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One doesn't need to go far to look for stories. You can find many in your backyard itself. Searching for my roots, I have found several. And the one I am working upon now, began the way many have, with a question. What could impel a man to travel hundreds of miles from his birth place and embrace an existence completely alien to the one he had always known?
The man in question was my grandfather, who made a huge leap when he changed his religion and adopted a completely different way of life.
Of course, when I embarked on my exploration, I realised that whatever answers I might find could only be conjecture. But this is what fiction is all about. Facts that can be turned into story. Questions that sprout more questions, in the course of your quest to answer them. Questions that will continue to proliferate even after you've completed your book.
But where does this 'hanging tree' fit in, you may well ask? What is the connection? The fact is that my grandfather belonged to a nomadic community that roamed between three different villages that lay far north of my home town. When I was a young girl, despite my curiosity about his past, there was no question of my travelling to his home region, though the boys in the family did. Naturally, I eagerly questioned a boy cousin who once visited the village nearest to us, and while narrating his experiences, he mentioned a place where they hanged criminals. Years later, a reminiscing aunt talked about this again. Neither of them were very specific, or maybe I wasn't paying enough attention, but I conjured up the image of a gallows.
Just a few years ago, I got a chance to fulfil my curiosity when I travel to two of the villages my grandfather had lived in. When we arrived at the first, enquiry led us to a deserted house. It was the kind common in the hills--slate roofed, double storied with narrow, carved doors and windows. The usual paved courtyard surrounded by a low wall enclosed it. But when all the pictures had been clicked, and we stepped out of the ruined gate to return to out car, a woman among the cluster of curious folk who had escorted us said in an undertone, 'There used to be a tree here, on which they hanged people.' A moment of astonished silence followed, during which I recalled the gallows I had imagined. A tree? Suddenly it felt more plausible. Then a man added, 'It was a surahi tree (a species of cypress). Someone chopped it down a few years ago.'
I recall feeling a little embarrassed about the presence of this hanging tree in my family history. Especially because the way this information was shared, with a smirk of macabre satisfaction. As if encouraged, another man pointed towards the river gushing below--'There are caves there where lawbreakers were imprisoned.'
At that time, I was working on my historical adventure novel Caravan to Tibet and part of the reason for the trip was to get a better sense of the locale I had set it in. But this new, somewhat gruesome information added a different dimension to my grandfather's early life.
There was a story brooding over the place the hanging tree had occupied. Some day I would write it, I thought. And this is what I am doing now, seeking answers to a new question. Can a hanging tree hold the key to an old, old mystery?
0 Comments on The Hanging Tree as of 9/5/2013 6:13:00 PM
Many years ago, a young neighbour shared a personal story with me, a deeply moving narrative from the partition of India and Pakistan. It was a tale of endurance and survival, heart-warming because neighbourly relations between people from hostile communities played a major role. The obsession for male offspring was an important thread too, while in the end it was revealed as a poignant tale of loss. In short, this real life incident contained all the elements of a powerful piece of fiction, something writers usually struggle to create. It was so riveting that it gave me goose bumps when I heard it, and as a writer I felt blessed to have come across it. I lost no time getting down to it, but when I started typing the story into my computer, after the first few sentences I found myself stuck, completely blocked. Try as I might, despite all the dramatic incidents waiting to be described, I just could not move ahead. It was awful enough to make me want to tear my hair in frustration. Such a wonderful story, a complete story, and I couldn’t make anything of it! Was I really a writer or had I been fooling myself all this time? I could not give up, however, though it took me three years to write that story. But how did I was manage to diagnose what was holding me up? Only when I discarded some preconceived notions that I had embraced about the craft of writing. When it struck me that my inability to ‘set the scene’ had applied the brake. Early in my writing career, someone had told me that I had a great sense of place and I had become very particular about beginning a story with a physical description. The problem here was that I had never visited the city in Pakistan where it was mostly set. And without my background I could not tell the story. Now we all know there are ways to tackle this kind of issue. There is no dearth of resources that will help fill in the gaps when you set your fiction in a locale that is outside the realm of your experience, whether in space or time. You can turn to accounts by travellers, photographs, films and television programmes or talk to friends who might have gone there. I tried some of these resources. However, for some reason, nothing worked. Finally, I made the tough decision that if I was to write this story at all, I had to forget the descriptions of streets and houses and carry on with the actual events, and to concentrate on the emotions the characters might have experienced. To my astonishment, the story took off immediately. Not merely took off, but sped to a destination that had never been there in my map. From the heart-warming tale of neighbourly relations among people trapped in political conflict that I envisioned, it turned into the slightly chilling tale of a neglected girl reclaiming what she had longed for and never received. To this day I am at a loss to explain how this happened. But the story which I titled “Cradle Song” won a prize in a competition and has been the one most appreciated in my collection If the Earth Should Move. More significantly, this experience turned out to be a valuable lesson. A lesson not to get bogged down by the do’s and don’ts of writing as defined by others, because each story you write is your own, and each story has its own imperatives. And that it is utterly, absolutely important to identify the element that is the true driving force of your story. A sense of place is essential if the locale dictates the action, which often happens in the adventure stories I write. But paramount in every story are the emotions that possess your characters. It is emotions that spark the conflict that will impel your story, lead to the compelling turns in the narrative that draw the reader in—simple human feelings like love or the lack of love, fear and longing, envy and empathy. And in this context, recently I made a discovery which reinforced this notion. At a discussion on my book Caravan to Tibet in a school, a girl mentioned that it was the protagonist Debu’s love for his father and his determination to find him in the wilds of Tibet that appealed to her most. That amply proved to me that even in a story full of action and adventure it is common human emotions that make it meaningful. It is also important to recognise the chimera of the complete plot supplied by a flesh and blood muse for what it is. A chimera that glimmers most enticingly, only, you cannot disregard the necessity to use your own sorcery to bring it to life and make it real. For even the most attention grabbing yarn will not emerge as an equally engaging piece of fiction if you persist in the belief that all you have to do is to transcribe it. The fact is, someone else’s story usually contains hidden sub currents that have not been shared, been ignored, or simply forgotten. You have to probe further, sniff out the unidentifiable masala and scrounge around for back story that will provide motivation for your characters. The word here is motivation. We know that motivation is the engine that propels a story to its denouement. I think when I unconsciously hit on the motivation that possessed the neglected girl; my story began to take shape. There’s no denying that many finely crafted classics, many hugely popular pieces of fiction have been inspired by real life incidents. But that first discovery only flags off the writer’s journey and is like the cryptic map that leads you to a hidden treasure only after you have deciphered all the clues, not like the fixed itinerary created by a travel agent.
