“What does that clown do?” a newly married lady whispered in her husband’s ears.
Arshad hears that a lot. He widens his smile even more and walks towards the couple in his trademark split leg style.
“There is a clown in all of us; I am here to bring it out” he said while taking out his huge notebook and presented it to the couple.
The two flipped the pages of the notebook; it was full of cartoon sketches made out of real people. Arshad the clown was an artist who also performed to collect a few coins from the visitors in and around the Charminar, to fill the stomach of his small family.
It wasn’t a thriving business like that of Irani chai, sold by many small cafes around or the small hawkers selling useless but strange looking things. Arshad himself was strange looking in his clown outfit. The white cream with red nose and huge red smile was accompanied by surma in his eyes. He had a clown top and a pyjama below which was a total mismatch but helped him attract the attention of the tourists around. The local visitors and those from the nearby states never gave him more than 20 rupees. Every now and then there was an unsuspecting foreigner who thought of it as some kind of art, which has survived the tide of town and probably Arshad is preserving the culture of the Indian clown which has been lost to time. These visitors gave him anything between 50 to 500 rupees depending upon how the sketch turns out.
As the day grew on, the crowd at the Charminar grew thicker. The sun was kinder to the white skin of the foreigners who had come to visit the city. Arshad had by now managed to gather a crowd around him, while the antique coin seller and the toy makers sitting adjacent to Arshad looked on. They knew it will take just a turn of head to be seen by someone in the crowd. That would be their chance.
“What if the cartoon doesn’t look like me?”
“Then all my work is yours” Arshad replied
There was a chuckle, it was familiar to Arshad. He heard it every day, that of his little son Ali, who was hidden behind the long legs. For Ali, his father worked at an office at a far off place and came back home late in the night tired. He might have got his Ammi along with him but Arshad was sure she was at one of the pearl shops.
Arshad continued with his sketch, but was watching Ali from the corner of his eye. Ali stood there in rapt attention as his father drew laughs from the audience he had gathered. For Arshad only one laugh mattered then, that of Ali. For years, he couldn’t face his son because he never did something his child could be proud of. Ali was too small to understand that but some day he would, Arshad dreaded that day. But today wasn’t that day. Today was different, Ali was enjoying every moment of this and there couldn’t be a better moment for Arshad than this.
The crowd started to thin with the sound of the magrib azaan. Arshad gestured towards Ali, summoning him.
“Come here beta”
The Joker who had held his attention till now was asking for him. His tiny feet took him slowly to Arshad
“How about a sketch beta”
Ali tried to say something but the sound never came out and after gathering a little courage he said
“I don’t have the money”
Arshad smiled and said “Don’t worry; I will not take money from you. You are like my son”
A smile appeared on Ali’s face, as he heard the stranger clown.
“Stand in front of me, while I make your sketch” Arshad said
The smile started growing wider as Ali posed for Arshad, when they heard something
“Aliiiiii..” his mother shouted
Ali heard her voice and hid behind the railings before the entrance to the Charminar. Arshad could see Ali behind the railings and continued sketching. Ali’s mother spotted him too; she held his hand and dragged him away from the railings while stealing a smile at Arshad.
Arshad completed the sketch in a few minutes and placed it aside. He placed it aside for the dreadful day when Ali will not know why he should be proud of his father.
