The Lost Theatre

—   Mahesh Paudyal

We had our school in a thickly populated square in Imphal. There were many schools big and small in its vicinity, and the competitions were tough. We were making a difference by doing things other than pure classroom stuffs. Our claims were many, though we did few. Our greatest strength was that we encouraged children to take park in competitions and festivals out of the school.

In every program we held, our Head Master would announce the same thing. We even talked over tea, "Our Head Master uses a template speech. It has been twelve years since we started the school, and his lines are exactly the same. The diaries, year after year, differ in their color and paper quality. About the content, not a single alphabet alters.'

His sayings were few though. He would say that classroom tutoring alone was not enough, and we needed to encourage children in real-life participation. For this particular claim, we had collected more than a thousand students in such crammed environment. The parents approved of our claims and said, "O yes, all successful people are versatile."

The Sumang Leela Association once organized open yard drama festivals, and we chose to participate. A beautiful play was written, and our children practiced exceptionally well. When it was staged, the audience was stunned. The ending of the story that centered on the sudden loss of a friend, cut across many hearts, and left them wounded. The lead character, Dhruva, was the hero of the day.

The next morning, the papers prodigally wrote about the play, and the exceptional talent of the children, particularly Dhruva. We also got appreciation as directors, and were invited for interview at a few FM radio stations.

One beautiful thing about the play was that we had invited some filmmakers, and Dhruva and some of his friends managed to catch their attention. A few months later, a team of filmmakers came to me.

"Sir, we want you to involve your kids in a film about children."

"That's great," I said. I didn’t need to think. That was the day I was in fact, waiting for.

I was proud of my school, and confident that it would be proud too to send its kids for the movie. That would give a great break to the children, and would open a door for their career on the stage and on the screen. I had only one thing to be careful about. The shooting time should be in vacation season, otherwise study will be hampered. The filmmakers said yes, and I wanted them to meet the authorities.

"It's a great idea, you know. But the problem is, the kids these days do not study, and they need to focus on books," said the principal.

"Yes, in the last examination as well, Dhurva scored less than his earlier scores," added his class-teacher.

Encouraged, the principal started outlining his educational philosophies that would beat all educationists on earth, "You know how human brain works. Some are left-brained and some right. Dhruva is left, and he is more at home in technical things like science and mathematics. I think stage, films, movies and the like are not his area. He needs more mathematics, because you know how human brain….."

And this continued. The class-teacher had his claims to make. I decided to take the parents into confidence.

"O no, sir! Dhruva is such a naughty child. He always goes around with his friends, and doesn’t study. Films will spoil him and he will never be a doctor. You know we need a doctor in the family. I am diabetic and his father has frequent convulsions."

I asked Dhurva what he had got to say. He said he could manage his study alongside the movie. He also said he liked art things more than science, mathematics, doctoring and engineering.

However, the story ended. I didn’t have the parents' authority and the Head Master's power. The film people never came to the school again.

Dhurva never became an actor. Neither did he become a doctor. I see him scaling from one square to another in Imphal. He looks sad and tired, and keeps talking to himself as he walks along the streets. He however attends every program that stages a play – long or short.

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