We entered Jeter's mansion the same way we had left it: through the bushes. But there

was this beautiful fusion of pink, purple and blue lights that was emanating from

inside unlike when we left and all that could be seen were giant golden chandeliers

through the bay windows. This thought was instantly confirmed when trance like

music started to blare from their equally large backyard with lyrics like, 'Born, born,

born a certain waaaaay, Feels good to have a natural orderrrr, Thank you, we were

born this waaaay, oh baby! '

'Oh you're kidding me, the carnival thing was tonight?' Nin confusedly asked her

equally perplexed friends.

'That is strange! Both ami and abu did not mention anything about this, 'Harris said

while taking off his backpack. 'But it doesn't matter, let's just go and find them.'

We made our way to the backyard and beheld large pinstriped tents with several

clowns doing some kind of auditions. The judges were Jeter, Nin and Harris's parents.

Of course they were older versions of their children. Jeter's father was a man of

medium height and pecan colored hair that was gelled back. He had the same skin as

his son except the color was silver gray and the tie that had its slick neck circle the

suit collar and make its way into the meticulously buttoned intersection was midnight

blue. The shoes Mr. Hiseff Kit wore had tinges of crocodile and his cufflinks

glistened more loudly than all the blaring lights that surrounded him. A man of great

fashion sense, I can honestly wonder just how well he conducted his security business

- not so well, as his own son would slip right under his nose.

Mrs. Arantza Kit, a woman of excellent height and firm build – the kind of physical

stature she bequeathed to her son – looked like an Amazon dressed in the garb of

formal business pants, white ruffled blouse adorned under a black blazer. Once more,

all this was exquisitely purchased at the biology store, and I hear the genes are quite

expensive. Her tiger hair flowed wildly.

Dr. Rafi Mahmood and Dr. Gulrose Rafi, Harris’s parents stood majestically

together, a handsome couple, both of them had white coat skins and matching

stethoscopes and tortilla coloured faces. They were both close in height. The couple

was picture perfect. Dr. Rafi had peppered hair and a white beard on a face that

looked wise, with eyes that were stern and assertive yet prone to occasional glints of

kindness. His wife had an oblong face with shoulder length raven hair and possibly

the most gorgeous almond shaped eyes I have ever seen.

Last but not least, Nin’s parents. Mr. William Joyce and Mrs. Purita Joyce. Her

father looked exactly like their great ancestor James Joyce – round spectacles, with

hair that was all the rage in the jazz age. He had a moustache that had been cut from

both ends giving it a semi lunar look. His body skin comprised of a suit, bow tie, a hat

– which had been shaved multiple times to stop the hair from growing out as it was

again just an extension of his head, and a long cane – the only prop of his biological

costume that did not emanate naturally from his body. Personally speaking, perhaps

their affiliation with the eliteratti comes through carrying sir Joyce’s lineage and not

just the career. Nin’s mother was a petite short woman with a cinnamon bob and

Cleopatra inspired eyes. She had words that were naturally scribbled all over her legs

and arms like tattoos.

As we drew closer, and my friends went over to their respective parents, I saw that

one of the clowns present there, was my father, so I rushed over to my own parent.

‘Dad? What are you doing here?’ I asked the obvious question that just seemed

necessary.

‘Trying to make some money,’ he spoke in the most composed un-clown like

manner as opposed to his highly dramatic co-clowns. ‘Do you know what an honour it

is to be able to perform at the eliteratti house?’

‘They’re not gods, dad.’

‘Son, please. You know what I mean. All my life I’ve wanted to be like them and

this is probably the closest I get.’ He spoke so sadly.

Surprisingly, despite the loud music blaring I could hear the muffled voices of Jeter,

Nin and Harris along with their parents. That ceased altogether and then spoke Mr.

Kit.

‘All right, I think we’ve chosen,’ he said while pressing his hands together. I could

see my father’s face glossed with hope and yearning. And go figure, it was not him.

