. now there are interactive touch screen tvs and unusual electronic cubes which flash ghandi quotes in little red lights like those black rectangle signs with the blinking red dots, like the stock market signs in times square. and there are so many workers there gesturing you through the specified path, tour guides, well versed, and ready to help even when it isn't asked for.

i left earlier than the rest of the gang, i wandered the streets of delhi and found a chaat stand (snacks) i ate a pastry or something with delicious filling. dipped it in the sauce. smoked a single cigarette (you can buy them one at a time here) and then i caught a tuk-tuk back to the school. i filmed a little bit of the streets as they wizzed by on my digital camera. the rickety motion of the 3-wheeled taxi made the footage shaky and rough, like a war-zone. i thought, as i taped, i wish i could capture the smells...

clown classes

my clowns are looking good.

today we did a "show and tell" at the end of our 6-hour long day of CIRCUS ACROSS CULTURES. clown noses have all been handed out, every one's given "falling down" a shot. several people have "walking into a wall" down flat. and there are a handful of clowns who've started working with full-costume already...filling out their clown with vocal sounds, signature gestures and a way of walking that's funny and all their own.

very interesting how the groups from the two schools are mixing (or not mixing). international school students are a funny breed. a lot of them won't claim any country or city as their home, they are here in INDIA because of something their parents do, and it's just one stop, on their life's journey. feelings of displacement, socialization, status...

you should have seen it, the first day...waiting for the students from across the street to show (reminder: half the students in the workshop are from the american embassy school, the other half from the encampment/slum across the street)...we were all in a circle, mostly girls, mostly white, a few from korea, one or two indian..but mostly girls, all but two...and then in come the other half...more than doubling our size (we weren't strict with numbers) and they are ALL boys. ALL OF THEM. they walk in, checking out the elaborate gymnasium, high ceilings, squeaky clean floors, everything looks like it's out of an american movie, like they are all visiting SAVED BY THE BELL or something. they take their seats in the circle, and it's the embassy school girls who react the most. they become shy, judgemental, they scoot closer together. they whisper.

but that was the first day.

today, they were all playing together, all in funny clothes, and expressions, funny walks and voices, their gender and their social status and class disappeared, they suddenly were all: CLOWNS.

we practiced stage slaps. everyone had a partner. we practiced emotional responses, sharing how we feel about something to an audience. i set up an obstacle course and everyone walked through alone, relating to the objects i lay out for them. choosing, one by one, whether to be afraid of the glove or stuffed panda for instance, whether to fall in love or cry hysterically at the globe or Frisbee...all "onstage"...all "in the scene." they were great.

one girl is hesitant. she steps back and watches. sometimes she makes comments under her breath. she isn't a happy girl. i ask her if she's okay, and she shrugs and says "fine." i wonder what keeps her coming back (it's her 3rd day) what is it she's waiting to unlock within herself.

we moved from the hotel to the hostel, because the hotel didn't have a room for us last night. now we go back to the hotel, and stay for 3 nights, before switching back to the hostel for only one more night, and then back to the hotel. it's crazy, but we like the hotel so much, it makes such a big difference when you like where you sleep.

.........

watching on the wall a slide show of pictures, the trip thus far flashing by. thinking, this is what it looks like to the people who weren't there. happy faces, kids and performances. memories on the road. things we wanted to remember, we took those parts with us, the rest just doesn't have to exist. and i like that, i like letting go of the parts we didn't capture. i like making it into something else in retrospect. something i'll love to reflect on for years. and i will, i know it, i will.

girls laughing

wind and weariness

uday ("ew,die!")
wanders through the house
unsure of where things are
a guest not yet felling at home.

.......

sometimes i get this way
by body is all tense
there's no release in stretching
no space
no freedom
no place where i can let go
be alone in my body
escape
not be so aware that i'm being watched
not paying so much attention to the outside noises
i'm feeling restricted by the constant reminder
yes, evan there is a whole world outside.

trying to feel my feet on the floor
"find your place to stand"
a teacher told me once
i'm pressing my feet into the floor
like nails i think of jesus hanging on a cross
or a tiger when i'm
holding myself up by my hands
or a monkey jumping
because it's the only thing i can do
that gets me out of my head.