0 Comments on Turning Real Life into Fiction as of 1/1/1900
If the young are brave and committed, life will reward them with knowledge. In Oleander Girl, seventeen-year-old Korobi uncovers many truths, palatable and unpalatable, in the course of her quest to find the father who remained a mystery. She learns the hard way—as most of us do, to judge between true and false and comes to terms with the ground realities of human existence. Korobi’s story takes hold of you right from the haunting opening paragraph. Her voyage is itself extraordinary, in the sense that a young Indian girl who has led a sheltered life can prevail over convention and persuade her guardians to let her to embark on this journey. As this determined young girl travels from Kolkata to the U.S.A., facing a series of challenges, the reader eagerly waits for the mystery of her parenthood to be revealed. The timeless appeal of the orphaned protagonist finds compelling play here, and the clash of cultures heightens the drama. However, this is not just the tug-of-war between east and west, but also their coming together. The author explores numerous facets of the global, multicultural experience with ease, and her mastery of craft is apparent in the wide range of narrative voices she employs so effectively to add depth and texture to Korobi’s story. I particularly liked the portraits of assertive women—from Korobi herself to her grandmother Sarojini, Jayashree her future mother-in-law, and best of all, Pia her fiancé Rajat’s little sister. While Rajat comes across as the somewhat confused modern Indian male, it is Bhattacharya the politician who surprises us with his yearning for the past with its well-defined values, symbolized by the old temple in Korobi’s grandfather’s house. For him: “…the gates that shut out the twenty-first century…” are invaluable and irreplaceable, as they stave off the demands of a new age that has still to evolve a respectable code of conduct. A bemused Sarojini wonders, “…how many layers there are to a man’s heart, tender spots beneath the calluses, hidden even from himself.” The interplay between tradition and modernity is another important point of conflict skillfully explored by the author—the faceoff between the old and new Kolkata, starkly outlined as well in Rajat’s struggle to resist the seductive Sonia’s siren song and embrace wholesomeness as represented by Korobi. The reader is held in thrall as the problems pile up and secrets unfold. However, Oleander Girl is much more than a tale of suspense; it is also a story of tender relationships that reach beyond race, religion and class. Apart from the primary narrative strand of Korobi’s mixed parentage, there is the chauffeur Asaf Ali’s attachment for Pia, which prevails against his employers’ prejudice and his friends’ conventional warnings. These are the special touches in this book that make it so heartwarming, by reinforcing your faith in human nature. Towards the end I did find the rapid unfolding of events a tad overwhelming. However, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s consummate storytelling carried the day and this poignant tale remains one of my favourite recent reads.
There’s something in this collection for everyone—spine tingling spooky stories, thrilling adventure tales, thought provoking fables, even nonsense rhymes that will tickle you silly. Some stories could have been taken from your own life—stories of school and home, of celebrations and hard times, of light-hearted fun as well as heartbreak. There is a vast variety of fascinating, unforgettable characters to keep you enthralled too—clever girls, daring boys, foolish kings, understanding teachers, gutsy grandmothers and dogged shikaris.
Putting them together was a trip down memory lane, a delightful excuse to read, read and read, but I must confess it was not an easy task. What should I include, what leave out? When the decisions confronted me, I realized what a daunting task I had set myself. There was so much to choose from! It was heart-wrenching to leave out some truly wonderful works because there wasn’t enough space. That's life for you--always those tough decisions to make...
But why did I find the tales in this anthology so special, so memorable? I felt they contained universal truths—an essential element of great writing. There are many ‘Aha!’ moments in these stories. For example, Big Brother in Premchand’s story with the same name, keeps fallingbehind his younger brother in school, despite all his hard work. However, when he says with simple dignity, ‘You are flying high today because you have stood first in your class. But you must listen to me. I may have failed but I am older than you. I have more experience of the world that you have…’ your respect for Big Brother goes up several notches—even failure has not shaken the roots of his self-belief. The warmth of understanding floods through us when Jim Corbett states at the end of his account of a long, gruelling hunt of the man-eating tigress: ‘There have been occasions when life has hung by a thread and others when a light purse and disease resulting from exposure has made the going difficult, but for all these occasions I feel amply rewarded if my hunting has resulted in saving onehuman life.’
