BRATTLEBORO — Clown, I am.
That isn't a metaphor; it's a fact. I wear the red nose - the world's smallest and best-known mask. It's an archetype found in every culture on this planet.
I recently went to India. One spontaneous gig was in a dirt cricket field at the Likir Monastery about 55 kilometers east of Ladakh. I went to the monastery as a tourist to take a few photos.
The Likir Monastery was built in 1045 A.D. and, as far as I know, has been in operation since. It was a Sunday afternoon in November - bright sunshine and chilly. The sprawling monastery stood at 11,000 feet and the jagged peaks that surround it climb 4,000 to 5,000 feet higher.
A dozen or so monks-in-training (ages 6 to 10 years old), dressed in well-worn dark-crimson robes, were practicing their cricket skills. I stood to the side of the field and watched the action.
Three separate ballers threw to three different batsmen. A hard-hit ball came my way. I caught it on a bounce and returned it to the baller.
The kids noticed and appreciated that, at least this time, the ball didn't go over a small cliff, which would warrant one of them to sprint out the gate of the field to prevent the ball from running down the 4-kilometer driveway to the monastery.
* * *
I donned a red clown nose and stepped further onto the playing field. When one or two boys noticed, I smiled broadly, and they started laughing at me. I turned around a few times to see who they were laughing at, then pointed to myself and said, “Me?”
They laughed harder.
I walked toward a plastic chair on a patio. I picked it up and balanced it on my chin. The other boys took notice as it stayed there for about 10 seconds.
I quickly sat in the chair and crossed my legs. Getting up, I stumbled down the rock stairs back onto the playing field. They laughed harder.
Another cricket ball came my way. I tossed it up, catching it on the back of my neck. A boy tossed another ball my way; I picked up a small rock about the size of the balls and began juggling.
All the boys stopped their cricket. At the end of the short show, one or two applauded. I made my way back to the gate of the playing field. Just before parting, I took an extravagant bow only to discover that I stood squarely in a fresh cow pie - a perfect ending to the best gig of my life.