The Swapnalok Society Series - The Summer of Cool; Good News Reporter

Having just returned from a short holiday in Mumbai -a city I have always loved :) - I thought I would review these two books by Suchitra Krishnamoorthi, set in a middle-class housing society in that buzzing, teeming, extreme metropolis. The protagonists of the two books are Chitrangana and her friend Sonal respectively.

The Summer of Cool

Krishnamoorthi's first book is about 9-year-old Chitrangana who lives with her mother Kamala and 17-year-old sister Smita, and has no recollection of her father, Sidharth Verma. She is not allowed to speak of him as enquiries about Appa put her mother in a rage and bring on one of her migraines. “There was to be no talk of him and that was that . . . no photographs . . . or memory left of him in their lives”.

     The book also puts forth the notion that a community can take the place of a family. Like children often do, Chitrangana creates a happy world from her surroundings and its denizens are the residents of the apartment building - Underwear Aunty, Khadoos Uncle, the upstairs boy who get romantic with Chitrangana’s sister. She plays games with her friends, has fights with the children from the next block, indulges in pranks on the stuffy and snoopy neighbours, and tells TALL tales. Chitrangana also discovers where her father lives, has an adventure in the process of trying to meet him, and …. Well, I guess you must read the book and find out. All I can say is that while the book is a happy book, it isn’t sloppy sentimental.

        Summer of Cool touches upon issues of gender insecurities and the traumatic effects of parental separation on the child.  However Chitrangana learns to draw strength and support from her own convictions, her friends in the colony and her doll. The narrative thus subtly points out that girls who wish to empower themselves need to only turn to their peers and look deep into themselves. 

Good News Reporter

In Krishnamoorthi’s second novel Chitrangana’s friend, Sonal Wadalkar is brought up by a single parent too, her father. (Interestingly, single fathers appear to have a better support structure than single mothers!)

Sonal tires of listening to and reading about bad news in the media and decides to become a good news reporter. Armed with a concealed camera her father has given her, she starts documenting positive stories from the Swapnalok residents (much like the website The Better India which attempts to bring to our notice “the happy stories, the unsung heroes and heroines, the small good deeds”) 

Sonal attempts to create a positive re-reading of the world by focussing on kindnesses, celebrations, sharing and caring. She works to undo the falsely situated perspective of the dominant order which sees the world empirically, in terms of the number of news-making disasters, tragedies and murders, and shifts the focus to an alternative reading that shows up the limitations of such a perspective. How Sonal wages her several battles and emerges victorious constitutes the story.

     Krishnamoorthi focuses on two pre-pubescent girls who, in line with the quest trope, leave the safety of their homes, venture into the dangerous world of the outside, face their dragons and return home. The Swapnalok society series is about girl power and also about upholding a more innocent and non-cynical world.

Published by Penguin Books

Alice in Wonderland in Konkani

(While I have co-translated Alice into Konkani, this article is not about my translation. This post is adapted from my essay published in Alice in a World of Wonderlands Vol I, published by Oak Knoll Press, USA, in 2015)

The mid-nineteenth century in India witnessed the growth of written children’s literature in English and Indian languages. Most of these early publications comprised Bible stories, textbooks, or translations of Western classics. One such translation was of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland into Konkani by Suresh Kakodkar in 1970 and was titled अेलीस आनी ताचो अप्रूप संवसार [Elis and her Topsy Turvy World].

Lacking a script of its own, Konkani is written in five different scripts: Devanagari, Kannada, Malayalam, Arabic, and Romi/Roman. Konkani speakers use several dialects influenced by different languages, including Marathi, Portuguese, Kannada, and Malayalam, and the religion they belong to, including Hinduism, Islam, or Christianity. As a result, the Konkani literary language is still relatively undeveloped. 

Alice in Wonderland is a book that is enjoyed both by adults and children, as evidenced by the Alice Fan Clubs that thrive in several countries. When my son was five years old, his favourite bedtime reading was Carroll’s Alice. However, when I read a few Indian translations, I was intrigued to see that the translators had carried out their task within a didactic framework, and attempted to remove several subversive elements in Alice to make the translated text “suitable” for “Indian” children.

