My Name is ‘Joker’

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 He who does the make up to flaunt himself on the stage to entertain the masses, little does anybody can fathom him inside.

Ah! does he love this every day’s act or is it a fetish for him? Oh, wait! Is it only the means to fill his stomach with the food he would pull in from the money earned through his own mockery? Is he hiding something behind the painted face?

I laughed as I watched him perform.

I jostled among the audiences as the show ended, shoving the young boy standing at the entrance to meet him backstage. I did not even interpret my sudden urge to meet this joker. I went and went, inside, expecting him to answer my questions. The questions which were rushing inside my mind still does not know how to be translated into words. But I marched and marched, inside.

The watchman shouted, ‘Hey, You! Who are you and where are you going? That’s the costume room. Outsiders not allowed.’ I found him staring at me with those round, black and big eyes, just an inch apart. He would throw me somewhere with just a single blow, such was his physique. I feared. But I wanted to meet the joker inside. How would I find him once he washes off the colorful paint of his face? My brain questioned me back.

Without a wait, I bribed him whatever money I had inside the front pocket of my shirt. We did not speak. The money did the magic. I pushed everything coming my way. I marched and marched, inside, only to find similar looking faces with paints and paints on every visible part of their body.

I screamed, in desperation, ‘Joker’. All eyes ogled me.

A girl yelled, unhappily, ‘who is he? How dare he come inside? Security!’

I was a fool. I realized.

The young boys thrusted me outside. And I saw him. Joker saw me. We stared at each other.

I sat on the hip of bricks stacked outside the circus gate. I searched my pockets. There was no money. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

I got my answers.

I was the ‘joker’.

 

 

 

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