Bangalore, Feb, 2025

I was stuck in a cupboard, and needed help. A woman who had been standing quietly over the bedside of her teenage daughter reached out her hand to help and as I took it I twirled out into the room, liberated! And then she twirled, and the sun came out across her face too. The social worker here said that probably, that is the first time she had ever danced like that. It was certainly a first for me.

*****
We are sitting on the rooftop and Igor is reflecting on being at the SriRamana Ashram, saying that it is a place filled with miracles. And as he says it, I see us, two human beings sitting side by side, directly in front of us, two songbirds balancing on a wire, all four of us watching the Sun rising over the distant horizon as the Earth spins on its axis. 

*****

The Patriarchy is in full force here and shows up all over the place. The Director of the hospital who summons us to a meeting and talks so quietly from the end of his comically enormous table that we all have to lean forwards to hear him. He never addresses me, or answers me even when I speak, even though I am the one with the information he needs. The waiters who always place the menu facing Igor and never ask me what I want to eat. Police, security guards, anyone in public positions of authority, are all men, most holding sticks and all wearing uniforms. There are never any bins or newspaper in the women's toilets, but always signs saying 'please wrap sanitary products in newspaper and throw in the bin'. The phallic temples. The photographed faces of men all over the city who have paid to have their faces on a billboard just so that their faces are on a billboard. It really wears you down after a while.

*****

Here, Cancer is still a dirty word. Children who have cancer are stigmatised, their families often don’t tell anyone they are ill. It’s even a taboo to touch a child who has cancer here, apparently. Mothers sit by their child’s beds, hearts filled with love and shame. The ward is still and silent and nobody lifts their phones to film when we enter.

After 15 about minutes of us being in the room almost everyone in the bed bay is spontaneously laughing and singing a ‘meow’ song together, including a teenage girl who can barely lift her head from the pillow.

Later I see a video of Trump and JD Vance showing the world what American diplomacy really looks like - has always looked like -  in front of the worlds media, threatening world war three, and I think about the mothers on that oncology ward and all that they hold and care for and the tenderness and shame they carry versus the pure shamelessness of men who hold power, and my heart….well my heart aches with wishing it were different.

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A girl who had followed us and played with us all day yesterday was there again today. When I first saw her she was in her pyjamas, standing next to me and smiling. About ten minutes later I looked down and there she was again, wearing a turquoise sparkly princess dress, the same colour as my skirt. The miracle of this did not pass me by, and she giggled with delight.

*****
I walked around Arunachala barefoot.

‘Though Arunachala appears outwardly as a hill of mere insentient rock, the true devotee understands it to be the all-knowing, all-loving and all-powerful Supreme Lord, who is guiding him both from within and without at every step and turn of life, leading him steadily and surely towards the goal of egolessness.’ David Godman

My feet are fire and broken glass within about 10 minutes of walking but somehow I don’t stop. Life with Endometriosis has taught me a lot about how to live alongside pain. Yes to the burning fire of my feet, yes to the warm sun on my back, yes to the air in my lungs, yes to the light shimmering on this silver street decoration, yes to this sweet calf with legs growing from her shoulder blades, yes to this ache and yes to the exquisite, complicated, messy abundance of life that fills every moment. I am pulled around the circumference of the mountain by the river of souls who have walked this path for thousands of years before me, by the force of the mountain itself.

I laugh with joy, with peace, with gratitude and at that moment, my mind grasps onto this feeling and my body bursts back into pain, my mind flourishes with it’s banal running commentary - judgements, comparisons, wishing it were different, wishing it would never change. I breathe. I say hello again to the pain, I say hello to the joy, I surrender again and again and again to Arunachala, to presence, to all of it.

And I think - this is life, isn’t it? Constant pain, and constant joy, and none of it is me.

*****

We are at the entrance to the hospital, waiting for our auto. It is hot so we sit on the pavement in the shade, a little behind the security booth. As is often our way, after a few moments we start to sing a little song to pass the time - a percussive, joyful rhythm. I can see the security guard in front of us smiling, and he taps his wooden stick along to the beat.

