Taare
Zameen
Par's
child
star
Darsheel
Safary's
is
being
mobbed,
mobbed,
mobbed.
His
parents
are
struggling
to
keep
the
mob
at
bay.
NISHA
SUSAN
catches
the
family
in
a
curious
moment
AT
THIS
stage,
one
is
losing
count
of
the
many
unlikely
people
who
have
cried
during
Taare
Zameen
Par.
Even
if
you
begin
watching
it
with
grim
determination
to
not
cry,
fifteen
minutes
in,
you
feel
your
face
crumpling.
Ishaan
Awasthi
taps
into
our
purest,
shallowest
lode
of
tears,
prodding
at
our
collective
sense
of
an
unloved
childhood.
Darsheel
Safary
the
ten-year-old
who
played
Ishaan
is
cut
from
very
different
cloth.
But
he
gives
rise
to
as
much
speculation
about
the
nature
of
childhood
as
Ishaan
does.
"I
have
heard
the
kid
is
spoilt
now," say
even
the
most
kindly,
disinclined-
-to-gossip
adults.
So
when
the
first
thing
you
see
at
Darsheel's
South
Mumbai
home
is
his
aunt
and
cousin
watching
him
on
the
news,
it
is
not
as
surreal
as
it
could
have
been.
Ten
minutes
later,
Darsheel
returns
from
school
with
his
mother
and
younger
sister.
He
is
the
quintessential
schoolboy,
jaunty
even
under
a
huge
schoolbag.
The
living
room
suddenly
seems
awash
with
children.
Darsheel's
five-year-old
sister,
Nejvi
and
cousin,
Priyanj
are
big
contenders
in
the
cuteness
stakes,
make
coy
advance-and-retreat
motions
with
susceptible
adults.
Priyanj
inadvertantly
mocks
camera-happy
parents
as
he
stalks
protesting
adults,
photographing
them
with
his
mother's
cellphone.
Darsheel,
the
boy
who
made
LK
Advani
cry,
is
only
cute
for
professional
requirements,
timing
a
split-second-
long
wistful
smile
for
the
camera,
then
returning
to
whatever
he
is
fiddling
with
or
dangling
from.
The
interview
is
a
mild,
unavoidable
nuisance.
The
young
woman
from
the
PR
company,
Anita
(name
changed)
comes
in.
Why
should
one
be
surprised
that
Darsheel,
like
the
rest
of
the
cast
of
TZP,
is
handled
by
a
PR
company?
By
his
own
count,
Darsheel
has
given
30-odd
interviews
so
far.
Mitesh
and
Sheetal
Safary,
his
parents,
have
consistently
refused
to
be
interviewed.
Anita
is
the
one
who
set
up
this
meeting
and
who
said,
on
behalf
of
the
harried
Safarys,
that
they
will
not
speak
to
the
media.
By
now,
she
is
on
fairly
chummy
terms
with
Darsheel
and
is
inclined
to
tease
him
and
offer
ice-cream.
On
this
particular
day
the
Safarys
are
more
than
ordinarily
grateful
for
Anita's
presence.
Mitesh,
a
jeweller,
is
out
of
town
and
Sheetal
must
deal
with
the
media.The
phone
rings
continuously
because
of
the
'controversy.'
The
day
before,
Darsheel
received
the
Star
Screen
award
for
Best
Child
Actor
and
was
reported
as
saying
he
wanted
the
Best
Actor
award
(the
one
Shahrukh
Khan
took
home.)
His
actual
statement
became
inconsequential
as
the
media
pounced.
It
was
time
for
the
childactor-
gone-bad
piece
to
be
trotted
out.
One
Gujarati
paper
reported,
in
the
knowing
manner
of
a
wealthy
aunt,
that
the
Safarys,
once
average
Gujaratis,
were
now
too
big
for
their
boots.
No
acknowledgement
that
a
child's
casual
response
to
getting
a
shiny
award
might
have
been
blown
out
of
proportion,
rendering
even
this
attempt
to
interview
him
into
an
absurdity.
Sheetal
Safary
may
not
have
wanted
any
more
press
for
her
son,
but
she
did
want
him
fed,
dressed
and
ready
for
the
tutor
who
was
arriving
shortly.
