Circus mom’s line: Brown girl in the ring won’t be mine

Circus mom’s line: Brown girl in the ring won’t be mine
RESHMA PATIL

PUNE, JANUARY 13: Every morning, little Priya scampers off to a fancy English-medium school in Kolkata. Miles away in Pune, her mom methodically squeezes into a tiny sequinned outfit and plasters on the warpaint. She prays her five-year-old will never know that life is a circus out there.

The 14 lions are snoozing, blissfully unemployed since five months, like ring-master Rajan Nair, who has no junglee janwar at his command. The sole tiger flicks his tail listlessly. At 22, he couldn't care less if audiences have plummeted from 3,000 a show to less than 1,000 today.

But at camp Rambo circus, spirited parents from the troupe of 300 clowns, jugglers, trapeze artistes and gymnasts unpack trunks full of glitter, costumes -- and framed pictures of uniformed five to fifteen-year-olds they hugged good-bye last summer vacation.

The spotlight will spare this generation with circus in their blood but English-medium

schools on their resumes. Scattered from Mumbai to Kolkata, Kochi to Nainital.

``Priya has never seen me perform. She lives with relatives in Kolkata and we'll never tell her that her father beats the drums for a circus, that I'm just a ring dancer.''

``I'll never teach her my kala. She must study to be important one day, and speak English. I wish I had studied beyond class IV,'' Puja Lalji admits wistfully, for mother and daughter meet but once a year. At age eight, Puja admits she fled her home in Nepal and a flourishing kheti business to follow an ``agent'' to join the local circus.

At 33, age is catching up with gymnast Devi Kesi from Kerala, the only 30-plus woman performer, a former runaway kid. Framed pictures of Puja (13) and Mala (10) hold pride of place on the make-shift dressing table. ``My daughters study in Shantiniketan. That's where Rabindranath Tagore got a gold medal, and Indira Gandhi studied,'' Devi tells a stunned audience of circus moms. Devi says all of her monthly salary of Rs 3,000, since the last eight years, goes straight into the girls' school fund and two daily tuitions.

``It's over one year since I held my daughters. I wish I could afford a Pune hostel for them. I've heard so much about Pune's schools and colleges. It is too late for me to find a new job, but my daughters should never know their mother wears such short dresses,'' says standard-three-pass Devi, sprinkling every quote with a reminder that ``even the poor have a right to hope high, wish the best for their kids.''

Same story from shed to shed in circus camp. Like ``champion horse acrobat'' Sita Hemraj from Kerala who hangs on to a picture of eight-year-old Sanal now in class II at S K Patel High School, Mumbai. ``I have never taught Sanal to ride a horse. He must learn, and study hard as per his desire,'' is all she will say.

With 90 shows every 12 months that barely scrape together some 1,000 ``public'' daily, manager O P Sharma has reason to be grumpy. ``Where do we get Rs 45,000 a day to feed 14 lions, one tiger, five elephants, two chimpanzees, 20 pomeranians, seven camels, 14 horses, and 300 crew,'' he asks, pacing.

Voicing every artists' sentiment, Sharma claims business is in the doldrums eversince performances by wild animals were banned. ``For children the animals were a major entertainment, even if it was a 20-minute show. Now I have to pay the ringmaster, I can't get rid of my animals, the government won't help. If we hike ticket rates, the public won't turn up.''

Drummer K V Lalji with 20 circus years in his blood, repeats that ``we don't know the outside world. Once you get caught in the circus, there's no way out.''

From Sunday, Rambo circus will kick off with a spectacle of 14 jobless lions and one tiger for public display only. ``No extra charge.''

For Devi and her motley family, what will be will be. ``On stage we must laugh and smile. As long as we breathe, the circus will go on. It's life's biggest khel and our pooja.''