....


cohdi comes over and pounces on me
and i let him
we're entangled in some close knot for a brief second
and i am frozen
paralyzed
for all to see
i don't know what to do.
he's touching me
cohdi's touching me
and i don't know what to do.

...

anne arrived last night
and they're all off and running
out and about
looking for an instrument
shopping
for a gong or a bell
something to bang loudly to get everyone's attention
in the workshops, that is
when everything seems like it's swirlling out of control.
we need one of those. a bell to bring it all back down to zero.

seeing anne in india
jetlagged but still posessing an animal-like sexual power
she walks with it
she knows it
she turns heads.
our group is changing.
a new wind is whispering it's arrival.

anne.
she's a force in any group
she takes her space
and moves freely without inhabitions
from one position to the next
she adjusts when she needs to

when she needs to move she does.

i stayed behind
today
didn't go shopping
i'm staying here
not moving
i'm in one place
not changing anything
because the tools have escaped me.
i'm floating between worlds, you see
and my clown nose is all i have to hold on to.

as bad as it gets
when it gets bad
i can put it on
and be something else
something i know the shape of
the sounds of
the look and the effect of

and it scares me that i like life through those eyes more than my own.


.....


reading THE MOVING BODY: TEACHING CREATIVE THEATRE again, i flip to any page that my fingers choose and i find what i need.

"people discover themselves in relation to their grasp of the external world....neither belief nor identification is enough-- one must be able to genuinely play."

and thoughts occur about the AUDIENCE playing/living with an awareness of "the other."

"a person expressing himself is not necessarily being creative. the ideal, of course, would be for creation and expression to go hand in hand, in perfect harmony. many people enjoy expressing themselves, "letting it all hang out," and they forget that they must not be the only ones to get pleasure from it: spectators must recieve pleasure too."

....

joking about sexual tension is the only way to work through it. when it's thick like smog and you can feel it far away, i look for ways to diffuse it, point out the obvious, play the clown, make it bigger than it is, get swept up, lost, lose my ballance.

i'm working off of physical cues. on a stage we set together. an arm itch, opens the space for a leg to cross, opens the way for a glance at the moon, opens the way for a throat to clear, opens the way for a sigh.

on the taxi ride back from the airport last night, the air was sharp, shiny, electric. cohdi said goodnight and walked away and an unsatisfied sense of near-closeness haunts me, brushed up against and then a quick retreat, like a turtle senses danger, like a dusty mole hole hiding in the earth. and i don't know what side i'm on. what i'm rooting for.

......

we performed ESCAPE ARTIST last night, i did a clown pre-show, as planned. the lights and sound (my part of things) went super well. i was very happy with my tech team the school provided.

there was a moment clowning when i lost control. there was a swarm of kids and they were attacking me. chasing me on stage, up the aisles. hitting me, laughing, pushing me over, because they knew i would fall. and i had lost all the power in the situation, i was their fool.

feeling powerless as a clown is devastating. unable to guide the action forward. to hear and respond. to make a movement in any direction, and be stalled.

i loved their joy, their freedom, the permission they felt each had to leave their seats and engage with me.

the line between. a gray line. someplace where safety is questioned and chaos sneaks through the cracks. i am living here now, in this gray place. maybe just for the day, a few more hours, or minutes. i am feeling it now. stuck in the middle of some chasm. everything in question. everything uncertain. no clear way through the thicket to the road that leads me home.

