Editorial – Anagha Gopal

I was 26 when I met Mayil, double the age she turns in Mayil Will Not Be Quiet! by Niveditha Subramaniam and Sowmya Rajendran. What hurt about this delayed meeting was that I could have met her when we were both teenagers, and grown up with her, both of us full of questions that nobody seemed to have answers to. The book came out in 2011, at a time when I was reading The Fault in Our Stars and The Hunger Games and always rereading – though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone – Malory Towers. At heart, though, I was just like Mayil, even without knowing that she existed. 

I finally read the book when I was working on a paper on it during my M.Phil. On the one hand, neither my bachelor’s nor my master’s syllabi included any children’s books. On the other, children’s books were the ones that I never grew out of – other genres would come and go, but children’s books would remain the most compelling. And so I knew that these are the books I’d like to work on, but with a caveat – not the children’s books that I grew up with, but the ones that I now wish I had had while growing up.

Being an adult in the world of Indian children’s literature is a thing of wonder. When I began my PhD in 2023, I also began reviewing the children’s books I read on Instagram. Starting this with the intention only of reading widely in the field I’m working in, what I found warmed my heart – authors, illustrators, publishers, educators, librarians, and other reviewers were engaging with my reviews. Offline, when I mentioned my research area, people would ask, “Are there that many Indian children’s books?” On Instagram – and in children’s bookstores, events, festivals, and libraries – it was a completely different story. An incredibly rich field was constantly growing, often unnoticed in mainstream literary discussions. Through this special issue, we wanted to draw attention to this world. 

We began with a milestone. Chiknik Choon by Sushil Shukla and Atanu Roy became the first Indian published book to be recommended by the Hans Christian Anderson Award jury. In a world where the movement of children’s books is usually from the west to the east, here was a moment that marked a significant reversal. As we worked to put this issue together, we noticed more milestones – both Tulika Publishers and Karadi Tales turned 30 this year, and Bookaroo is turning 18. At an event I attended at Lightroom Bookstore in Bengaluru, I learnt that artist Priya Kuriyan, whose illustrations define so many children’s books, has now worked in the field for over 20 years. Lightroom Bookstore itself turned 13 this year.  Amidst these milestones, we wanted to build an issue that celebrated the journey of children’s literature in India, while also capturing how its stakeholders imagine and work towards building its future. 

“Then What Happened?” captures just that – a question reminiscent of oral storytelling for an issue that tells the stories from the world of children’s literature while looking forward to what’s coming next. We imagined this issue as two interconnected parts – a collection of stories, poems, illustrations, and book recommendations for children aged 7-12; and a non-fiction section with reflective pieces addressed to the adults who are their reading companions, offering conversations with those who make the field what it is. For us, the cover image by Rajiv Eipe, from A Book for Puchku by Deepanjana Pal,  is symbolic of this special relationship, between a child who finds joy in reading, and the adults who help them access books that may be out of reach.

The children’s section offers stories by Aparna Kapur, Lubaina Bandukwala, Mamta Nainy, and Varsha Varghese. While different in their form, narrative style, and voice, these stories highlight friendship and family through both longing and joy – whether through the search for a plum cake in the summer, a list about things that are mysteriously lost, the significance of a family recipe, or finding a friend in an unexpected way. Illustrations by Ogin Nayam and Shreya TS show how summer is a season for exploration and imaginative fun, while Riya Nagendra’s illustration reminds us of the friendships that make school joyful. Meanwhile, Chandrima Chatterjee’s illustration asks us to imagine a restaurant that serves books instead of food. Poems by Zai Whitaker, Suchi Govindarajan, and Varsha Seshan invite us through rhyme and rhythm into different worlds, of insects, of the search for a lost sock, and the world of our own thoughts and minds. There are two special poems – a sonnet on courage and one celebrating Messi – from Aditya Maheshwary and Kabir Shah, students from the Hidden Imagination Writing Academy founded by Reshma K. Barshikar. Lists of book recommendations by Rhea Kuthoore and Rati Girish point the way forward towards more stories for children (and adults!) who enjoyed this issue. 

In its non-fiction section, Maulshree Kalothia’s article captures this journey through the lens of the sector-building initiatives by Tata Trusts’ Parag, including partnerships with publishers, insights from the Library Educators Course, and international engagements and recognition, including that of Chiknik Choon. While we celebrate and take pride in this first-of-its-kind recognition, it is also important to consider the nuances within this celebration. Sujata Noronha’s article shows us how, in its search for books featuring buffaloes, the Bookworm team found that almost none of these books disrupt caste-based occupation systems or are written by the communities that care for buffaloes. An excerpt by Tultul Biswas from Children’s Books: An Indian Story also addresses these nuances, asking us to consider – who is writing, and for whom?

As the number of Indian children’s books keeps growing, so do clusters of genres and themes that they explore, and the thought that informs such explorations. Sayoni Basu’s article reflects on Indian children’s historical fiction through the lens of The Songs of Freedom and Chronicles of Courage series by Duckbill (an imprint of Penguin Random House India). Meghaa Gupta reflects on ‘environmental literature’, recounting familiar leitmotifs and drawing attention to new ways of thinking about this category. In his article about The Forgotten Folklore Project, Nagakarthik MP describes the intent behind, and the importance of, producing books by local artists and writers for children in Meghalaya in which they can find reflections of their own lives. Salini Vineeth writes about her experience of translating Alice in Wonderland into Malayalam, keeping in mind how both wordplay and social critique can find a home in an Indian context. 

Rati Girish’s list of book recommendations (aimed at adults this time!) provides a starting point for building our own Indian children’s bookshelves, reflecting on why the books she’s recommended have a lasting power. Venkatesh Swamy looks back on the journey of the Bookaroo children’s literature festival from its inception, sharing anecdotes and reflecting on what reading means to the organizers. Also reflecting on reading is Jatin Lalit, who offers us a glimpse into the ideas and rituals that are a part of the Bansa Community Library, gently asking us to think about what a library is and can be in all its expansiveness. 

As a researcher, I live by the words of Mary Oliver – “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” Through this issue, we invite you to pay attention to the incredible world of Indian children’s literature with us and think about the directions it can take as it grows further. I hope that, through the many books mentioned in this issue, both children and adults find characters that they can see themselves in, just as I once found Mayil.