The Comic and The Clown

There are two kinds of funny people in this world. The first kind is the “comic”. A comic makes things around him funny. He looks at everything in a lighter vein, the people, the events, the mishaps. He could be sarcastic, to the extent of even being cynical. But his outputs make people around him laugh. Of course, he might end up hurting a few egos along the way. The second kind is the “clown”. A clown is someone who makes fun of himself. He can act dumb, say dumb things or just make fun of himself. He doesn’t mind when others poke fun at him. He, in fact, takes it as a compliment, as that is exactly what he is trying to accomplish.

Both people have a gift of making people around the happy. And yes, it is a gift. Not everyone can do it. Though the clown might sound a little more idealistic than the comic, there is no point in guessing who is better. To be either takes enormous effort and patience. I have seen both kinds of people throughout my life and have always been really impressed by them, to the extent of being envoous. Anywhere you go, they would be the life of the party. You will always find a huge bunch of people around them.

Also, the clown has been associated with some one who embodies self-sacrifice. He is also shown as some on with a sad past, which he hides behind his cheery painted face. Though this might look poetic, it might not always be true. Though such cases are really sad, I believe people can be a clown just because it is a lot of fun. And of course, there is no clear distinction between a comic and a clown and most funny people exist in the blurry region between the two.

This post was triggered when someone told me…
“You know signed out, you are not funny. We laugh more at you more than we laugh at your jokes.”

She did not mean this as an insult and I did not take it as one myself. In fact I was flattered by what she said. And if I remember correctly, I replied with a thank you. But I know for a fact that I am neither a comic nor a clown. And to be honest, I am not funny either. And am not being modest here. That is another thing that I can never be. But have always tried to be funny, and will always do so. The sweet sound of laughter is always more than worth the effort.

Money – II

The look on his wife’s face told him that she was serious. He knew that his wife was not altogether happy with the way they lived. She had always expected a better life style. But he could not even imagine that his wife would contemplate murder to become rich.

“I have a plan.”

Without waiting for her husband to respond, she went on. “I would add some of this in one bowl of dhaal. If one of us ends up getting it, I would somehow spill it. That way all of us will be safe. And if he gets it, then we got him.”

Mr.Mehta realized two things. His wife’s mind was made up. He knew he had little chance of changing it. And, it sounded like a reasonable plan. If none of them ended up eating the poison, they did not have anything to loose. And he knew they could use the money. After about two minutes, he nodded at his wife. She almost gave out a shriek. She went back to making roti’s. She had a smug look on her face. He waited silently in the kitchen. The roti’s were all done. She picked five bowls from the shelf. She poured dhaal in each one of them. Then she picked the poison from below the kitchen sink. He watched her as show slowly poured it into one of the bowls. She mixed it in so that it would not look any different from the rest. She put them on a tray and asked him to bring the roti’s.

They set up the table as usual. She made sure she kept the four clean bowls in the places where they usually sat for dinner. She placed the poisoned bowl in the fifth place. She asked her husband to sit in his usual place. She went to the living room and called her kids first. Then she called him for dinner. All of them entered the dining room. Beads of sweat were forming on Mr.Mehta’s forehead. He looked up at his kids, as they sat down in their chairs. His body relaxed and he wiped the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his kurtha. His wife motioned towards the fifth place and the guy sat down there. He had the bag in his hands. He placed it on the other end of the table, next to him. His wife came around and sat next to him. Things were turning out well for them.

The kids nibbled on the food, staring at their parents. Mr.Mehta whispered soothing words to them saying that everything was alright and nothing would happen to them. He was looking at the guy from the corner of his. His wife was openly staring at the guy. He wished she would stop doing that. The beads of sweat were forming again. His wife some how seemed completely in control. She had started eating, with her eye on him. He watched carefully as the guy took his first bite. He seemed to like it, as his face brightened and he smiled. He was saying something about the food, but Mr.Mehta did not hear anything. He watched his wife smile. She was saying something to him. She seemed to be acting as if the stranger was a guest. He watched silently as the stranger dug into the food with gusto.

He watched them talking about something, when the look on his face changed. He started choking and the food in his mouth sputtered out. He watched in awe as the man tried to grasp for a glass of water. His body was convulsing and he spat out the water. His face froze suddenly and he collapsed on the table. The water spilled on the table and started to make a pool. Mr.Mehta and the kids watched in horror as a thick red began to spread in the pool of water. Mrs.Mehta was smiling.

“Let’s get his bag.”

No one reacted. They were still staring at the dark red pool on the table.

“Come on. We got him. Let’s look at his bag.”

“What have we done? We have killed someone. What are we going to do now? What will we do with this body?”

“We did not think about it before. But we have lots of time. Let’s first see if what they said on the TV is correct. Let’s see how much money he had.” She was pulling at her husband now.

She grabbed the bag and took it to the living room. The kids were still in a state of shock and they followed their parents meekly. She placed the bag on the couch and opened it. All of them stared inside the bag. It was stuffed with a lot of crumbled newspaper. They started pulling it out in a mad frenzy. They found something shiny and black under all the paper. Mr. Mehta pulled it out.

The look on both his and his wife’s face turned to one of shock. The camera fell from his hands.

“Papa, there is something written on this camera. It looks like…. MTV.”

They heard a knock on their door and sirens in the distance.