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.