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Papa was a rolling stone
C.K. MEENA
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Society Today’s youngster may be heavily influenced by his peers but his choices are guided, sometimes even unconsciously, by his parents
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Photo: R.V. Moorthy
Closing in The generation gap shrunk from chasm to crevice
When a Kannada film director recently told me this story from his past, I thought to myself how quintessentially Seventies it was – bindaas, footloose, chase-the-rainbow-and-damn-the-pot-of-gold Seventies.
C was 19. Having assisted in the making of an art film he wanted to make one of his own. When he told his mentor that he was fascinated by man-eating tigers he advised him to shoot the film in a forest amidst the adivasis. So C upped and went to Kakinakote, where the Jenu Kurubas lived, with a 16 mm camera and some money borrowed from well-wishers.
The hero was a tiger. Its fee was Rs 5,000 a day and it arrived with its trainer from Tamil Nadu. C intended to finish shooting in seven days since the Tamil tiger would cost him a pretty penny.
On the first day of shooting, the tiger ran away. A mighty search was launched, day and night, with the forest department staff gamely joining in. Since one tiger looks pretty much like another they did not want to make the mistake of trying to cage a wild specimen. At the end of a fruitless week the trainer wanted to return to Tamil Nadu. He asked for compensation. "I have no money left," C replied. The search party decided to give it one last shot.
It was past midnight on the eighth day when they encountered a Kuruba boy carrying honey he had collected from the forest. The famished seekers drank the honey and gave him five rupees. A few minutes later the boy came scurrying past them. “There is a tiger sleeping under a tree near here,” he said. They wondered: could it be the fugitive?
Cautiously they approached the sleeping tiger. The trainer said it looked like his ward but couldn’t be sure. Now, the tiger answered to the name Jyothi. The trainer called out in loving tones, “Jyothi, kanna…” The tiger woke up and raised its head.
Happy ending, but not for the tiger, whose carefree days had drawn to a close. The film (after being blown up to 35 mm in Mumbai) was screened in the Indian Panorama section of the IFFI in Chennai. And C acquired a lasting nickname: Huli.
I don’t know why I was so taken up with this story. Or maybe I do know. It is because I am not likely to hear it again. Have you met young people lately? Man, are they focussed! If C were 19 today he would have made a documentary on tigers with money from the World Wildlife Fund for Nature. His likely modus operandi: assess risks, draw up project proposal, calculate budget for shoot (manpower, equipment, adventure gear and wear, travel, communication and miscellaneous expenses down to the last naya paisa), knock on doors of likely sponsors with laptop and PowerPoint presentation, and once he’d located the cash cow, start on the film with the blessings of his parents.
I deliberately mention parents here. Today’s youngster may be heavily influenced by his peers but his choices are guided, sometimes even unconsciously, by his parents. He may believe he is free to determine his career path or his partner in life, but in the final count he will act such that he does not upset papa and mamma.
Those of a certain age would remember that the spirit of the Seventies was marked by defiance of tradition. We were the original Gen Y, the generation that kept asking “why?” and questioned everything our elders taught us. Many of us had parents who failed to understand us. Some ruled us by fear and demanded obedience, while others were more lenient but nevertheless had no clue what was going on in our private worlds. Our wishes, our secrets and our confusions could only be shared with friends. When it came to our children, therefore, we were determined to do things differently. The generation gap shrunk from chasm to crevice. Parenting became hands-on, involved, and charged with emotion. A brief example to show you the contrast: In my time, if the teacher rapped your knuckles and you told your parents, they’d give you two more raps for good measure because you had been naughty in school. Today, if a teacher dares smack a child his parents will be banging on the school doors before sundown and baying for her blood.
In today’s more aware society, the youngster shares a good part of her inner life with her parents. They are so indulgent and empathetic that she willingly obeys and respects them, and even sacrifices her desires to please them. How many times I’ve heard young men say with complete understanding, “Naturally my parents have expectations of me.” Or “I don’t want to go against their wishes.” They confidently state, “Our parents know what is best for us” or “My mother is my role model.”
Ooh, it’s one big love fest. You 20-somethings think you’re lucky, don’t you? We were a bunch of impulsive malcontents, you are pragmatic and emotionally secure. Looks like you’ve won. But let me plant a seed of doubt in you, my sweeties. Love can be a trap. Conflict, not conformity, leads to new beginnings.
And since a conservative generation seems to give birth to a rebellious one which in turn gives birth to a conservative one, I’d love to know what your children turn out to be like.
(Send your feedback to ckmeena@gmail.com)
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