Carroll’s belief that childhood is burdened with schoolwork, as expressed in Alice’s fears— “‘but then – always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn’t like that!’”—did not meet with the translator’s approval, and he deleted this statement. Carroll’s satirical remark about the importance given to “book-learning,” as when Alice looks for “a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes,” was also left out. Similarly, when her adventures land her in a tight spot in the Rabbit’s house, Alice wishes for a moment that she had not gone down the rabbit hole, but then retracts, saying, “‘and yet . . . it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! . . . There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought!’” This sentiment was not translated either, denying the child reader an opportunity to imagine, to desire adventure, to even envision the possibility of being in one.

Kakodkar’s Alice is a passive girl to whom things happen, while Carroll’s Alice learns to think for herself and to anticipate events. She drinks from the bottle at the Rabbit’s house, saying to herself, “‘I know something interesting is sure to happen . . . So I’ll just see what this bottle does’”; but in Kakodkar’s translation, Alice drinks automatically without concerning herself about possible consequences. “She examined it closely. Neither ‘Eat me’ nor ‘Drink me’ was written on it. She uncapped it and held the bottle to her lips” (my back translation). The child that Kakodkar writes for is expected to be rather prim and proper, studious and polite to elders, unlike the young Crab, who snaps, “‘Hold your tongue, Ma! . . . You’re enough to try the patience of an oyster!’”—this outburst was not translated either.

In the chapter “Pig and Pepper,” the Duchess sings a lullaby which begins, “‘Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes.’” But in India, the male child is valued greatly, and therefore, instead of translating this lullaby, Kakodkar chose to use a different song which praises the child’s beauty rather than talks of inflicting violence.

Alice is a culture-specific text and has references to English sea-side towns, English history, local food, poetry, etc. Since Konkani has not been extensively used as a medium of instruction in schools, its vocabulary has not expanded to include objects, concepts, and ideas that are not part of Konkani culture. For instance, Kakodkar calls the footmen “sepoys,” a term used to refer to Indian soldiers of junior rank serving in the British Army. In Carroll’s book, the conversation between the Rabbit and his gardener and other servants makes use of different speech forms arising from the class status of the speaker. Kakodkar either left out large parts of this conversation or used indirect speech to report it. A possible reason for this is that dialects in Konkani vary depending on the religion or geographical location of the speaker. Equating religion or location with class would be unfair and politically incorrect.

While Carroll concludes each chapter by hinting at the events to follow, thereby exciting the child’s curiosity and desire to read further, Kakodkar consistently left out this last bit of every chapter. Each chapter in the translation concludes with a particular event, and the reader has no idea of what is to follow and may not want to read on. It is as if the child’s imagination is being repressed instead of being stimulated, in line with the educational system of the time.

However, Kakodkar’s attempt to partially domesticate the story reflects the importance given to family, and the religious harmony that was strongly prevalent in the 1960s and ’70s. In the Konkani translation, the Mouse becomes Hundir Mama, or “Uncle Mouse,” and the Mad Hatter is named Topey Mama, or “The Uncle with the Hat.”

A children’s book reflects its writer’s and society’s construct of childhood, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is thus transformed in this translation to match adult notions of what childhood should be.

(The images are taken from the original illustrations of John Tenniel)

Moon Mountain

I picked up a copy of the graphic novel, Moon Mountain, a year ago, but got around to reading it only last week. Moon Mountain is an adaptation of Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay’s classic children’s book Chander Pahar (1937). I have always been fascinated by his Pather Panchali, especially his sensitive depiction of the unfortunate Durga. 

The art work of the graphic novel is dominated by dark colours, speaking of a brooding personality, and perilous adventures. At first glance, I wondered whether children would find it appealing, especially since the adaptation has stuck to the linear perspective employed by Bandopadhyay, and begun with Shankar’s disappointment at having to work at a dead-end job in a small town after his college years in the dazzling metropolis of early twentieth century Calcutta.

