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At
work the other day, we were putting together an advertisement for our books.
Lakshmi, our Girl Friday, took one look at it and said; "Oh, we are
going to receive many manuscripts in response to this ad!"
Without
having done a jot of research, Lakshmi managed to hone in on the one major
feature of children's literature in English, at least in India: more and
more people are writing for children. So much so it seems at times as though
every second person is writing and is being published! Of course there's
wheat and there's chaff, but the fact is after years and years of bookshops
in our part of the world showcasing only books from the West, there is now a
market for our own books like there never was before. Children's books by Indian and other Asian authors have begun
to arrive on the Indian subcontinent. Much of the writing is fiction with
the occasional play or collection of poems.
Still,
more initiatives are being taken today to consciously promote children's
books: by governments, by large publishing houses who also do books for
children (an afterthought, it seems sometimes), and by small, dedicated
groups and companies fuelled by love and labour. Pakistan, for instance, has
enlisted the services of Japanese writer Shinji Tajima to revamp its
literacy curriculum. In 1971, Japanese publishers and the Japanese UNESCO
Committee established the Asian Cultural Centre for UNESCO (ACCU) to further
book development in the Asian-Pacific region through collections that mirror
indigenous cultures and concerns. Thanks to these efforts —ACCU has
published about 15-20 titles — we have been able to read, for instance,
Sybil Wettasinghe from Sri Lanka and Madhav Ghimire from Nepal . . . Names originating in, say, India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, are
increasingly being seen on the covers of books published in the US and UK as
well. Obviously, something is happening.
Where
does the story of books for children in South Asia begin? And, for a region
rich for centuries with the sound of stories being handed down from
generation to generation, why has it taken so long for them to come into
their own?
Let's
rewind just a little. When you do that, you trip over the Panchatantra,
a collection of some 80 stories written some time around 400 BC or so and
generally attributed to a person called Vishnu Sharman. Available in about
200 versions and translated into 60 languages, the Panchatantra is extremely
widely travelled and is believed to have influenced works such as the Decameron, The Canterbury
Tales, the Arabian Nights,
and Aesop's Fables. Sharman
apparently told these stories to the three sons of King Amarashakti of
Mahilaropya somewhere in southern India to teach them how to think. The Panchatantra
was also the first Indian book to roll out of the Gutenburg Press, way back
in 1483, in a German translation (Das
Der Buch Beyspiele.).
These
stories belonged to the entire subcontinent and still do, although time and
history have since divided it into smaller nations.
When I was young, my
maternal grandmother told me lots of stories from epics such as the Ramayana
and the Mahabharata, the Panchatantra, she told me stories about Tenali Rama and Akbar and
Birbal and some really naughty ones that I suspect she made up. My paternal
grandmother had a grand repertoire of one story which she told with great
relish. But stories were not the prerogative of children alone. Oral
storytelling was a vibrant, living art: as jatra, as harikatha, as bailaatta.
Day's work done, everybody would rush to listen to the storyteller who sang,
danced and spun his yarn.
Is
this why nobody really thought of putting together the stories as printed
word? I don't know. What I do understand is that the concept of publishing
books especially for children was inspired by the books that came into South
Asia along with the men, machines and systems of the British empire.
Not
just books, but books in English. Litterateurs of the day travelled to
England and came back to write, greatly influenced by what they had seen,
read and heard. English slowly grew to great heights of dominance; it became
the language of the elite and the most common language of
communication.
This
was a very significant development. You see, India, for instance, has 18 official languages and
1650 unofficial languages and dialects. In Sri Lanka the official languages
are Sinhala and Tamil, there are about 50 dialects, the medium of
instruction in schools is Sinhala and most people know English. In Pakistan,
Urdu is the official and commonly used language.
Bangladesh has Bengali and Urdu, and Nepal has 50 languages and
dialects!
So,
when English was introduced, language became an issue, definitely in India.
Although the agenda at this symposium is books
in English or translations into English, we need to understand the
context in which this Asian drama is being played. This is the reason
children's books and literacy are so closely intertwined and can never be
far from a publisher's thoughts.
In
Bangladesh, for instance, while there is some publishing happening in
Bengali, there's not too much in English. In Pakistan, most of the writing
and publishing for children is about the Prophet, about national heroes and
about Islamiat to help them cope with the complexity of their world and give
them an identity rooted in
Islam.