She
and
Anita
join
forces
to
expedite
this
interview.
Darsheel
is
already
irritated.
In
school
some
of
the
older
kids
had
taunted
him,
"Oh,
you
want
to
become
Shah
Rukh
now?
You
think
you
are
Shah
Rukh?" He
had
got
away
with
his
dignity
intact
but
is
feeling
mulish
now.
His
school
has
decided
to
organise
a
felicitation
ceremony
for
him
that
evening
but
he
is
disincline
to
court
more
trouble.
"I
don't
want
to
go
for
the
function,"
he
says.
But
Sheetal
thinks
he
should
attend.
"Write
this
down,"
Darsheel
instructs.
"I
hate
girls
pinching
my
cheeks."
Every
interviewer
has
heard
this.
Is
he
getting
harassed
at
school?
"Yes,
all
the
time,"
he
says
with
the
ease
of
a
well-protected
child.
His
classmates
are
"cool";
it
is
the
rest
of
the
school
he
is
irritated
with.
"I
am
mobbed,
mobbed,
mobbed."
He
proceeds
to
describe
"running
from
the
mobs"
which
involved
racing
from
floor
to
floor
of
the
school
much
like
an
old-fashioned
video
game
character.
He
warms
to
this
tale
and
would
have
gone
on,
except
that
his
mother
and
Anita
are
yelling
to
get
on
with
the
interview
and
eat
something.
In
fits
and
bursts,
Darsheel
says
300
is
much
better
than
Beowulf,
Roald
Dahl
is
good.
Harry
Potter
is
boring.
He
likes
Hrithik
Roshan
better
than
Aamir
Khan,
but
by
now,
a
month
after
TZP's
release,
Mumbai
taxi
drivers
could
tell
you
that.
There
are
parallels
between
the
bizarre
questions
one
asks
adult
celebrities
and
those
that
long-suffering
children
are
asked
by
adults:
What
is
your
favourite
food,
favourite
colour?
Do
you
like
your
mother
better
or
your
father?
One
prepares
to
ask
these
questions
of
Darsheel
and
finds
it
an
unnerving
process.
There
are
the
big
eyes
and
the
gloriously
askew
teeth,
the
basis
of
our
intimacy
with
him.
Though
the
skinny
little
boy's
body
is
occupied
by
a
skinny
little
boy,
his
restlessness,
his
under-the-eyelash
assessing
glance
at
adults,
his
quick
cheek,
all
now
hold
greater
import
than
that
of
other
little
boys.
HE
SAYS
he
did
not
study
much
while
on
the
film
sets.
Watchful
Anita
sitting
on
the
next
couch
interrupts.
"Don't
lie.
Didn't
you
have
a
tutor?" Darsheel
brightens.
Here
is
a
duel
for
him
to
enter.
"No,
no,
no."
Some
lukewarm
name-calling
later,
he
returns
to
the
interview.
Earlier
he
said
he
had
joined
the
Shiamak
Dawar
dance
classes
(where
he
was
'discovered')
when
he
was
four.
His
aunt
jumped
in
to
say
that
he'd
been
six.
Four,
said
Darsheel.
Six,
said
his
aunt.
This
casual
disagreement
under
the
eye
of
a
reporter
ruffles
his
aunt
and
she
stops
talking.
Sensing
her
upset,
Darsheel
is
quick
to
grin
and
concede.
Suddenly
one
sees
Darsheel
the
actor,
who
dug
around
in
the
experiences
of
his
short
lifetime
to
bring
to
the
screen
a
vulnerable,
sensitive
child
very
different
from
his
sturdy,
self-assured
self.
Unlike
Ishaan
who
looked
to
older
brother
Yohaan
for
protection,
first-born
Darsheel
treats
his
siblings
with
lordly
kindness.
He
tucks
Nejvi
and
Priyanj
under
his
arms
grandly
and
asks
the
photographer
to
take
a
picture.
He
asks
adults
riddles
and
wants
to
know
if
their
inability
to
answer
is
because
of
stupidity
or
dyslexia.
He
drives
his
mother
to
the
edge
and
then
settles
down
to
do
what
she
needs
him
to.
What
was
it
now?
An
interview,
tuitions,
a
meal,
a
change
of
clothes?
Sure.