The story unravels rather slowly in the first few pages, but the action panels on page 2 provide us with a hint of the adventure to come. I especially liked the way in which the illustrator, Mukherjee, has made use of repeated figures to indicate the flow of time. Soon enough, a few pages later, our intrepid hero is in Uganda in East Africa, working for a construction company laying new railway lines.

Shankar faces many adventures both at the hand of predatory and dangerous animals. The excitement picks up when he rescues a veteran explorer, Diego Alvarez, who tells him of how he had traced the fabled diamond mines of Richtersveld. Soon enough, Shankar is infected with the gold-and-diamond fever, and he sets off with Diego to explore the wilderness, and also, find himself.

 Other than the protagonist, Shankar, a central character is Diego Alvarez. Like Kurtz of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Diego is a complex person who also believes in the Empire’s mission and modus operandi of claiming all that the natives own as his. Like a good coloniser, he even draws Shankar into the enterprise of the Empire. But during the resulting adventure, Shankar learns to think for himself and while he loves and respects Alvarez, chooses to strike out a path different from that of his mentor.  

It is interesting to note that while the author of the original text, Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay, had never travelled to Africa, he researched the place considerably. Thus, the narrative strikes very few false notes. 

When Bandopadhyay first published his novel, it seized the imagination of readers with its descriptions of Africa, its velds, its mountains, its wildlife and, of course, the allure of gold, silver – and diamonds! Chander Pahar was translated into English in 2002, reimagined as a film and as a graphic novel in 2013-14. 

The script for the graphic novel is by US-based Saurav Mohapatra and the illustrations are by Sayan Mukherjee. Children are sure to find this an enjoyable read.

(All the images are taken from the book)

Should children’s books be used for advertising?

This question popped up in a discussion group recently, and as you can guess, there were different opinions. Some laughed at the idea, while a few admitted to feeling disturbed.

A blogger who seems to be all for it had this to say:

It’s time that books embrace advertising. You could do it in so many tasteful ways.

1. Limit it to three advertisements per book.

2. Have a single sponsor for the book.

3. Allow consumers discounts on the book price if they agree to receive emailed ads from a selected advertiser.

4. Insert an advertising flier into a book.

Put ads only between chapters, or at the end of the book.

However, what if publishers resort to product placement, like it is done in movies? Would it have raised eyebrows or seemed part of a consumerist world if J.K. Rowling had written, “Harry pulled on his GAP shirt and Levi’s, and made sure his VISA card was in his wallet, before heading to Hogsmeade”?

How about Roald Dahl’s favourite poem reading like this:

“The most important thing we’ve learned,

So far as children are concerned,

Is never, NEVER, NEVER let

Them near your television set –

(Unless it’s a Sony, or better yet,

A Panasonic 72)”

Some feel it would be crass, and could cause problems. If the brand image of the product takes a beating. Or, what if an unthinking publisher advertises Pan Parag in John Greene’s The Fault in Our Stars?

Then again, advertising in books, even in children’s books isn’t very new.

A popular advertisement for the Charles Atlas Bodybuilding Plan

In the 1970s, most books for children carried advertisements for other books from the same publishing house. The Archie comics regularly carried mail-order advertisements for costume jewelry, Hostess Twinkies, toys and magic tricks such as X-Ray Spex!

Kirk Demarais, artist and historian, made a short film, titled, “Flip”, about a boy who dreams of buying all such $1 products and living a wonderful life. Demarais also wrote Mail-Order Mysteries, a book about the truth behind these advertisements.

So, should we allow children’s books to be appropriated by marketing? Children’s movies (and books) already have a lot of merchandising tied up with them. Is the next step product placement and full-page glossy ads for toothpaste and doughnuts?