In
such circumstances, the ACCU's efforts at cooperation takes on new colour.
Only two per cent of the population in India is English-speaking, yet most
of the children's books being published there are in English. Or, to put it
another way, the biggest market in children's books is for books in English.
The fact is, this is two per cent of a nearly one billion population. It is
the elite, and therefore, the book-buying
and reading segment. This is the population that reads for pleasure.
I'd
like to share a little story with you. I was once helping friends set up a
small school in a tiny village near Noida, on the outskirts of Delhi. It is
a Hindi-speaking belt in Uttar Pradesh and there was no question that the
medium of instruction would be Hindi. But no, the villagers said no. They
said we want English, we want our children to have all the opportunities you
have and we don't.
This was an
eye-opener and it helped me look at English as another Indian language, as
natural as breathing.
I
must also tell you about the seminal work done by Prof Meena Khorana who, in
1991, published an annotated bibliography of some 2000 titles of children's
books in the English language published in the South Asian region. Since
then, however, there has been a spurt in books published, especially in
India, and she will probably need to add an appendix very quickly.
Government agencies in all these countries have been doing their bit to
promote children's books. In India, the National Book Trust,
where Paro
(Anand, who attended the
seminar in Birmingham with me) is an editor, and the Children's Book
Trust have been steadfastly reaching books at affordable prices to children
all over the country. Bangladesh has two or three children's book
publishers. In 1997, Bangladesh produced about 200 children's books. The
thrust in Pakistan and Nepal is on education and literacy. Sri Lanka, with a
literacy level of over 80 per cent, tends to import a lot of its books but
the book-buying culture there is very well established.
But
government agencies can only do so much. Independent publishers have greater
freedom and, in a sense, greater commitment to literature not linked
necessarily to literacy. Many of the large publishing houses in India do
books for children, although many of them manage this thanks to their hold
on the textbook market. I belong to a small publishing house and we do books
only for children. There are a few like us, and following the graph of sales
over the last two years, it is obvious more people are reading them.
What
do I mean by "our own books"?
Many of us feel post-colonial writing in India especially has not yet
established its own identity. It's not enough just to change names or
relocate. It is a question of rediscovering roots and changing
with the spirit. The good news is, this is happening. Books such as The
Kaziranga Trail by Arup Kumar Dutta or Andamans
Boy by Zai Whitaker are unique and wonderfully refreshing, books any
child anywhere could pick and read and imagine the lives of others.
. . . someday somebody'll
Stand
up and talk about me —
And
write about me —
Black
and beautiful —
And
sing about me,
And
put on plays about me!
I
reckon it'll be me
Me
myself!
Yes,
it'll be me.
Some
of you must have read these lines by Langston Hughes. From the Ray family's
contributions to R.K. Narayan's Swami and Friends to some very special writing by Salman Rushdie,
Vikram Seth, books by Manjula Padmanabhan to Sybil Wettasinghe . . . to
contemporary writers such as Debjani Chatterjee, Paro Anand, Sigrun
Srivastav, Subhadra Sengupta . . . many voices telling their own stories and
demanding they be heard.
There
is also a new awareness of the need to provide good, friendly translations.
Did you know that Mahasweta Devi, known to the world as a fiery activist,
Ramon Magsaysay award winner, on whose work the film Hazaar
Chaurasi Ki Ma was made, has written whimsical pieces for children?
Seagull of Calcutta recently published her books, one a collection called Our
Non-Veg Cow .
The
translation thing has finally percolated to children's books
and some
efforts are now being made to render in English from other languages.
In all this, I haven't forgotten the
illustrator. Again, I'd like to
speak from my own experience. We did a book called Ekki Dokki for four to eight year-olds. Simple story, vivid
illustrations, a pretty popular book. Children love it. But when we showed
it to fellow publishers at the Frankfurt Book Fair, the response was:
"It's lovely, but it's not Indian." What is Indian, we asked each
other.
