Children’s books are usually about haunted corners, furry ghosts, age-old pasts, or the kind of Harry Potter fantasies that seek to draw children away from reality, whether it be red carpets or flying horses, or other animals that they certainly don’t exist. in the animal kingdom. Granted, children’s books may be very entertaining, but they certainly don’t enlighten adults. So why should I buy a children’s book that gives me nothing tangible in return? Ok, I may have gotten a little carried away, so let me backtrack a bit and try to be more sensible. The least I expect from a book, tangible or not, is an axiom that stays with me, or an intuition that reorients my life, or an idea that I appropriate, to be able to show off. And I don’t expect any of this to happen when I read a book intended for the not-so-adult. Right?

Incorrect. Some of my previous questions seem to be really cheeky, I recently read The Lama, The Snow Leopard, and The Thunder Dragon written (apparently) for the kids, but that sent me a direct message and almost swamped me. with such perceptions that I needed to verify if the book was really intended for children. In purpose, thought, and execution, while catering to children in terms of ease of reading and their need for fantasy, the book has much to tell adults. This is a new technique. Smart. Actually super smart. Almost like Schrödinger’s cat! Who would have this kind of imagination to wrap layers and pack them neatly seemingly for children, but lift the story line up and down, depending on who the reader is?

John Shulman – the author, is a human rights lawyer, filmmaker, football player, Harvard Law School alumnus, Alternative Dispute Resolution expert, Law Professor at National Law College, Delhi, a seeker of truth, and a true global citizen, having visited forty countries and lived in Africa, America and India. He said that he has written the book essentially for his children who are studying in India, because he simply could not find for them any significant book written in the Indian setting. It’s all Harry Potter and Enid Blyton, culturally so alien, but forced into the guts of Indian children for lack of a better option, making them oblivious to their own national and cultural ties. How true! However, he leaves behind a big question for which answers and authors must be found: how come a nation of 1.2 billion cannot produce good writers for its children in a language that resonates with them?

And how does Juan handle it? Just being true to the everyday rubbish we throw out on our streets, the traffic jams we suffer through, the hot samosas we eat and let the spice scorch our bottoms the next morning, or speaking of the pine trees that dot the Mansuri skyline, and their ruthless logging in the name of Progress and Development, or simply using words like ‘khud’ when an English alternative might have sounded more appropriate. One could go on. But I think I’ve made my point. John simply, he is more Indian than most Indians. And his children,-the novel’s heroes-ten times more Indian than John himself. Period. So let’s move.

The beauty of The Lama is that the novel’s setting is the all-too-familiar Himalayas of India. I have spent four of my twenty-four year career in what the British call ‘Mussoorie’, but the author insists on using the native ‘Mansuri’ (just one of several mid-course corrections he asks of his adult readers: respect things who are native). The Tavern, the sticky Jalebis, the hot Pakodas, the Mall, the Woodstock, and the Wynberg-Allen are all familiar.

The story is simple. It has heroes, villains and enablers. That is, those who motivate the hero Kinlay to fight against the villains of the good side and the corrupt officials who promote the twin evils of ‘Progress’ and ‘Development’ from the bad side. Oh yes, there is a young sister who plays football, Pem, and a little one, ‘The Moof’. The heroes are under twelve years old and the villains are all rich and old, barbaric and brutal, thoughtless and cruel and occasionally belching eggs. The heroes’ parents have problems with the United States government. They need to be rescued. It’s all tension, but the relief is in football. Play hard, make the school win. He gets the parents out and moves on. So easy? Well… it may not be so! The simplicity is in the plot and even more so in the narration. But the complexity lies in the depth of the intuition that requires a certain concentration and careful reading of you. It’s a clever mix of head, heart and spirited fighting, against an evil duo posing as Progress and Development, one skinny, one fat.

Most of us don’t recognize who the enemy is and often end up being part of the problem. And, those who diagnose correctly end up, of course, behind bars. Therefore, collective action is a long way off. I guess that’s the central message of the novel. Let’s get back to it.

Pretty sure! The cosmos conspires to help the fighters, in the form of Tahr, a quirky and sarcastic goat, a vegetarian snow leopard, and a thunder dragon who can only brag and brag, but not spit fire or thunder – they all talk and work under divine guidance. of a monk who won’t hesitate to demonstrate a bicycle kick to children, if only to demonstrate his football prowess, and gain his support. Everything is destined; it seems that the flora and fauna of the Himalayas must be saved, and the children have no choice but to struggle with a disability. The novel is intoxicating and, in fact, quite hearty, as you will sink into it effortlessly just as you would on the couch in the living room. And then, you realize that you sink deeper. It’s that indecipherable.

I think I should recommend this book to IAS officers, policemen, politicians and generally anyone who wants to be in the public life of India and still wants to remain aware. Well..?