Riddle of the Seventh Stone

Author: Monideepa Sahu

Publisher: Young Zubaan

For my first review, I am going to pick a book written by a dear friend, Monideepa. We met only once, a memorable evening under the banyan tree at St. Joseph's College, Bangalore, but have been in touch ever since. Here's to you, Moni, and to warm friendships!

Riddle of the Seventh Stone is set not in the privileged environs of a boarding school, an upper class household or an exotic land far away as with some other children’s books, but in the narrow bylanes of Avenue Road, Bangalore's congested and downmarket shopping area, where crowds swarm the footpaths. 

The protagonists of this marvellously entertaining book are a spider named Shashee and a rat named Rishabh, who live in the home of Leela and Deepak, a pair of orphaned twelve-year old twins and their grandparents. Thanks to some herbal magic, in a Cinderella sort of way, the spider and the rat turn into humans every morning and back into their arthropod and rodent selves at nightfall. Except that they would rather not become human. As Shashee puts it, “I'm Shashee, the aristocratic spider and winner of a dung medal in the Vermin Olympics”. Shashee and Rishabh use their twin lives to help the twins’ grandparents and their neighbours who are being threatened by a loan shark turned builder.

This first novel by Monideepa Sahu is an amazingly subversive novel. Alison Lurie writes that the sacred texts of childhood are actually quite subversive, for they give importance to all those things that adults are most likely to disapprove of. They celebrate day dreaming, cock a snook at adult institutions, mock adult pretensions, and do not moralize about those virtues and qualities most adults think every child should ideally possess. In this book, Sahu’s protagonist, Rishab struggles with Physics and Maths, and thinks he’s “nothing but a dumb failure”. Shashee is smart but loves to show off and taunt Rishab (“Slow-poke, pea-brain”).  Sahu however refuses to moralize, or judge her characters, and make them turn a new leaf. The vermin not only learn to speak up for themselves, they also learn to shape the world according to their needs. They organize rallies, have a parliament of rodents, and create and use vermin-mail.

In a Bengaluru that is being constantly “developed” and made into a shiny metropolis, Riddle of the Seventh Stone describes lovingly parts of old Bangalore with their little shops lit by a single light, and narrow roads dotted with ruminating cows, lined with hawkers selling everything from safety pins to second hand electric mixers. As a rat, Rishab scurries in gutters and into holes, drawn by the “heady aroma” of “heavenly garbage overflowing with vegetable peels and rotting scraps”.

Do they find the treasure? To whom does it belong? What happens to the loan shark? And what happens to Venkat Thatha and Ajji in whose home Shashee and Rishab live? Read this well-written, beautifully plotted book to find out.

                 

       

 Picture Courtesy: Young Zubaan, HuffingtonPost (Paul Fernandes)

You're never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child

Welcome to my blog on children’s books.

Children's books often constitute our first exposure to the act of reading and writing, the beauty of narrative and the delightful aesthetics of illustration.

Children’s books are not only about literacy, fun and adventure but also serve as a foundational literature. As adults, we may or may not read fiction, non-fiction, (auto)biography, or anthologies of short stories/poems, but we have all, everyone of us, read them as children. Even those of us who preferred to play football or a videogame to reading a book, had to perforce, read our textbooks in school and have been exposed to random pieces of poetry, short stories, one-act plays, etc. And years and decades later, these return to haunt us, and make us chuckle in remembrance or indulge in an Aha!  moment.

I read dozens, no make that hundreds, of books as a child. As an adolescent, and later, in adulthood, I continued devouring books, and thought I had moved past my fascination with children’s books. I dug into my children’s book collection whenever younger cousins came visiting, and when they went away, reread the books again. I travelled to the Far Away Land, admired Fatty’s skill at disguises, and longed to visit Jupiter Jones’ junkyard. I also wondered about Premchand’s character, Hamid, who bought tongs for his grandmother, and Tagore’s Mini, who had long happy chats with the Kabuilwallah.

In this blog, I shall review and explore children’s and Young Adult books from different parts of the country and the world.

Read along, and write to me your thoughts on books, reading and blogging.