A Danish publisher,
Vagn Plegne, told this story about the
African illustrator, Meshack Asare. "Meshack Asare made his first
picture books in one colour because the market in his country couldn't
afford more. When he moved to Europe and found a European publisher, he
began to publish in full colour but guess what:
European critics said it was a pity Asare was adapting to European
tastes! Now, Asare thinks he is as African as ever in his stories and style
— whatever an African style maybe. And he wonders if he must return
to one colour to be recognised as a genuine African! Meanwhile, the economic
situation in his country has improved and Asare can do books in full colour!
What will the European publishers say now?"
We
had a similar experience with Eecha
Poocha, done deliberately in two colour. Western publishers simply
wouldn't look at it! Why? With
all these years of Western books and notions dominating and influencing, we
have had to constantly rage and battle against stereotypical ideas, stories,
characters, illustrations, situations, writing...
Now we also have to fight stereotypes in book production.
Who
says books for children have to be glossy affairs, printed on art paper, in
a certain format? Don't local conditions have a say? If in India only a
certain kind of paper is available or affordable, why should we have to bend
over backwards to match the glossies? Why should our books have to be better
than the best if Western distributors/publishers must pick them up?
It's
time to change all that. It's time books moved out from the Indian
subcontinent. Information technology has opened up the world so
dramatically, multiculturalism is no longer just a possibility. It is the
natural order of things. I'd like to quote from Helen Rochman's
thought-provoking book, Against
Borders: "Books can make a difference
in dispelling prejudice and
building community: not with role models and literal recipes, not with noble
messages about the human family, but with enthralling stories that make us
imagine the lives of others. A good story lets you know people as
individuals in all their particularity and conflict; and once you see
someone as a person — flawed, complex, striving — then you've reached
beyond stereotype. Stories, writing them, telling them, sharing them,
transforming them, enrich us and connect us and help us know each
other." Exactly.
But
I am not for one moment saying that multiculturalism is some kind of
passport. It is one aspect, an important aspect, of today's world and it has
a place in children's books.
Suzanne
Fisher Staples' Shabanu: Daughter of
the Wind is a much
discussed book and has drawn wonderful reviews, especially in the West.
An
American writing about another culture after having experienced it and
understood it. Yet, it doesn't always work in the way it is intended.
Suzanne has written how 13
scholars and others read the manuscript
for accuracy before she submitted it to the publisher. All of them
felt she had captured the place, the people, and their lives with a
remarkable sense of realism. Yet,
the reaction from Pakistani students, teachers and others was largely
negative. They even felt offended. They felt, she says, that someone who has
no right to do so "speaks" for them.
Let
me give you another, simpler example. Take information books. Take a picture
book about transport. Just your bicycle and car and tram and bus say nothing
about the modes of transport in India, as many as ingenuity can think up.
Women pulling carts (and I'm not talking about gender issues here),
people
on camels, children spilling out of an autoricksha, people sitting sedately
in patpatiyas... and people walking and walking,
some with their footwear on
their heads! So we cannot talk in terms of a general book on transport and
apply it to all parts of the world. It simply doesn't work like that. It
isn't us.
Yes,
very often we feel that only if we ourselves speak for ourselves
will the rest of the world see us, understand us as we are.
Does this sound defensive or unfair? Not really.
Think about it: for
hundreds and hundreds of years past — and possibly many more into the
future — Western notions, standards, ideals have subtly and blatantly
dominated and influenced our lives. Breaking out is hard to do, but it must
be done.
It's not easy. The
list of problems are quite daunting: a small reading and book-buying
population, illiteracy, constraints with pricing, competition with the
textbook market, poor distribution, the attitude of bookshops, and,
definitely, the entry of MNCs. We are ready for collaborative efforts on
equal terms but not on terms and at prices that pull the rug from under our
feet. It takes courage to publish children's books, and commitment — to
books, to children, to sharing. I'd like to end with Harivansh Rai Bachchan's
poem, translated from the Hindi:
"I
want to write a poem on you," I said to a bird.
The
bird said, "Are your words as colourful as my wings?"
"No,"
I replied.
"Your
words as sweet as the music of my voice?"
"No,"
I replied.
"Have
your words the flight of my wings?"
"No."
"Have
your words my life?"
"No."
"Then
how can you write a poem on me?" the bird asked.
"But
I love you," I said.
The
bird said, "What has love to do with words?"
Well,
if you're into books for children, and if you live where I do, love has
everything to do with it.
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