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Two things happened early this morning. Totally unrelated, one from the other, but together, they set off an alarm in my mind. The first: my day begins with a cup of chai in one hand, a newspaper in the other. Normally, I skim the headlines and tick articles that require to be read later, at leisure.

An article on a young filmmaker from Pune who is also a philosopher, had me hooked. Kranti Kanade’s film Mahek is about an 11-year-old girl who, pushed by her parents, strives hard to be the best at everything she does. The only problem is that she doesn’t know where her talents lie. So, maha confusion.

What is poignant about this article is the fact that it seems to be Kanade’s story as well. He tells the journalist interviewing him: “I lacked respect and dignity as a child. I made this film to overcome that bitterness.” Making films is a “truthful refuge” for him.

Just a few minutes after I read the story about Kanade’s film, a comment made by a radio jockey in between the usual Bollywood songs stopped me in my tracks. FM radio is usually background music as one goes about morning chores.

This morning the RJ was in a particularly reflective, in a what’s-happening-to-the-world kind of mood. He had been struck by a newspaper report about a young girl in Kolkata who had slipped into depression, followed by paralysis after she had been rebuked and humiliated by judges on a television reality dancing competition show.

Perhaps the judges who scolded her for not being good enough fancied themselves as desi versions of Simon Cowell, the acerbic and bitingly blunt judge on the popular American television reality show American Idol. Perhaps they were frustrated or failed singers. Whatever, they should have picked on somebody their own age instead of insulting a vulnerable teenager. Sixteen-year-old Shinjini Sengupta is yet to recover.

Meanwhile, thousands of starry-eyed children lured by dreams of instant stardom and untold riches throng television studios for the burgeoning reality shows. More often than not they have been groomed and goaded by their parents. Take a closer look at the parents on these reality shows. Many appear to be living vicariously through their children, frustrated perhaps by their failed dreams and humdrum lives.

What saddens me the most is the shrinking childhood of these little performers. Even those who have years to go before they enter their teens gyrate like the item girls and boys they see in Bollywood films. The little mimic-men and women thrust their pelvises out; a few even try to put on arch, knowing expressions.

These children remind me of the cherubic young star child with bouncing curls I wrote about many years ago. The reigning princess of ads at the time she (not quite eight then) was a desi Shirley Temple and cute as a button. Unfortunately, her eyes were as dead as buttons. Her parents did not let her play with her classmates: They were afraid that she might fall ill and miss her ‘shooting’ sessions. As it is they kept pulling her out of school for location filing.

The saddest bit was that while the photographer of the magazine I worked for at the time just wanted to shoot a few photographs, the child’s mother made her change her clothes at least a dozen times — as if she were in a beauty contest. And, when she thought we were not looking, she pinched her daughter’s cheeks to give them more colour. Those round little eyes still refused to show any emotion. There was just a hint of tears surfacing to the brim. But she was too afraid to let them drop.

I had long forgotten this child, though I often wondered what happened to her: most child stars end up in hellish oblivion. I wish more parents could see read Kanade’s wise words quoted in the article: “Life is not about wishful thinking but self-acceptance.” And let children be children. Or, just be.
Email: jain_madhu@hotmail.com