A week later I am there as Maybee, and Robin is playing his harmonica. I am dancing, and I risk reaching out my hand to this guard. There are maybe 30 people watching. He takes it with his free hand and while I can see he wants to dance, is stilted and uncertain. Someone gestures to the stick in his other hand and he hesitates between worlds and then looks me in the eye and suddenly is holding both my hands and spinning me around. The stick has been abandoned and his eyes are shining.

*****

We’ve been clowning for maybe an hour outside the hospital and now we are back at the entrance, a small crowd of children and their parents surrounding us. Our focus is still on the small square of paper that has been the source of our play for the last thirty minutes. It is clear that no one child can keep this scrap of paper - that has been the subject of an epic opera. The best case scenario might be that one of us takes it, but even that doesn’t feel right. The paper is passing between the children, who are doing everything in their power to keep the game alive. Suddenly Robin and a small boy grab it at the same time, and the scrap is split into two. I take my chance and take one piece and tear it again. Now there are tiny hands tearing and tearing and tearing and the paper is confetti and it belongs to all of us and none of us, and Robin and Maybee turn and dance back into the hospital, waving as we go.

*****

Today we finally stroked the mangy local dog who nobody touches. We both agreed that if we die of Rabies it would be worth it and not at all embarrassing.

*****

Mister Robin had finally committed the ultimate betrayal and ditched me for another partner - a teen boy who had been following us, warming up to us all morning. I had overcome my shock and sadness, and was now bubbling with anger. As I stepped out into the corridor at one and of the bed bay, Robin and the boy stepped out at the other end. It was clear that a street fight was on the cards. The boy stepped into the middle of the corridor. I stepped in opposite him. He pulled back his shoulders, and so did I. His eyes narrowed, my eyes narrowed. We stepped closer, and closer until we were centimetres apart, eye to eye and I saw a steely and real anger in his eyes and was..so impressed by his strength that I smiled slightly and he smiled slightly and we melted until we were smiling broadly at one another and he took my hand and lead me back to Robin and joined our hands together.

*****

Igor teases me that I keep filming shadows. I just can’t resist the quietness of them. The simplicity. The refuge.

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After watching The Office for 2 straight days while eating watermelon, papaya, and crispy spicy snacks, I dreamt that I was cradling Steve Carrell in my arms as he wept.

*****

I danced with a nurse in the bed bay today. She was timid at first, but something shifted in her after the first time I span her around her eyes welled up over her mask. I noticed a thought cross her face and a moment of tension in her hands and instead of stopping as I thought she was going to, in that moment she surrendered to some inner desire to live out in the open, and our hearts span and span together, and the patients on the ward clapped and cheered.

*****

In airport security there aren’t any signs about what you have to take out of your bag. By the time I went through the scanner, I had used 6 different trays for different objects and had 4 different guards take their pleasure in telling me something else I had to do. I wished I had been clowning then. But instead I was tired and pissed off and said ‘oh for fucks sake’ loudly under my breath and then felt bad.

*****

I remember in the first weeks and months of clowning in Barcelona seeing the male clowns perform improvised circle shows for hundreds of people and feeling my heart heaving with envy. Not so much about the crowds, but at their flow and skill and the way they created wonder out of nothing and transformed the space completely. I wanted so badly to be them. I tried clowning on my own in the street a few times and it wasn’t safe at all. 23 year old me would have been so amazed and happy to see me clowning on the hospital grounds this week. There was such a big crowd. It was effortless and joyful. We reflected afterwards that everyone else did the clowning for us.

*****

Things that are different: In the public hospital here, the children don’t wear ID wrist bands, and nobody has notes at the end of their beds, and the beds aren’t numbered, and there aren’t names written anywhere. And there are no machines or beeps. There are no individual rooms. The sheets are blue or purple, not white. The food smells delicious. There are no televisions, no cartoons on the walls. Doors that need to be closed are locked with padlocks. The windows have bars on them and the guards carry sticks that they sometimes run along the metal of the cots to get attention.


Things that are the same: People feel anxious and sad and bored and angry and confused. People love their children and want them to be well and happy. People are tired and overwhelmed. People blame themselves for their children being sick. People love music. People are obsessed with their phones. People love people walking into things and getting things wrong when they are really trying to get them right. People love to be seen and heard and valued. People love people.


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