Skyping about Arif

In this delightful Guest Post, Zai Whitaker describes her experiences of discussing ‘Andamans Boy’ on Skype with the Grade 6 kids of the École Mondiale World School in Mumbai.

Last week I had a most enjoyable Skype chat with Grade 6 of the École Mondiale World School in Mumbai. One of their English readers is Andamans Boy, and this is the second year we have had this interaction. For me, it was a very rewarding experience because the students’ comments and questions showed that they had understood the novel perfectly, and got the gist in exactly the way I wanted it to be got… which is always a good high for the writer. In fact it was a great relief, because the previous such interaction, with a motley group from motley schools, was simply a long attack on me about why Arif hadn’t returned to the mainland and to his loving aunt and large fortune. They were so far off the mark — i.e. my intention — that I was hard put to find any meeting ground at all, and was finally just grateful to have (sort of) survived with dignity (somewhat) intact.

But this Ecole Mondale group was delighted that Arif had had the sense to run away from home and to stay on with the Jarawa even when he had the chance to return. Very briefly, the story centres around Arif, who — at chapter 1 — is ten, and has lost his parents in a car accident. He is living with a not-so-nice aunt and uncle, who are after the money (lots) he will inherit at eighteen, and have prised him away from his aunt Mumtaz, whom he loves and would much rather be with. To cut a short story shorter, he runs off to the Andamans and ends up in the Jarawa Reserve where he finally finds human warmth and understanding and all that good stuff. 

Post-Skype, the question that has stayed in my mind was about how much of me, i.e. Zai, was part of the book. That has got me thinking — way past the skype chat — and actually, there was quite a bit of me in it including the running away from home. One summer holiday afternoon, when my brother was teasing me even more than usual, I packed two pairs of shorts and two shirts and some other sundry necessities, and left home for good. But there was a stray dog at the end of our lane, so I waited for five or so minutes but it had no intention of leaving. So I went back expecting a relieved and rapturous welcome back from my siblings, with promises never, ever to tease again. But they didn’t even notice I was back! And indeed, hadn’t noticed that I’d run away, either.

As for the descriptions of the Islands and Arif’s experiences there, I only had to jog my memory. I have made several trips there, the first two on rickety old ships, just like Arif. The first one was four days and three nights long. And deck talk was often about the Jarawa, and Onge, and Sentinelese. My first landing at Port Blair was also a bit fraught, like his. In those days — the early 1970s — foreigners were not allowed on the archipelago except with a special permit that was pretty hard to get. Well, the ship anchored in Port Blair harbour and a group of cops immediately came up to me and asked for my permit. No no, I said, I am Indian. But your name is Whitaker, said they, that’s not an Indian name. Show your passport. Well, said I, as an Indian I’m not required to… And so on. The outcome was that I was taken to the police station, and told I’d have to stay there for two days until the ship left for Chennai. And I’d be on it. 

But a wonderful, unexpected, magic-fairy person turned up and rescued me. That, however, is another story.

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Zai Whitaker grew up in Mumbai, in a family of naturalists. She has written novels, stories and poems for children – including Andamans Boy, Kali and the Rat Snake and Kanna Panna published by Tulika. She now lives and works at the Madras Crocodile Bank near Chennai, which she helped ‘Snake Man’ Rom Whitaker set up almost 40 years ago. 

Here's a list of books that she’s written for Tulika:

Salim Mamoo and Me

Kanna Panna

Andamans Boy

Kali and the Rat Snake

Read Aloud Stories (contributed to the anthology)

Repost: Here are three children’s books featuring disability that fared beautifully against my wish list By Roshni Subhash

We came across this wonderful article that perceptively describes our books on children with special needs way back in February. On the occasion of International Day of Persons with Disabilities on December 3rd we are reposting the article with permission from the Sexuality and Disability blog. Also lookout for our list of disability-themed books in the next post!

In the last year, I have been collecting children’s books rooted in India with the noble though only partially realised intention of passing them on to the little ones in my life. I devour each one with the pretext of screening it, especially on the basis of how it tackles the themes of gender and class.

One day, Tulika Books popped up on my Facebook newsfeed, announcing an offer on children’s books about disability. This made me think about why I had not organically come across any book featuring disability in any way in the past year. I also wondered what I could expect from children’s books featuring disability. With this in mind, I set out to explore a few of these books.

These are the three that made me think the most.

Ten 

by Shefalee Jain. Age 2+

Children in ones and twos gather to watch something, their numbers growing by the minute. They are not named, and they appear as you might encounter them on a quiet street.

Walking, cycling, on the way to school, this motley gang is drawn to something. But what are they looking at? This is a counting book and so much more. The text is scant and is set in a lovely rhyme format which makes for a well-paced read-aloud session.