These stories are rooted in our culture and history as well. We are reminded about the importance of the guru-shishya tradition in Sudha Murty’s heartwarming “How I Taught my Grandmother to Read”. In fact, two other tales dwell on the very special relationship of grandparent and child—Shankar’s fun-filled ‘Rain-making’ and Khushwant Singh’s nostalgic “Portrait of a Lady”.
There are many other thought-provoking themes. The power of the imagination is celebrated in Paul Zacharia’s “The Library”; and the peril of excessive attachment to worldly goods is playfully highlighted in Sanjay Khati’s “Soap”. Then there are those moments of realization—of understanding that we are all special in different ways as in Paro Anand’s ‘Eid’.
There are very real boys too, like Swaminathan in R.K.Narayan’s Swami and Friends, to sympathise with when they keep getting into trouble. There are also inspirational characters like Rajappa in Sundara Ramaswamy’s powerful story “The Stamp Album”, who decides to do the right thing, after doing a very wrong thing, even though it requires an enormous sacrifice.
If you adore chills, there are two goose bump inducing tales—Satyajit Ray’s scary “The Vicious Vampire” and “The School” Ranjit Lal’s compelling tale of a very unusual school. A school quite different from the one in which we encounter the intriguing Mr. Oliver in Ruskin Bond’s engaging story, “Here comes Mr. Oliver.”
The eminent Ray family has contributions in both fiction and poetry in this volume. No matter how low you might be feeling, you cannot help but smile when Mister Owl says to Missus in Sukumar Ray’s hilarious poem:
‘All my fears all my woes
All my throbby sobby lows,
Are all forgotten thanks to you
My darling singing Owleroo…’
And as for Vikram Seth’s highly entertaining “The Goat and the Ram”, nuisances though the two characters might be, you cannot help but admire the resilience of the goat as it says after the farmer turns them out:
‘Things aren’t that bad. We’ve not been beaten.
We could have been, but were not, eaten.
Some time we’ll find some home somewhere.’
What else can I say? That there are stories of village life and city life, from the past and the present, set in real worlds and imaginary worlds; that this is one book you can read in one sitting or you can dip into it again and again.
So go ahead, enjoy—the road to wonderland starts right here! And do let me know what you liked best...
Putting together a collection of memorable writing that would appeal to children, I couldn't help but notice that at least three pieces were about grandparents. There was a story from Shankar's all time favourite Life with Grandfather, and reminiscences about their grandmothers by Sudha Murty and Khushwant Singh. What a rich lode family relationships offer, I thought, for writers to draw upon! There must be hundreds and thousand of stories about grandparents, perhaps as many as the numerous collections titled "Grandma's Tales". Grandparents are a primary source for story, whether narrating them to their grandchildren or providing inspiration.
I must confess that I felt a little envious, since I did not have the privilege of my grandparents' company, no memories to share in stories. As a child I puzzled about this a bit. But not knowing what it was like to be pampered by a grandparent, did not feel particularly deprived. Of course, I was curious about them. But my mother lost both her parents in childhood and didn't have too many memories about her own mother. All she could tell me was that my Nani had hair that came down to her ankles, and that she came from Pune. Both pieces of information were mystifying. It didn't seem possible for anyone to have hair that long. And how did she manage to marry my Nana if she belonged to a place so distant from our home town Almora? I feel sorry now that I didn't probe further. It just didn't occur to me while my mother was alive. I knew a little more about my Nana, my mother's father. I was told that he was six feet tall, something very unusual in our area, and a worked for the government.
My father's parents are much more clearly sketched out in my imagination. My Dadi's photograph occupied a prominent spot on the walls of our drawing room, more prominent than my Dada's. My father lost his mother while he was in medical college and that was the first time he tasted whisky, he said. He also mentioned that she was the best mother in the world, the best cook and that while he respected his father, he loved his mother. This created the image of a stern figure in my mind--a man who demanded respect but did not evoke affection. But that was what fathers were like in those times. All the same, my older sister did share a scant memory of our grandfather once--of hisplayfully pulling her back with the crook of his walking stick just as she was about to pluck one of his precious roses. And a cousin recalls finding him in a room surrounded with baskets of apples from which he selected a juicy one and gave it to her. I remember the bower of roses--it survived him for many years, as did the apple orchard. I have some facts about their rather eventful lives too. My father's parents came from backgrounds as dissimilar as those of my mother's. Dada was a rebel who converted to Christianity as a young boy and was consequently cast out of his community. But again, I don't know where he encountered my grandmother, the daughter of an indigo planter and a Nepali lady, and how he got married to her.
So many question marks, no tangible memories of my own...but enough material, I felt, to base a novel upon...the novel I have titled "The Hanging Tree". Because, when you're writing a story, I feel, too many facts can sometimes hamper the flow of your imagination.
But how have family memories worked for you? I'd love to find out.
