Oddballs Galore!

Today, a bespectacled sylph-like apparition in salwar-kameez interrupted our exercise session and started demonstrating how we should be doing what we were doing. She struck a strange Nataraja pose, before Arora-ji’s folded hands and a request to leave us alone banished her from the scene. Her arrival was as sudden as her departure.
The Garden attracts all kinds of oddballs every morning. A number of them can be seen muttering to themselves, while counting beads of a rosary. One gentleman imagines himself to be an army general as he does his rounds with a baton in hand. A pot-bellied hunchback makes obscene grunts and groans while walking. Yet another screams like a frightened animal while clearing his throat in the Chinese Hut. A drunk in spotless white kurta-pajama, unfailingly totters in to eye the women in the Garden. There is also this madcap broken-tooth Madrasi who insists on hitting and poking you on the pretext of a handshake.
It takes all types to make this world. But then, who are we to complain? All those who observe us every morning laughing our lungs out for no apparent reason must have concluded that we are all terminally deranged -- without a hope in hell. Each unto his own!
--Big Laaf