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Amole Gupte takes us through a life beholden to restlessness. Were it not for the itch, he says, he would have been a fossil
A stitch in time saves nine
– itch saved mine.
About to place the roof
And seal success…
Just then – the itch
To bring down the house of cards
A stitch in time saves nine
– itch saved mine.
Soft leather, bum feels good
Gobbled by good times…
Promptly – the itch
To fast and to last
A stitch in time saves nine
itch saved mine.
Long Live Itch! Lusty, Lean, Restless,
The stone is rolling fine
A stitch in time saves nine
– itch saved mine. 

At age 5:
To give in, day after day, to the itch of watching LIC employees rehearse for an inter-office play competition, by clambering on to the ground floor concrete window extension after sunset… trying not to lose balance, holding on to the window-sill, awestruck by the melodramatic performances of the white-collared theatre enthusiasts. The result? A late entry at home and a sound thrashing.

At age 7:
Poppins for 25p, Parle mints, white or pink, for 15p, golas, milk sticks and malai kulfi from red-clothed pots retailing at 5, 10, 15, 25p… but no pockets sewn for money. Behold! The itch is about to make you rich! Tiny fingers dip into working mother’s purse and in one swift action fish out ‘small change’ for the ‘big party’ tomorrow...

At age 9:
One look at little Miss P and the heart cannot help but thump. Cannot shift gaze from her sliding windowed balcony. Will refuse to bat and field all day if position favours a view. Will begin lighting ‘special’ Diwali crackers only if sighting is achieved. Will find excuses to go out of the house—to buy vegetables, fruit, dahi, bread when mother needs none. Will befriend the boy who has the house facing ‘the balcony’. Blasted rumour-mongers see it all. Writing on the wall is as black as coal … she gets upset, and in a rage, bursts the bubble in full view of the neighbourhood. Early lesson: Itch is a bitch.

At age 14:
Shoulder-length hair and buzzing like a Beatle through Mulji Jetha Market looking for material to stitch a ‘Korean polyester gaberdin bell-bottom pants’. 

At age 15:
Only an itch for the kitsch can net 68 Hindi films in Bombay theatres in a single summer holiday before the final year in school.

At age 17:
The keeda called ‘theatre’ re-visited in the form of the extremely extreme (thespian) Mahendra Joshi. Some itches stop being khujli … they just stay and keep the restlessness alive… 

At age 19:
Now, the khujli has become a bhoot … the 7th Itch… the final dagger… the complete possession… by the spirits of Prabhat Studios Pune aka the FTII custodians…  Damle and Fattehlal re-living the Phalke sorcery… these early princes of the black magic lantern, uplifting the submitting disciples… all of them alive on different planes and dimensions and senses… scratching, scratching, scratching…

Were it not for the itch, I would be a fossil. At every bend I turn with eyes shut, feel my way with fingers and allow the senses to take over… Dodging the predictable has been a roller-coaster ride, not limited to painting, writing, theatre and cinema. “Life is what happens to you when you’re making other plans,” said Lennon… and it’s not yours to claim. It will never be the same. Follow the child in you. I guess that’s the name of the game.
(Gupte wrote the script for Taare Zameen Par)

editor@expressindia.com

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