When working on a biography of Chanakya, ancient Indian kingmaker, author of the Arthashastra,a classic treatise on statecraft, it struck me that the theme of revenge is a very absorbing one to write about, read as well. Chanakya may not be a fictional character, but the story of his vow to extract redress for an insult by King Dhana Nanda of Pataliputra by dethroning him, is as riveting a tale as any imaginary account of vengeance executed. Dhana Nanda was a ruler so powerful that even Alexander the Great hesitated to take him on, and Chanakya’s quest to get even is said to be behind the founding of the Mauryan Empire, when he placed his protégé Chandragupta on the Nanda’s throne.
Amazing how far revenge can drive a person! This is exactly what makes it such a compelling theme. First of all, the deed that demands reprisal provides such strong motivation for the protagonist that it takes control of the major action of the story. Inner and outer conflict, the see saw of events that will propel you to your dénouement, all arise from it. There is fertile ground to create suspense as well. Is it going to happen now? Will she succeed or will he fail? Or will she/he have a change of heart? Repent eventually, or gloat?
A protagonist single minded or obsessive enough to scheme vengeance and follow it through to its bitter end is most likely to capture the imagination of your readers. They might sympathise with the character, or detest her/him but will certainly be interested in discovering the outcome of all that plotting.
There are many novels both popular and classic with revenge as their theme that are memorable. One that comes easily to mind is Vendetta: A Story of One Long Forgotten by Marie Corelli, an author whose works I devoured in my school days, but who no longer enjoys the same following. I still recall the scene in which the hero Count Fabio Romani, who has been buried alive, returns to consciousness and how it made my heart thump in anticipation. Even more so the one in which he discovers his wife Nina and best friend Guido’s betrayal. Count Fabio’s elaborate plan of revenge and its implementation was so gripping that it was a wrench to tear myself away from the book when my strictly enforced school routine demanded it. Count Fabio’s extreme misogyny was disturbing, true, but not enough to abandon the book. I needed to know if he actually accomplished his plan and how he felt when he had.
Novels of revenge must indeed be dark and brooding. But the way they take hold of us is intriguing. Who can forget Heathcliff, one of the most tragically mesmerising of fictional characters ever created? When I first read Wuthering Heights, also in my school days, I conjured up the image of a towering man with a tortured face that could never soften into a smile. The graphic descriptions of this archetypal anti-hero create a vivid picture of his appearance: “Do you mark those two lines between your eyes; and those thick brows, that, instead of rising arched, sink in the middle; and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies?”
Heathcliff exudes gloom but vengeful personalities are fascinating because they are so obsessive. Chanakya is supposed to have exacted revenge to his satisfaction, though his own end was eventually violent. But the accomplishment of the deed does not always bring gratification or resolution.
Remember the bizarre Miss Havisham in Great Expectations? The jilted woman who brought up a girl, Estella, to be heartless so she could execute her guardian’s vengeance on the male sex. However, her plans go somewhat awry and she ultimately recognises the error of her ways. Our hearts go out to her, despite the fact that she used Pip, the protagonist, as a guinea pig in her scheme.
Heathcliff remains more enigmatic, even though a change begins to come over him towards the end and he does actually smile in his death. As the narrator Nelly Dean says: “His eyes met mine so keen, and fierce, I started: and then, he seemed to smile.”
Perhaps tales of revenge grab us because they help us to work out our own negative feelings about people who have treated us unfairly. While we long to retaliate, in real life few of us can pursue such a course wholeheartedly.But many a timetoo, we feel gratified that we forgave and forgot because the revenge taker is mostly rewarded with only a sour satisfaction.
On March 16, we celebrated Girlhood. Under the shade of a benign old tree at the Gandhi Peace Plaza at the India International Centre, New Delhi, we told stories about brave girls and resourceful women.
To remind children of outstanding real life heroines, Sunita Baveja conducted a quiz on Indian women achievers, which had been put together by Devika Rangachari. To our delight, hardly any questions remained unanswered.
Both girls and boys created amazing posters celebrating women power and talked about them. Girls spoke passionately about following their dreams and boys saluted the important contribution women made in their lives.
Two wonderfully choreographed dances rounded up this celebration. One was contemporary in style and presented by the students of Delhi Public School, Rohini.
The other, in a classical dance style, focussed on the traditional theme of Shakti, the power of the Devi, and was performed by girls from Bal Bharati, Pitampura.
An uplifting celebration, indeed, made possible by the enthusiastic support of the programme department of IIC. Surely, if we continue to celebrate girlhood with children, it would make a considerable dent on the patriarchal mindset which keeps girls unwanted and maginalised in our country and is responsible for numberless horrifying crimes against girls and women.
How does one build a story from a very basic plot—one that is actually a joke?
As a child, I had often heard this kind of mock story, bandied about in jest: “Ek that raja, ek thi rani, dono mar gaye, khatam kahani!” Once there was a king. Once there was a queen. Both died. That’s the end of the story.
Now once, as I was casting around for a fresh creative spark to launch a writing workshop, this kahani somehow floated into my mind. A beginning and an ending…pretty banal, true, but worth a try, I thought.
It worked beyond all expectation. First, it brought smiles on the faces of the disinterested group of teachers warily sizing me up. Perhaps they had heard this joke/tale and even if they hadn’t there was something so silly about it that they had to smile at least, if not laugh.
But when we began to fill in what happened in between, I could sense the excitement as they considered the possibilities.