The clown with the squeak in his step, high pitched raspy voice, more elaborate

buttons than you’ve ever seen before, and mad apple coloured hair was ‘the clear

choice’. And the clown next to me, whose gene was not in my body, sighed a great

sigh.

‘Thank you for coming, we’ll make sure one of our miscellaneous drivers drops you

off at the nearest station. And you, Clown Y Fluffemjokestein, is that correct?’ Mr.

Kit turned and asked the clown he selected.

‘Fluffemjokestein, at it! Hyuhyuhyu,’ he ended by jumping and laughing in the most

absurd manner. He really threw in everything he got, every moment he got.

‘Be here by six tomorrow!’ And with that he and the whole tribe of eliterattis just

turned and walked away.

It was purely impulsive, but I turned around and declared, ‘Not choosing Spud the

Clown? Spud the clown who has got the entire joke dictionary memorised? The one

who can juggle while doing somersaults through rings of fire? Not choosing that Spud

the clown?’

What I said made me a clown in my father’s eyes; he could do none of those things.

‘I certainly saw none of it in the audition. If anything, he was the most boring and

most dry out of the lot.’ Mr. Kit replied in a very matter of fact manner.

‘Ah, you see that’s this man’s surprise! He is full of surprises. He would like to show

you something through discourse if that be so possible for a clown to do, in your

office perhaps?’

‘I can’t allow that. I haven’t the time.’

‘You see Mr. Kit, my father has a fiery passion for…’ I hesitated. This was one

moment where I had his attention, and thought I would just say it.

‘…for law,’ I finally added. ‘He’s really good – could he perhaps get a special letter

written on his behalf from you so he could go to the library without being

discriminated against?’

Mr. Kit’s eyes opened. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Sad he looks like something he’s

not and pity he looks like that so no one can take him seriously in anything else. Boy,

it’s the way you look. It’s all set in stone.’

Holding back my anger, I tried my best to speak in a calm and steady voice. ‘Sir,

one’s merit is what should determine one’s career, a person’s commitment. Surely,

with your education and evolved thinking skills, you can’t -’

‘You lecturing me on “should be’s” now? Just who do you think you are?’ his voice

slithered like lightning. It was silent, deadly, provoking, but most of all, threatening.

‘I am a fellow human being,’ making sure we made eye contact, ‘just like yourself.’

Mr. Kit gave a nasty little snort, ‘Hmph. For someone who was born without an

identity or a career, you do know how to make haughty remarks. Mark my words boy:

you are not like me. I am an elitist. You are even lower than the miscellaneous.’

And with that he turned to leave for the inside of his mansion. Though everyone else

stood a little shocked at the outward display of animosity towards my father and I,

they did of course follow him back. As for the children, Mr. Kit quite menacingly

warned his son to ‘mark (his) distance from my kind and the miscellaneous’, and with

a look of hurt and helplessness, he too, along with Nin and Harris went back inside

the great big bubble of delusion, otherwise known as the eliteratti mansion.

‘Son, nothing quite shakes you up, does it?’ my father said to me as the other clowns

were being escorted by the driver, ‘you really can’t win against them. It’s not how life

was made.’

‘Father, this is unbearable,’ as we spoke, he too, was being led out. ‘In keeping with

the promise I made to mother, and now I make to you, you will become a lawyer. The

first clown-lawyer in all of Silverns Town.’

He was touched. There was a moment of silence between us when only our eyes

spoke to one another. But, he was also concerned.

‘Your firm faith in me is enough for an old clown to die happy! Ain’t no joke

necessary!’ he said, finally, holding back tears that stubbornly trickled down his

coloured cheeks anyway, ‘your ma and I love you. They’re strong people, but one day

our kind will rise as well.’

‘Safe journey father,’ I said as he got in the van, ‘but we are all the same kind. There

is no distinction. Somebody needs to just wake the eliteratti up, is all.’

That was the first time I had seen my father, in a long time. And to think, it was such

an abrupt meeting as that with a goodbye at my lips, with a rude awakening to a rude

nightmare. Heavy heart but with a steely will, I made my way back into the Kit

mansion.