I have been doing theatre with children for a long time. Last year, I conducted two workshops in Vrindavan, Mathura, with children from Dalit communities. Many of them were survivors of child abuse. When I first met them, I found them painfully underconfident: they had lean postures, spoke in whispers, and were afraid to even take up space in the room. Gradually, as I began with simple techniques, such as mood walk exercises, emotion games, voice modulation, mirroring expressions, building small scenes and theatrical games, something shifted. They began to laugh, raise their voices, and move with ease. By the end, they presented a creative short skit on the poems of writers like Anita Bharti and Rajni Tilak, standing on stage with a confidence that had seemed unimaginable only a few days earlier.
This is a testament to the transformative power of theatre. For children who have experienced violence, lovelessness or live in oppressive social structures, theatre becomes a space to reclaim their voice, agency, and sense of safety.
National Crime Records Bureau data from 2023 registered 40,846 child victims of sexual assault. Most of them were girls, with the largest age group being 16 to 18 years. These numbers may be the tip of the iceberg as most cases remain unreported due to fear, stigma, and lack of justice mechanisms. According to the same data, 1,408 Dalit children were subjected to sexual crimes. The intersection of caste, gender, and poverty makes Dalit children more vulnerable to such violence and silence alike.
The playwright, Arthur Miller, once said, “The mission of the theatre, after all, is to change, to raise the consciousness of people to their human possibilities.” Theatre, in this context, becomes more than art; it becomes a tool for healing. When children engage in theatre, they begin to trust their voice and body. They learn, through action and rehearsal, that they are worthy of being heard. When children start to see that they hold something creative, valuable and alive within them, their relationship with themselves transforms. I remember a girl at the workshop who never uttered a word; yet she gave the most realistic dialogue delivery during skit rehearsals. Theatre teaches children to listen, to collaborate, to negotiate conflict, and to express complex feelings through creative play. For survivors of abuse, these are vital steps toward regaining a sense of control and belonging.
In workshops with children and young girls, I often begin with breathing exercises. Many of them, when asked to shout or sing loudly, cannot; their breath trembles, their voice cracks. But over days, as they engage with rhythm, group work, and storytelling, their breathing steadies.
India’s legal frameworks, such as the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences Act and the Juvenile Justice Act, emphasise rehabilitation alongside protection. The Supreme Court, too, has recognised that recovery from child sexual abuse requires both psychological and social reintegration. Theatre, in this sense, complements the law. It provides emotional rehabilitation, helping children rediscover joy, curiosity, and trust in human connection.
Of course, theatre is not a substitute for therapy or justice. But when done with care, it changes children’s relationship with themselves. I have seen a shy girl become a storyteller, a withdrawn boy lead a scene, and a group of survivors having a loud laugh.
We often imagine child safety is about surveillance, cameras, boundaries and rules. But true safety lies in confidence, voice, and agency. Theatre nurtures exactly that.