These were some of the questions I posed to them to help to construct the story:
Who was this king and who was this queen? Rather, what were their names? ·What did they look like? ·How old were they when the story begins? ·What time of the year does the story begin? ·What day of the week and time of the day? ·Was the king a good ruler? Or was he a bloodthirsty tyrant or just incompetent? ·What was the queen like? Kind hearted, generous, religious minded or bad tempered? ·Did they have children? How many? How old? ·What were their names? ·What were these children like? Obedient, respectful, stupid, spoilt, lazy, extravagant? ·Or did they not have any children at all? ·Any other family? A wise aunt or a scheming uncle by chance? ·Where was their kingdom located? ·What was it named? ·Was it a prosperous state? Were the people overtaxed? Did law and order prevail? ·Who were the officials who helped them to run their kingdom? ·Is there some major problem confronting the king or the queen or both of them? ·How are they trying to solve it and who is helping them or working against them? ·Does this problem contribute to their end? ·What were the exact circumstances that led to the king and queen’s death? ·Were these purely external circumstances or was any one of them or both responsible through their actions for their tragic fate? ·Does some event occur right in the beginning of the story that suggests what might happen at the end? ·Was their death caused by illness, or at the hands of their enemies? ·Were they shot, poisoned or stabbed? Or maybe someone used a magic spell? ·Does their end suggest a new beginning or does it mean total destruction of the kingdom?
Many more such questions can be posed, of course, and suggestions made but these were enough to set them on the path. And how did the exercise work? There was not enough time to write a complete story. But by using these pointers some of them were able to flesh out the “Ek tha raja, ek thi rani…” outline enough to suggest that the finished product could be a gripping tale.
0 Comments on Once there was a king… as of 11/30/2012 8:23:00 PM
There is one question I never fail to encounter on school visits—from where do you get ideas for your stories? I usually say from incidents in my own life, from stray remarks, newspaper items or even random happenings on the roadside.
When I narrate the real event that led to my short story “Fire” the excitement is almost palpable. It’s the forest fire that is as absorbing, I can see, as the broken friendship and the moral dilemma that resulted from it. But how many such experiences does one have to draw on, almost like a ready-made story?
That’s why I like to share something else, something I read about the creative spark behind Arnold Bennett’s well-known novel The OldWives’ Tale—the sight of a fat old lady with grotesque gestures he caught sight of in a Paris restaurant. He states in his introduction that he began to reflect: "This woman was once young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these ridiculous mannerisms. Very probably she is unconscious of her singularities. Her case is a tragedy. One ought to be able to make a heartrending novel out of the history of a woman such as she."
Arnold Bennett is not widely read today, and I must have been around fifteen when I read this book, but for some reason I’ve never been able to forget those words. And marvel that the mere sighting of a ridiculous looking woman could be behind a work considered a classic.
I did not realise it at the time, but I sensed Bennett’s deep empathy towards another human being. That’s what left such an indelible impression. As he says further…“Every stout, ageing woman is not grotesque—far from it!—but there is an extreme pathos in the mere fact that every stout ageing woman was once a young girl with the unique charm of youth in her form and movements and in her mind. And the fact that the change from the young girl to the stout ageing woman is made up of an infinite number of infinitesimal changes, each unperceived by her, only intensifies the pathos.”
There is no dearth of ideas for fiction. We also encounter occasional moments of drama in our lives, which possess the potential to be turned into a gripping story. But in the end, I feel, it’s a writer’s ability to glimpse the charming young girl in the grotesque old woman that leads to the creation of a masterpiece, her/his sensitivity to the pathos inherent in the transformation from charming young girl to grotesque old woman.
3 Comments on The Right Idea, last added: 11/30/2012
Thanks, Richa. I strongly believe that in order to make an impact on the reader, the writer must have complete empathy for her protagonist's predicament.
0 Comments on Alien Shores: Tales of Refugees and Asylum Seekers from Australia and t he Indian Subcontinent by Sharon Rundle, Meenakshi Bharat | Penguin Books Australia as of 1/1/1900
The Delhi summer does have its blessings and for me the biggest one is the flowers - the flaming brilliance of gulmohar and the unearthly enchantment of amaltash that distracts you from the punishing weather.Years ago when I lived in a house close to an avenue of amaltash, I was moved to express my delight in a poem.
It has been published in CRICKET a children's magazine.
Storytelling night on February 26 at Jaipur was a delight! Great audience, venue...everything. Told my favourite ghost story The Airi from 13 Scary Stories published by Scholastic USA. This story first came out in CRICKET magazine then in the hard cover collection (same title) brought out by CRICKET BOOKS. Some spooky sound effects crept in, almost on their own. A haunted mike? Who knows? Thankfully the spook didn't travel back to Delhi with us!
