Ravi Valecha was once a familiar face among India’s child actors, moving through film sets, outdoor shoots, and dubbing theatres with the easy familiarity of someone who had grown up inside the industry.What the public saw was a working child. What stayed hidden for decades were the incidences of sexual exploitation that began when he was still very young and left marks that fully surfaced only much later.Valecha, who began working at the age of four, holds the world record for working in the maximum number of films as a child actor—a total of 300—in various languages. Valecha was known for often playing the young Amitabh Bachchan. Some of his notable films include Amar Akbar Anthony, Coolie, Fakira, The Far Pavilions, and many other superhits of the 1970s and 1980s. Later, on growing up, he moved into the corporate sector and runs a successful hospitality services business today.Yet the scars that came with showbiz never quite left him.Valecha was around eight years old when the abuse began. “In the industry, it happened with me three times,” he recalled. Each episode of sexual abuse compounded the last. One took place in a dark dubbing theatre with a screen flickering, when an older man from the industry asked him to sit on his lap and Ravi was overcome with a sense of confusion followed by revulsion. Another involved a young secretary who had been hired to accompany the boy to shoots every day. Inappropriate touching in taxis and cars became routine. Ravi Valecha runs a successful hospitality services business. (Photo by special arrangement)“You can’t tell anybody… but you have to go with that person day in and day out,” he remembered. On one outdoor location, when parents were not present, the two shared a room. In the middle of the night, the boy, then about 11 or 12, felt someone on him and just lay still. “What do I do?” he recalled thinking. A third episode also occurred within the film unit’s working environment.Valecha told no one at the time. “There was nobody I could talk to,” he said. The fear was constant: that parents may not believe him, might blame him, or that the truth would explode into something larger. In an era before widespread internet access or open conversation about such matters, silence felt like the only available protection.‘Anger became a byproduct of suppressed pain’Story continues below this adThe trauma didn’t stay in the past. It followed Valecha into his personal life, his marriage, and his everyday habits. “Anger had become a byproduct of the suppressed pain,” he admitted.After decades of not confronting the real issue behind it all, around a year and a half ago, Valecha began therapy. The first three or four weeks were almost wordless.“I couldn’t even speak about it,” he said. His therapist worked with him using targeted exercises, and slowly, after nearly a month of sessions, fragments began to surface—memories so deeply suppressed that even Valecha himself hadn’t fully registered their extent.“I did not know how deeply embedded that was in my mind, which came out in the therapy,” he says. “I myself had buried everything. Six months of therapy, he says, changed everything. “Today I’m very light. I don’t mind speaking to anybody about it.”No solo movie outingsStory continues below this adSome effects persist. He still does not go to a movie theatre alone; the association with the dark dubbing space remains too strong. Anger that once flared without clear cause has eased but has not vanished.“Even today, if I’m angry, I just tell my family: don’t talk to me, give me about half an hour to cool down,” he said. Looking back, he wishes the help had come far earlier. “I should have taken therapy when I was 12 or 13 years old.”Now, drawing on his own recovery, Valecha wants to build something that didn’t exist for him as a child: a space for boys and men to speak about sexual abuse without shame or fear. He believes the problem is far more widespread—and far more silenced—than most people realise, spanning not just the film industry but corporate workplaces and beyond.“It is not the film industry alone… it’s not a particular industry,” he says, pointing to his own two decades in the corporate world as proof that predators exist and the pattern repeats everywhere, regardless of gender.Support space called MeAlsoStory continues below this adValecha’s plan is practical and doable: anonymous support, weekly or monthly meetings, a small panel of psychologists who can guide conversation, and the option—never the obligation—to take formal steps if someone chooses to. The goal isn’t total resolution but simply the relief of being heard.“I’m not saying 100 per cent trauma will go away” he said. “But just being able to come, speak about it and vent it out of the system will help them more than one can imagine.”He has tentatively named his project MeAlso, as an offshoot of the MeToo movement. The name came about when a few years ago he wrote a set of fictional stories under the same title, intended as possible television or web episodes. He then registered the name with the Indian Motion Picture Producers Association (IMPAA).“However, at that time I did not have the courage to go ahead. But today I am hoping the stories get made,” he said, adding, “It’s time to break the silence.”