One World

Rafiki, a theatre group in Bangalore, is offering an eight day workshop for children between 9 and 12 years between 7th and 14th May. The workshop is titled Duniya Sabki, and is based on a poem (by the same title) written by the poet and theatre artist, Safdar Hashmi, featured in One World published by Tulika. Here it is, for your reading pleasure.

 


YOU KNOW OLD AKBAR, one-time king
He thought he knew ‘most everything,
Cross his path, at you he threw
A torrent of words on how much he knew.
“I’ve seen the whole wild world, you bet!
The moon, the stars, sun and set,
Mountains, forests, rivers, streams
Islands, oceans, the wave that gleams,
Town and village, big and small
House and hearth, I’ve seen them all.
Give me the people, give me the crowns,
Success and failure, ups and downs,
Drums and cymbals, playing cards,
Theatre, entertainment, all of the arts,
I’ve watched the wheel of politics turn
Saints and sinners — what’s left to learn?
As far as far as eye can see,
All of this belongs to me.
King of the world am I say I,
This one truth nobody dares deny.”                                                

Now Akbar had a minister                                                    
Birbal was his name
Slim, slender, slightly built
Ever ready to play the game.
He saw the bug his king had caught,
He was sharp, not one to miss,
Pride it was he knew for sure
That made the badshah speak like this.                                     

One day a stroll King Akbar took                                                 
Across the rambling palace grounds
And right there in the courtyard tripped
On something, someone, that he found.
Red with anger Akbar got, he                                               
Unleashed a mighty jab.
“Get up, you sadhu!” Akbar shrieked,
“Listen to me, don’t gab!”
“This courtyard that you make your bed,
Belongs to me, to me!
Each leaf, each blade of grass that grows
Is mine, can’t you see?”

The sadhu raised his neck just so
Scratched his ear, twitched his nose,
Stretched long and lazy arms and legs
Cracked first his knuckles, then his toes.
Eyes half-closed, he spoke with ease:
“Each blade of grass so fresh and green
Is yours, you say?” And then to tease,
“Deluded you have been!”

Akbar growled and growled some more
“Get up, you — ! You make me sore!
The grass, the green, all the leaves
The hives of all the honeybees
Each minaret in Fatehpur, my friend
All the walls from end to end,
Dome, window, every door,
Stone on rock and sand on shore
Every bit of grit and grime
Is mine! All mine! Only mine!”

He opened wide his half-shut eyes —
The sadhu — stroked his beard,
Parted his lips as if to speak
Then pursed them tight as if he feared.
In a scared and little voice:
“One question only, Sir,” he said.
 “How many years have you lived here,
In Fatehpur, King, born and bred?”






















“In this palace,” Akbar said, “in this palace was I born,
“In this palace,” Akbar said, “I saw my very first morn.”
“Who was king before you, Badshah?
Trumpets sounded in whose glory?”
“Oh sadhuji you are so dumb!
Don’t you know my Abbaji?”

“And before your father, Sir, who lived here do you know?”
“Grandpa Babar, Shahenshah — many called him so.”
“Who lived here long before them all,
Who ruled long before them all?
And when they died why did they leave
Things in ruins to fall?
Their palaces, their gardens, their fortresses so tall?
Tell me, tell me, Akbarbhai, some history let’s recall.
They spent some moments of their lives
On this earth called home
And then moved on ahead, alone,
Each and every one.”

“You’re right, you know!” said Akbar Badshah.
“Oh sadhu maharaj!
I am not the only one
To have ruled this land so large!”

“Your fortress is an inn, my friend,”
The sadhu said — he spoke his mind —
“Where you may sit and rest a while
And when you go, you leave behind.
Not just your palace but this world
An inn it is, some rest to take,
Where people going to and fro
Use as they will just for a break.
What proof do you have to say
All this belongs to only you?
Nothing is yours, not one thing
Not house or palace or shoe.
Not the grass, not the leaves,
Nor the hives of honeybees,
Not minaret or mighty wall,
Domes, windows, doors so tall,
Not one item in this world
Is yours, my Lord, my King,
Think about it for a moment,
It’s a pretty simple thing.”

Akbar Badshah was dumbfounded
Nothing could he say,
For he at last had understood
The key of life this day:
The world belongs to everyone
Or else to none at all.

This was the secret he did not know,
That made him trip and fall.

The King was quiet, the sadhu smiled,
He winked at him and said:
“I fooled you, King, I’m Birbal”
As his disguise he shed.
“You mean you could not guess, my Lord,
How will you rule?” He shook his head.
Akbar said to Birbal:
“You took me for a ride,
The sadhu has my grateful thanks
For puncturing my pride.”