0 Comments on Storytelling--spooky tale! as of 3/10/2010 8:05:00 AM
The Jataka Tales and Jain Puranas The Jataka or ‘birth’ tales, stories from the various births of the Buddha also aim at religious and moral instruction and are often retold for children. They have been preserved in all branches of Buddhism. Written in Pali, they are tales of the Bodhisattvas or the previous lives of the Buddha in which he appears as a king, an outcaste, a god, or even some kind of animal, but in each he displays a sharp insight into the ways of the world while adhering to the path of right conduct. These stories highlight the perils of existence, show up human foibles and follies with wit and humour and demonstrate that a virtuous and intelligent approach is the only way to deal with the ups and downs of fortune. Though openly didactic, they are also subtly persuasive. The earliest is said to go back to the third century B.C. The fifth century Sinhalese commentary, Jatakatthakatha, attributed to a Buddhist scholar named Buddhaghosa contains 550 stories of varying lengths. Many of them display similarities to stories from the Mahabharata, Panchatantra, Puranas and have also been found in Aesop’s Fables. The story of the Monkey and the Crocodile appears in three forms in the Vanrinda Jataka, Sumsumara Jataka and Vanara Jataka and relate the attempts of Devadutta to kill the Buddha. Each Jataka opens with a preface which explains the occasion that led to its telling. At the end the Buddha discloses his identity as one of the characters in the story. The Jatakas demonstrate the adaptability of traditional stories which have been used to communicate the teachings of Buddhism. Stories like King Virtue stress the qualities of fortitude and non-violence. In this story, despite his powerful army, the upright King of Benaras does not resist the attack of the King of Kosala who covets his prosperous kingdom. However, his determination in the face of adversity influences supernatural elements to act in his behalf and he regains his kingdom even while impressing his enemy with the power of virtuous conduct. At the end, as if driving home the moral, the king ruminates that if it had not been for his fortitude, he would have been overcome. Similarly, Prince Wicked, which is quite similar to a story from the Panchatantra, the wicked prince of Benaras who repays kindness with evil, receives his just deserts. His people overthrow him and install the hermit who saved him from drowning and who was ill-treated in return by the prince who is now the ruler, in his place. The Buddha is the king and the hermit respectively in these stories. In stories like The Earthquake, another traditional tale in which a foolish rabbit thinks the earth is about to fall apart and spreads panic he is the noble lion who saves the animals from self destruction. He is also a benevolent lion in The Hawks’ Friends, which is another adapted Panchatantra story. While many of the Jatakas are set in Benaras, there are others which talk of sea faring adventures like Supparata the Mariner, a skilful navigator, who despite the loss of his eyesight, finds treasure for his ship and brings it home safely. They focus on the qualities of a true leader, wise and fearless, who guides his flock and protects them from harm, on the evils of caste and the power of non-violence. These stories were disseminated throughout the Buddhist world and have been found in Srilanka, Thailand, Japan and other countries where the faith was practiced. Even now these stories are retold for children and have found their way into many school texts. There is also the Jain narrative literature in Prakrit which is full of folktales, fairy tales, animal fables, parables, legends and humorous anecdotes, many of which are told to children. These too are traditional tales which have been adapted to the teachings of the Jain religion. They extol the virtues of righteous conduct in this birth so as to attain a better status in the next and the merits of non-violence and vegetarianism. There is the Jain version of the Ramayana, the Padmacharita, written by Vimala
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Stories from the Puranas which have been described by A.K. Ramanujam as ‘encyclopaedias of Hindu mythology’7 have been part of children’s lore since time immemorial. Purana literally means ancient and the eighteen Puranas contain knowledge of ancient historical and religious traditions. They explain the teachings of the Vedas and were meant for the common man. Veda-Vyasa is acclaimed as their author because Purana Samhita (collection of the Puranas) developed under Parasarya Badrayan who belonged to the charan or academy of which Veda-Vyasa was the founder teacher. However, they must have been compiled by many authors. F.E. Pargiter, author of Ancient Indian Traditions, dates them to the beginning of the fifth century B.C. Most of the present versions of the Puranas belong most likely to the Gupta era when much patronage was given to literature and the arts. The oldest are the Matsya, Brahmand and Vayu. The Bhagawat Purana is considered especially important because it contains stories from the life of Krishna. Containing 400,000 shlokas, the Puranas have documented important historical information like the genealogies of rulers, the relations between the various Indian states, the names of medieval rulers and the Muslim invasions. The Bhagawat Purana even mentions the coming of the British (goranda). These stories explain scientific truths and the evolution of man, the development of civilization and ethical behaviour. That larger issues were at the back of the authors’ mind is demonstrated by the fact that an attempt has been made to create a composite society by displaying a spirit of tolerance, by for example, mentioning Buddha and Parsva as incarantions of Vishnu. The Puranas also detail other subjects of religious interest like explaining the significance of holy places and rivers. But they were not what is defined as ‘closed literature’ like the Vedas and Upanishads. They were a part of oral literature, meant to be recited to the masses by the Sutas and were consequently flexible and could change form during their narration. Rich in fantasy, the Puranic myths did hold listeners enthralled. Who could resist stories about gods and goddesses, their followers and worshippers, demons and other beings with supernatural powers strong enough to challenge the gods, the forces of nature? They contain stories like the myth of creation by Brahma, that of the great flood which is common to many cultures, having been mentioned in the Bible and the Koran and also by the Sumerians. The story of the Dasavatar or the ten incarnations of Vishnu, is another important myth. Then the churning of the ocean, the birth of the Ganga, Prahlad and Hirayankashipu, Yayati, Kacha and Sukracharya, Devyani and Sharmishta and countless other myths and legends are all to be found in the Puranas. These stories have been told and retold again and again to children and still remain favourites. Furthermore, while the above stories are rooted in Hindu religious beliefs, their strong story element has led to their receiving wide exposure through various mediums. Thus they have become part of the collective cultural consciousness of Indian children belonging to other religions as well, who are almost equally familiar with them.
