The Hindu Business Line : Innocence lost forever?

THE ticket counter at Sterling theatre had a queue of one old woman, her grandson and myself to see Chakachak. The lady was not surprised when she told me, "Aaaj kal, film mein dhum-dham chaihye (They want films with noise)," as her grandson pestered her to buy a packet of popcorn. Chakachak by Sai Paranjpe is a documentary film on environment for children and to keep the idea going a thin story on a drug peddler is tagged on. A toli (gang) of eight kids at the bidding of the magician, Jhadubaba, decide to keep their locality clean and are a step ahead of the elders, who cannot raise a quorum to hold a Saturday meeting.

The magician played by Madhu (a Malayalam actor) tries to spread the message of keeping Nature green and clean though there were no crowds at the Sterling theatre to take the message. It is not that the tickets are high-priced; a balcony seat costs just Rs 45, it being tax-free.

Sai Paranjpe is one of the better directors though the two-hour Chakachak could have done with some pruning; the storyline could have also been a bit taut. The show at Sterling is badly timed at 10.15 a.m. when the Mumbaikar is busy getting ironed out in local trains and his kids gagged by studies and teachers at schools.

The film started with five occupied seats in the balcony and when it ended only this writer was around. Chakachak is worth seeing if one stops being an adult and could be a hit if schools screen it for their audience. "Koyal bhi gul (The koel has also gone)," goes a song, which will appeal to children.

Sai talks of the pollution of the Ganges, the blackening of the Taj, the vanishing of rivers and the plastic disease in cities and towns as statements of facts, which could help kids understand the film. One wished she had taken some shots in forests and the poaching of animals. As of now not many kids will see Chakachak and our environment will continue to be sloppy.

One had to start from home by 8 a.m. when 18-month-old Siddhu (Siddhant) walked in with his mother with a tiny school bag strapped to his back. His parents have decided to send him to a play school (he is barely able to talk) for an hour daily.

Siddhu's fate has been yoked forever to a forbidding school life with its mounds of text books. From today, Siddhu will not spend an hour with me every morning and evening playing with his bag of toys. Sometimes in the mood he will point at the TV set and any channel is interesting for him. The best part of Siddhu is he has a big smile and never cries, making him a favourite in my family.

Walking out of Sterling one wished Siddhu was around as he could have had the entire balcony for himself. The long years at school, one fears, will erase Siddhu's smile and innocence and make him like one of us. "At Siddhu's age, we used to play at home. My father sent me to school at the age of five and we never carried books," my wife remarked and this writer does not think delayed schooling a bad idea.

"Do we have to do this to Siddhu. This is the time when Siddhu needs only his parents," said my mother in Tamil with tears in her eyes as Siddhu said bye to get set for his play school. One wonders whether schools are necessary and whether childhoods are not scarred forever by schools — especially the modern versions of play schools, junior KG and senior KG.

In his recent delightful book Roads to Mussoorie, Ruskin Bond writes of his first years on earth: "Another clear memory is of my first visit to the hill station (Mussoorie) — not just forty years ago, when I came to settle here, but sixty-five years ago... A small boy of eleven, I was placed in a convent school, where I was very unhappy. But my father came to see me during the summer break, and kept me with him in a boarding house on the Mall. Always the best of companions, he took me to the pictures and for long pony and rickshaw rides. A little cinema below Hakman's was my favourite. Hakman's was a great place then, with a band and a dance hall and a posh restaurant. Nearby there was a skating rink, which was consumed by a fire in the 1960s. We had no fire engine then."

Bond is a bachelor and the children of his extended family today watch Jackie Chan on television. Bond thinks it is a normal day for them and "I hope it stays that way."

Sai Paranjpe and Ruskin Bond deal in koels and butterflies. "As I write, a small white butterfly flutters in at the open window, reminding me of all that Nature offers to anyone who is receptive enough to appreciate its delights," Bond scribbles.

Will Siddhu ever get to enjoy the Chakachak of butterflies?

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