One of the children happens to be a boy who uses crutches. This inclusion is seemingly effortless, and yet how often do you see a child with a disability as part of storytelling, or even the teaching process?

In addition to counting, you can use the illustrations in the book to discuss each character with the child you are reading to. I can visualise my nephew taking off on a tangent about each character and telling me about their life.

Watch for what comes through when children describe the boy on crutches. It will not only tell you what they associate with disability, it can be an opening for a much-needed conversation.

Kanna Panna
Story by Zai Whitaker, Pictures by Niloufer Wadia. Age 5+

The story is narrated by Kanna, who doesn’t talk much, but does have a lot of words in his head. He goes to his chithi’s (aunt’s) home where he and his cousins have a blast.

During a visit to a cave temple lit by tube lights, the power goes off, and Kanna leads the fearful bunch out of the caves.

Suddenly, he has a lot to say. Kanna starts school, talks in rhymes, and makes a friend. All along, there are subtle hints that Kanna can’t see too well.

Kanna could be any little boy. His eyesight is but one aspect of his larger character.

Whitaker creates a character who is subdued to start with, and who eventually becomes comfortable with his own goofiness. Pausing to study Wadia’s vivid illustrations, you realise that Kanna is never looking at other characters or things.

When he is at the pond, his hands play with the water, when the family is looking around the cave temple in awe, Kanna looks at nothing in specific but is feeling a pillar, and when he leads the family out of the dark cave he isn’t even looking in the direction in which he moves.

Yet all of this is evident only when you sit with the book for a second time and marvel at the layers both in the text and the visuals. My eight-year-old niece read this book. When I asked her to tell me the story, she described everything and seemed to relate to the boy, but didn’t realise that he can’t see well!

I told her of my suspicion about his sight and she was surprised. She skimmed through the book for a second time and agreed with me. We talked about Kanna some more and she told me she had never before read a story about disability. This was a lovely start.

Catch That Cat 
Story by Tharini Viswanath, Pictures by Nancy Raj. Age 4+

Dip Dip, the protagonist, is curious, playful and full of energy. She is a messy little bundle by the end of the day. She uses a wheelchair. Her friend Meemo loses her cat, Kaapi, and is inconsolable.

Dip Dip skips school to look for Kaapi, all over the streets and all the nooks and crevices she can find. When she finally finds Kaapi high up on a tree, bribing, baiting and reprimanding the cat doesn’t work, as Kaapi now is too scared to descend.

Dip Dip pulls herself up onto a branch, Kaapi is rescued and Dip Dip’s family finds both of them on the tree! Dip Dip, Kaapi the cat and Dip Dip’s wheelchair are part of the delightful cover illustration.

She is splayed on the grass laughing loudly (try to listen, and you can hear it) as Kaapi jumps on her tummy, possibly tickling her. The wheelchair stands nearby. Flip to the first page and Viswanath’s words tell you that Dip Dip is the naughtiest child in school. Raj’s illustrations have her seated on a tyre swing, screaming with glee.

The wheelchair is partially visible in the background. In the story that follows, you see Dip Dip doing many things on the wheelchair and off of it. I had to stop to consider how Dip Dip managed some things, for instance moving up a hill, or climbing onto the tyre swing.

For children who are reading, this could be a lovely way to start understanding issues of physical access to spaces, to play and much else. Another aspect of the story that is very nicely done is when Dip Dip is out and about in public, speaking confidently to people she meets on the street. By this point in the story, Dip Dip in the reader’s mind is a spirited and gutsy girl, and one doesn’t worry about her being about the streets alone.

The illustrations show the beautiful streets and hills with glimpses of Dip Dip and/or her wheelchair moving past a backyard, or on a street. She is part of the town and claiming it as her own in search of Kaapi. No fear. No panic. Just moving around her territory looking for a friend’s cat.

My feminist wish list

What is it that I liked about these books? I am a feminist, and I use this lens to the culture that I consume. When I extended a similar ask to books on disability, a wish list of sorts emerged – sensitivity in representation, a shift from stereotypes, characters with disability being significant in the story (which needn’t translate to making their disability a centrepiece), and good storytelling. How did these books fare against my tentative wish list? Beautifully.

These are gorgeous and fun stories, with positive images and very interesting ways of representing disability. The characters are well-rounded and have their own sense of self and agency, which may or may not have anything to do with their disability. The disability is not compensated for with other significant abilities or ‘specialness’. Most importantly, the stories are non-preachy and fun – something you want to share with the children in your life.

Do they cover everything that needs to be said about the issue? Of course not. They didn’t set out to do that in the first place. In these books, disability gains visibility in the storytelling. Through them, one sees children with disabilities in many roles – as part of groups, as individuals at turning points in their lives, as heroes. That’s a very good spectrum to cover, and I am looking forward to many more such stories.

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