.....

uday picks up the phone and dials someone he can talk to in his first language
he helps himself to the phone
and i see him
and the look on his face lacks appology (not that it needs one)
but i get the feeling it's because he is taking care of himself
he needed to call someone, he knows that, and so he did.

we're both here in the silence of this place
but his voice is coming out loud and clear.

the itch

my ankles are covered with red dots. tiny itchy dots all over. bedbugs. i let them bite.

right now the rest of the group is over in the auditorium at the american embassy school in delhi. i'm on the campus, hanging out in (cohdi's dad) gene's house. helping myself to the cupboards. the computer. the anti-itch cream i found behind the mirror...that kind of thing.

so nice to be back in delhi in such a comfortable zone. it's so westernized here, this international school thing. it's like the nicest high school i've ever seen. so clean, and high-tech and modern. the auditorium is gorgeous, an incredible "catwalk" above the beams makes rigging for our show a breeze.

yesterday we walked around the campus at lunch time, i was in full ALVIN mode. tripping, falling, eating people's food, following people, walking into walls, chatting it up. we were advertising our week of workshops. i can't believe they start tomorrow.

today we gain two more members to our group. anne, cohdi's friend i met at burning man, and a man who's name sounds like "eww, die!" but i can't spell it. i won't even try. he'll be teaching MALAKAM (sp?) which is the indian rope sport (a lot like the rope acrobatics the gang does in ESCAPE ARTIST) for the workshops we start tomorrow with the students from the school and the slum across the street. i'm teaching clown, cohdi's teaching acrobatics and tumbling, alessandra's teaching stilt-walking and laura's teaching trapeeze. anne will be documenting the process and hanging out with us for the rest of our time here.

tonight we perform the show ESCAPE ARTIST (i'll be doing an ALVIN pre-show) and then go to the airport to pick up our friends.

i'm so interested in how the group dynamics shift...

a new chapter.

here we go.

mr. potato

wild horses

alvin takes a note

airport beers and beach photo-op

sign for us in midnapore

falling in sonapore and getting attacked by the students

plaques from a school in sonapore

beer and paneer

the giant globe at the heart of auroville looks like a golden golf ball on legs. inside, apparently, is a crystal ball and white pillars and the sun comes through and spreads light...we aren't allowed in because it is under construction, the inner chamber still needs some work.

there's a silent hum around this place. the grass is obviously brought in and laid out, kept tight to the ground by workers, watered by hand. there are signs which read KEEP TO THE PATH. i can't help but make this symbolic.

we rent bicycles and peep around. it is clearly a spiritual community. a self-sustaining village right outside of pondecherry, a french colony 2 hours from mahabalipuram along the coast. we are here for the day. all visitors must watch an introductory video with information about "the mother" a french woman who moved to india and stayed here with a her guru named aurobindo until her death. the video is very high-science. lots of images of dna strands and the universe in motion. the village is planned out like outer-space, the map they give us is a spiral galaxy, in the center is the golf ball sun. people here keep to a tight curfew but the land is owned communally and there is no money. but by the look of this place, money had to have come from somewhere...it looks like we're in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY everything but the globe is white and outdated, like yesterdays dream of the future, it was after all built in the 1960's. there should be fembots running around, hunting for enlightenment in white go-go boots.

on our bikes we negotiate silently who's to lead. i get grumpy and tired of being led around, so i zoom by as fast as i can and leave everyone in the dust.

on the beach we swim and sit and get sand in our hair and i don't look at cohdi at all.

.....

at a bar throwing back rum and pineapple juice, with louise, a backpacker friend we met in mahabalipuram...we're staying together me and her, not with the group, but at a different hotel, just for the night, and it is definitely nice to have a break. some time.

but for now, this moment here, drinks are in hand, and the ocean is over our shoulder, we're all here, me, louise, cohdi and the rest of the gang and it's awkward, things are still awkward...cohdi's talking to everyone and i'm staring at the moon wanting everything to somehow change. just change! on the walk back to the hotel louise and i talk about the noticeable level of tension and god and bikinis, while a diseased stray dog follows us for three blocks.