Translated from the Hindi poem, Duniya Sabki
Also published in Tulika's anthology of writing on communal harmony and tolerance with
the same title, One World

Many Voices: Malas and Siris at The Great Tale Chase 2011

The Great Tale Chase is a book reading event/festival organized by Hippocampus Reading Foundation in collaboration with Landmark. Annie Besant and Amarendran introduced their books, Mala's Silver Anklets and Siri's Smile, to an excited audience.




When Annie Besant opened Mala’s Silver Anklets, there were several faces that lit up looking at the deceptively serene first visual. Mala meant mischief and this, they knew well enough, for they’d just acted out the entire story with Annie by their side, smiling as she listened in.
One told the story in a soft but confident voice, one thoroughly enjoyed making the SFX (HISS! BOO! MWAHAHA) and one became the anklet tinkling dutifully. After the reading, a boy picking up Mala, proclaimed to no one in particular, “I want this book!” He promptly got it signed, feeling quite pleased that he didn’t have to maaa-can-i-buy at all.
Amarendran, writer of Siri’s Smile, got his audience to tell the story in their own way, too. Hands flew up and parts were quickly chosen:

“I want to be Siri!” “I want to be the monkey!” “I want to be the fish!”  “I want to be Siri’s reflection!”

Huddled together, each read his or her part, listening to each other and looking at the creatures in Siri’s world. Siri’s reflection was listening and did her bit, flashing a smile and waving when her turn came. She also managed to take a quick look around the room to see if she’d been noticed!
While enthused parents asked Annie and Amarendran questions, some children were already off to read and look at the books in the other room. “Ay, telugu!” said one girl, grabbing the translation of Siri. Another stood reading Mala and repeating, “Chik-chik-chum.”

Help Tulika record Indian rhymes

Remember the rhymes blogathon? The collection of rhymes, we had been planning then, has finally been put together. And the fun is not over yet:)


Aluguti Toluguti is the title of a new book from Tulika, a first even for us. It is a collection of Indian rhymes to read and recite. What makes it unique is that each poem is presented in the original language, in a transliterated version, and in an English translation that is fun and easy to learn and say.

Simultaneously, Tulika will also make each poem available as audio on its website for those who would like to hear the poem and learn the correct pronounciation. This is where we need help from you, our readers, bloggers and others.

Would you be interested in recording and sending us the audio file of the poems in the language of your choice? We will then upload them onto a special Aluguti Toluguti site so all those who are interested can listen to them. If yes, please write to tulikabooks [at] vsnl [dot] com. We can send the poem to you, and guide you through the process.

The languages in which we wish to record at this time are: Assamese, Bangla, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Kashmiri, Khasi, Konkani, Lotha, Malayalam, Marathi, Mewari, Oriya, Punjabi, Tamil, Telugu and Urdu.

All those who are native speakers of these languages and can help, do get back to us.

We would need the recordings by May 9 so that they are up in time for the book's release in May. Do remember that you have to be absolutely sure of your pronounciation. Your recording will act as guide to our little readers from start to finish. 

Here is a sample from celebrity storyteller Jeeva Raghunath - she recites from four popular Tamil rhymes.

Reading Gulla and the Hangul in Kashmir

Well known theatre director and educationist Feisal Alkazi has been doing wonderful workshops with teachers and children using many of Tulika’s books. One of them was Gulla and the Hangul, a story from Kashmir written by Mariam Karim-Ahlawat and illustrated by Proiti Roy. He writes about the experience...

 

The Lolab valley lies the extreme north of Kashmir, kilometers away from the LOC. The Shah Anwar Memorial School run by a prominent Kashmiri NGO, the HELP Foundation, is named after a well known Kashmiri writer.

Surrounded by snow capped mountains, this valley is full of apple orchards and rice fields. It is here that a Delhi based NGO, Creative Learning for Change is conducting the first of three workshops for teachers. Fourteen young teachers actively participate in the range of activities.

On the second day two hours are spent reading the book Gulla and the Hangul. Working in small groups of four each, the teachers excitedly follow the words and the pictures. It is a story rooted in their own environment and they resonate with it. In the animated discussion that follows it is clear that they are struck by the theme and its inventive depiction. By the next morning it has been translated into both Urdu and Kashir(Kashmiri)! The coordinator from Srinagar is so thrilled by this local tale that he is already working on a dramatization that he hopes to have ready by June! Amazingly enough of the 40+ titles we have carried from Delhi in Urdu and English, it is the only one with any Muslim character. So much for Indian publishers!!

- Feisal Alkazi