1 Comments on Children's Literature in India-well-loved traditional tales, last added: 1/16/2010
The Panchatantra and Hitopdesa were meant to be instructive. However, the Brihatkatha of Gunaddhya and its various versions which include the Brihatkathamanjari of Kshemendra, and Kathasaritsagar of Somdeva amongst others and the Dasakumarcharita of Dandin were stories written more for entertainment and amusement. Many of them cannot really be considered suitable for children though somehave been adapted for them while others have been retold more or less as they are.
The oldest, the Brihatkatha of Gunaddhya is considered the source work for the writings of Kshemendra and Somdeva. It was written in Paisachi which has been identified as a kind of Prakrit and is perhaps the only work in that language which had an influence on Sanskrit literature second only to the great epics. No original version survives, though several Sanskrit and Prakrit versions are said to have been made, not all of which are still in existence. It is the only work in Prakrit of which so many Sanskrit versions were made. The oldest Sanskrit version is said to have been made by Raja Purvardha in the 6th century A.D. but it is no longer in existence. Gunaddhya is said to have lived in the time of the Satavahana ruler of the Deccan in the first century A.D. (Some say 4th or 5th) who ruled over Pratishthanapur on the banks of the Godavari. The Satavahanas were a dynasty which was trying to Aryanise and the scholar J.A.van Buitenen believes Paisachi was a dialect of the North-West.
Vasudevhindi, a Prakrit version is considered the oldest amongst the available versions of the Brihatakatha. It was begun by a Jain monk Sanghdasgani and completed two centuries later by Dharmdasgani another Jain monk and is said to date not later than 604 A.D. They changed the original story by making Krishna’s father Vasudeva the main protagonist and narrator. Among the available Sanskrit versions, Buddhaswami’s Brihatkthashlokasangraha is considered the oldest. It was written during the reign of the Gupta dynasty. J.A.B. van Buitenen considers it ‘lively, observant, irreverent and colloquial’ [i], in comparison with the better known Kathasaritasagar by Somdeva which he finds pedestrian at times.
According to legend these stories were told by Shiva to entertain his consort Parvati who begged him to tell her a story which no one had ever heard. He said that he would tell her stories about vidyadhars or aerial spirits since gods were invincible and hu
0 Comments on Favourite Stories for Children in India as of 1/1/2010 12:19:00 AM
The Hitopdesa is another work of niti like the Panchatantra, written in Sanskrit by Narayana. The author was a poet or preceptor in the court of Dhawal Chandra, a prince or satrap of eastern India who is said to have commissioned it. It is believed to be a thousand years old, written between the ninth and fourteenth century AD. The earliest known manuscript discovered in Nepal bears a date corresponding to 1373 A.D. It has a structure similar to the Panchatantra and contains four books, which have stories from the Panchatantra with others added to them. Before the discovery of that manuscript this work was attributed to Vishnusharma who is the narrator of the work. But when it was being studied the names of Narayana and his patron were discovered in the last two verses. Some of the matter and quotations used establish it as having been composed in the eastern part of the country. While Narayana mentions the Panchatantra as his source he has drawn from other works as well. The order of the first book of the Panchatantra has been reversed and the third divided into two. The fourth book has mostly been omitted and a large number of verses exist within the stories. These have been sourced mostly from the verse composition Nitisara of Kamandaki. Some have been taken from the play Venisamhara by Bhattanarayana which, like the other work, dates to the eighth century. Niti verses from other important works have been included like the Vrdhha or Laghu Chanakya, the Chanakya Sara Sangraha and the Chankaya Raja Niti Shastra, the Garuda Purana and the Nitisataka of Bharatrihari. It has used the two epics as sources apart from the Puranas, the poetic, dramatic work of Magha Sisupalavadha, the Kiratarjun of Bhandavi and Mrichhakatika of Sudraka. Some stories overlap with the Sukasaptati and the Vetal Panchvimsaptika. However, Narayana has added his own lively touch to his source material and heightened its impact by the manner in which he rearranged it. It is worth noting that the Hitopdesa was the second Sanskrit work to be translated directly into English after the Bhagavat Gita. Charles Wilkins of the East India Company translated it in 1787. It was first published in Serampore in 1804. Many other translations were made including one by Sir Edwin Arnold in 1861 that appeared under the title The Book of Good Counsels. In India it has been translated into Bangla, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Malayalam, Marathi, Newari, Oriya, Tamil, Telugu and Urdu, according to Indologist Johannes Hertel. Contemporary translations listed by the US Library of Congress include Burmese, Dutch, English, French, German, Greek, Khmer, Russian, Spanish and Thai.
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The best ideas always come while having my bath. So many middles and poems were written 'underwater'. This morning the thought process went: friends on Facebook-libraries-librarians-children's literature in India-my great research project courtesy a fellowship from the Ministry of Culture currently languishing on a shelf...
A query from an interested librarian sparked off the thought--why not put it up on my blog? So here goes:
The Panchatantra and its Versions
The Story as Good Counsel
The Panchatantra, a collection of stories said to be more than two thousand years old is considered the oldest example of a work written specifically for children or rather, young adults, in India. Its influence on children’s literature throughout the world cannot be overestimated, since the stories have traveled far and wide and entered the folklore of many countries. There are said to be 200 versions of these stories in about 60 languages. In fact it is acknowledged that it has been disseminated even more widely than the Bible.