.....

in mahabalipuram a man notices the green pendant i found on the beach. cohdi and i both spotted it, he said i could have it and he helped tie it on. i'm wearing it around my neck now, and he asks if i'm a muslim. i say no. inside his shop he tells me that what's inside the small fabric square is someone's prayer, some words for someone's pain or protection, nothing to take lightly. in the morning i come back to his shop, and he opens it, my beach necklace, and reads the paper inside and instructs me to throw it directly into the ocean saying it is "very bad. not for you."

he places his hand on my head and blows some magic breath in my face reading some words from a book that looks as old as time.

down at the beach the town is celebrating some festival, a shrine to VISHNU on a raft, it's being taken into the water by shirtless men and drums and people wailing, releasing. i take the necklace in my hand, shove through the crowd, with all it's broken pieces i wrap it into a bundle, weighted by a stone, and throw it to the waves.

.....

i got two hour-long massages by alan, a young man from the village, one of the few who doesn't own a stone carving shop or net fish. for 300 rupees in his room i lay on some sticky vinyl table and to the sounds of people outside in the market place bargaining and talking, horns honking in the distance, and the chickens...he makes everything i don't need anymore go away with his hands. the oil is from KARALA, a nearby state, his family is there, it smells like smoke and mystery.

after the second day, i ask him out for a beer. and we talk under a bamboo roof about
life and language...he says that americans talk like they're chewing gum.

on the beach with alan, on a rock and laughing, cohdi and laura on a nearby rock, but far away. cohdi, i sense is jealous. maybe i'm wrong. maybe i just want him to be, on some level. maybe it's all in my head. maybe maybe. maybe i want him to be hurt, dissatisfied, out of control.

alan's girlfriend in germany sounds beautiful. i guess a lot of germans come through mahabalipuram, he says she'll be back soon. he can read her messages but doesn't know how to write back.

.......

back in delhi after our adventure away. back to scheduled time and itineraries. we check-in to our hotel and go over to cohdi's dad's house. he's not home, so we have the place to ourselves. i head to the computer and write this.

.....

louise was talking about being sick but unable to puke. a friend was near her, trying to help saying repeatedly, "think of beer! beer and paneer!" and it worked.

mahabalipuram

there's a man on the ground half alive and barely breathing flies on his wounds eyes pinched closed unable to move he's planted himself on the ground. naked wounds exposed to the unforgiving sun he's landed right in front of a store with a sign that reads: medicine. i walk by scoping the streets for a cyber cafe someplace to check my emails write some words down. getting good at saying no. "come see my shop? not far walk. close. good prices." NO. today a woman holding a child asked "you want a baby?" NO. "take it." she offered. handmade crafts. nothing like it in the world, a man promises. i apply some more sunscreen and search for shade.

i'm alone. we arived two hours ago in mahabalipuram, a small beach town south of chennai, where there are many other travelers more than we've seen thus far, lots of dreadlocked british twenty-somethings looking for a party. after negotiating for a hotel price we liked and settling in, the gang went off to the beach. i took to the village, wandering aimlessly soaking up the sun.

stone carvings the sounds of marble chipping as i walk. fish drying in the sun. shells on strings. fabric blowing, bleaching in the breeze. i have so much laundry to do. everything i have is filthy. remembering chennai. we visited a school for "spastic adults" (mentally handicapped) and i clowned with them, pretended to get stuck under their wheelchairs, stole their drool hankie and dropped and slipped on it and picked it up and returned it.

as i write this a small boned dark indian woman in a shawl sweeps under my feet with a branch.

in chennai we were greeted by usha a woman who uses her shoulders a lot when she speaks. kinda like she's shrugging off the parts she doesn't like, constantly discarding something. she has sweet eyes and a classic smile and she takes us to a dance performance which is amazing. the music was incredible and the performers faces told stories there are not enough words to tell.

we have now performed ESCAPE ARTIST for over 12,000 people. articles with pictures of us have been popping up in the local papers daily, and yesterday's daily chronical had a few quotes from me. i got interviewed by some camera crew and a chessy capped-teethed reporter as well. they asked me what i ate to be able to fall down so much.

children outside are coughing and screaming words i can't know. cars are honking. it smells like fish and spices and sweat and diesel fuel.

it's too hot to stay in here. i need to pay my 40 rupees and find a place with a/c.

more soon.

flowers in kolkata