Tango Charlie

In 1973, Aswani set up a club for Adipur’s Chaplin fans, first christened just Charlie and then Charlie Circle. It’s grown into a gang of seven permanent members and 30 transients that meet regularly to discuss their favourite subject, commemorate his birth, mourn his passing, and spread awareness on the finer points of the comedian’s films.

The membership includes folks like 46-year-old Kishore Parmar, a local bus conductor. “I see a Charlie every day in the passengers on my bus,” says the three-year-old fan. “They have problems, but they keep going.”

Several converts like Parmar discovered Chaplin through Aswani, before making their own connections. Karachi-born LL Chiniara, a 65-year-old retired technical teacher from the local Industrial Training Institute, has lived in Adipur since 1956. Finding Charlie, he says, gave him “something more to think about.” The radio and mime artist used a few Charlie tips for his role in the 2001 Aamir Khan blockbuster Lagaan as the father of a mute batsman.

Earlier this month, news about this odd flock in a sleepy Gujarati town went beyond its sandy perimeter. And at this year’s birthday celebrations on April 16th—Chaplin’s 116th—Adipur hosted a Sydney-based film researcher, who’s featuring the club in a documentary on modern interpretations of the legend called Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie.

The sheer effort behind the occasion had a taste of of religious fervour—the Kutch flared up in pageantry and floats, with a thousand-odd spectators screaming “Charlie aave.” And a new generation of Chaplin fans—lookalikes from six to 16—hiked across town as their pudgy leader zipped about on a Honda Activa.

For Aswani, the recognition was small payout for a life of damage control. Like Chaplin, who made people laugh every time he stubbed his foot, the 56-year-old Ayurved’s walk always elicits a smile. Few realise that the waddle comes naturally; that when a man suffers from three kinds of arthritis, a gait isn’t a gimmick, it’s a way to bear the pain of worn and frictional kneecaps. “My body lets me down, I can’t do everything I want,” he agrees.

But much before it did, he let himself down. Back in 1969, Aswani spent a year at the Film Institute in Pune. It was a dream come true for the small-town kid. “I was a boy from the Kutch, who had sarson ka tel in his hair and looked like a bhaiyya, but I wanted to become an actor like Charlie,” he remembers. He made it through the exhaustive elimination rounds, even sitting through a one-on-one with Nargis. “I still remember how she put two teaspoons of sugar in her coffee despite having diabetes.’’

When he finally got to his destination, the 19-year-old did what many teenagers do so well: Sabotage his own life. Aswani played truant, fought with professors, failed his year, and consequently got kicked out. “Sometimes, I can’t sleep thinking of what might have been. But, I can’t blame God. Maine bahut gardish ke din dekhe hain,” he says.

Through the Circle, a cameo in the 2004 Malayalam hit Kazhcha, and even his bowler by Maganlal Dresswalla—“Bollywood’s greatest costumers”—Aswani’s dreams come true in bits and pieces. “I know some people think I’m being ridiculous, but I don’t care. When I make people laugh, I’m happy.”

Despite the bonhomie of the club, the familiarity that comes from growing up and old together, and an intimate knowledge of everything from debts to middle names has also bred childish in-house rivalries and complexes. “The senior members of the club must give more credit to others,” says one member.

But cribs over photo space and glory don’t really register with Aswani. He spent Rs 20,000 of his own savings to conduct the Chaplin birthday celebrations—just the shoe-shaped cake cost more than Rs 3,000—and personally negotiated deals for everything from the sound system to bouquets.

Finally, at the end of that day, Aswani sat on a stage at the town’s Prabhu Darshan auditorium and fastidiously chewed a stewed shoelace, just like a down-and-out prospector did in a log cabin 80 years ago.