The Panchatantra or ‘five books’ is a work of niti, translated by Arthur Ryder as the ‘wise conduct of life’.[i] Attributed to Vishnusharma, a learned brahmin, it is said to have been written to teach three dull princes the art of living wisely and well. It is a collection of eighty odd animal and human fables interspersed with verse. Numerous versions of these stories exist in India itself. Their universality can be gauged from the fact that they soon traveled through the world and were readily adopted into the lore of other countries.
While it is hard to say exactly when this great work was written, it is generally accepted that it belongs to the third century B.C. It was translated into Pahlavi by the physician Burzueh in the sixth century A.D. who, it is said, had heard of a great treasure that existed in India an
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What can one say for a day which begins with a cab driver calling to tell you that you wanted to go to Gurgaon? Was it a bad dream? A hangover? Something I'd eaten?
There are nights when the worst insomniac has to resist a sleeping pill, but after dozing off in the wee hours the phone will surely ring half an hour later to remind you that the one above has parceled out your sleep quota like everything else in your life. Joy and sorrow, stumbles and hands reaching out...
The groggy day offered more surrealistic but thankfully happily realistic encounters as well. By the evening, I had to proclaim: 'Friends Forever!' The spell check tells me Freudians. Perhaps a Freudian slip--the wheel coming Full Turtle. For those unaware of this term (I just coined it) it means turning turtle but coming back Full Circle--in other words landing on your feet after an ungainly somersault.
Yes, buddies, Friends Forever was the title of the book (published by Hachette India) we did at the last session of the Habitat Children's Book Forum on December 5th. And we did come Full Turtle as one always will when celebrating friendship.
First Vatsala, the editor of the anthology, helped the kids to find friends through similar coloured badges and identify matching interests to make groups. Composing Tee-Hee telegrams washed away whatever slivers of ice that may have remained floating around. How's this for an example--Tanya (the friend's name)--The alligator (k)new yoga aerobics?!! Then a reading, by yours truly--the story: "A Caterpillar called Matthew", my contribution to the anthology. Some nostalgia here--there was a girl in my school who had a caterpillar named Matthew. She also loved toothpaste sandwiches but that's another story. Then a discussion on the parameters of friendship--one of the points discussed: how far does one go for a friend, who for example, is stealing. Most of the kids talked about advising and reforming or reporting the friend to teach her/him a lesson. Couldn't help thinking of my naive and silly youth--risking expulsion in a rather ridiculous cause. Today I can laugh it off as fate, the Great Anarch's hand and contrast my dumbness with today's savvy youngsters.
Bio-poems about friends ended the session.
Yup, it was a major celebration of friendship and I do hope we continue to have such wonderful sessions at the Book Forum.
PS. Maybe I should have gone to Gurgaon. Perhaps a friend was waiting somewhere...
Yesterday was Teachers' Day. Can't remember how we celebrated it as kids (if it did exist then!) but of course there are some teachers who stand out in my memory. Recently when a magazine asked for a quote on my favourite teacher, I immediately thought of Mother Ositha. It's funny when you look back and think of the people who have helped you along the way,how vivid those memories are. I remember how all the excitement of going to boarding school evaporated two minutes after my mother left and a deluge of tears swamped me. As I stood with my face against a handy wall and howled my heart out, a warm hand gently pried me away. I don't know how I found myself in the midst of a game and it was miraculous how soon I was skipping around, my tears totally forgotten. As luck would have it, she turned out to be my class teacher and soon with her almost imperceptible encouragement I found myself climbing the class list of seven year old achievers. Interesting that my highest marks then were in composition, but I'm sure Mother Ositha had something to do with it. Another teacher I remember for a different reason is Mrs. Hollow, who taught us in the 10th and 11th standard. An old school type, deaf as a post, she certainly did not spare the rod! A bad mood was enough reason to lambaste us! On the flip side she was a stickler for good writing and wouldn't allow us to read anything but the classics. So I offer fervent thanks to Ma'am Hollow too--not for the pastings but for helping me to develop a style.
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The fascination probably dates from having to learn the poem "Jhansi ki Rani" by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan, or maybe the Hindi lesson in which young Manu (Manikarnika was the Rani's original name, changed to Lakshmibai when she got married) helps a frightened Nana. It could even possibly be from a history lesson on the freedom movement--though it seems unlikely considering our oh-so-boring history books. However, ever since I picked up Mahashweta Devi's biography I had a secret hankering to some day write about this astonishing woman. Call it serendipity or the fact that somewhere someone is listening, but the book happened on its own, being commissioned. Reading about the freedom movement, especially the 1857 War of Independence is heady stuff--can arouse strong emotions. Personally, I feel this inner turmoil contributes much to the writing process. Sifting fact from legend can never be completed to your absolute satisfaction, especially where a figure like the Rani is concerned, so some doubts will always remain. The incident I liked best was when young Manu, denied an elephant ride by Nana and Balasaheb, retorts: 'I will ride ten elephants!' What a sense of destiny (if correctly recorded)! And then the postscript--bumping into someone related by marriage to the Rani's paternal family. Too bad it was only after the book came out--but that's life for you!
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That's a lovely way to put it; plenty of thought for anyone who wishes to write on a long and sustained basis.
Thanks, Richa. I strongly believe that in order to make an impact on the reader, the writer must have complete empathy for her protagonist's predicament.