Legal Law

The Lama, the Snow Leopard and the Thunder Dragon – By John Shulman

Children’s books are generally about haunted corners, furry ghosts, gray-haired pasts, or the kind of Harry Potter fantasies that seek to lead children away from reality, whether on red carpets or flying horses, or on other animals that they certainly don’t exist. in the animal kingdom. I recognize that children’s books may be very entertaining, but they do not enlighten adults. So why should I buy a children’s book that doesn’t give me back anything tangible? Voucher. I might get a little excited, so let me retract a bit and try to be more sensible. The least I expect from a book, tangible or otherwise, is an axiom that stays with me, or a perception that reorients my life, or an idea to appropriate myself, 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-adults. Right?

Wrong. Some of my previous questions seem very simple, as I recently read The Lama, The Snow Leopard and The Thunder Dragon written (apparently) for children, but they conveyed a direct message and almost flooded me. with such knowledge that he needed to verify if the book was 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 a lot to say to adults. This is a new technique. Smart. In fact, super smart. Almost like Schrodinger’s cat! Who would have this kind of imagination to wrap layers and pack them neatly seemingly for kids, but lift the story line up and down, depending on who the reader is?

John Shulman: the author, is a human rights lawyer, filmmaker, soccer player, Harvard Law School alumnus, alternative dispute resolution expert, law professor at Delhi National Law School, seeker of the truth, and a true global citizen, because he visited forty countries and lived in Africa, America and India. He said that he has written the book essentially for his children studying in India, because he simply could not find for them any meaningful books written in the Indian environment. It’s all Harry Potter and Enid Blyton, culturally very alien, but forced into the guts of young Indian children for lack of a better choice, making them alien to their own national and cultural moorings. How true! However, it leaves a big question for which you have to find out the answers and the authors: how come a nation of 1.2 billion cannot produce good writers for their children in a language that resonates with them?

And how does John handle it? Just by being faithful to the everyday garbage we throw in our streets, the traffic jams we suffer, the hot samosas we eat and let the spice scorch the 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 alternative in English might have sounded more appropriate. It could go on. But I think I have made my point clear. John is simply more Indian than most Indians. And his children, the heroes of the novel, ten times more Indians than John himself. Period. So let’s get moving.

The beauty of The Lama is that the setting for the novel is the familiar Himalayas of India. I spent four of my twenty-four years of career in what the British called ‘Mussoorie’, but the author insists on using the native ‘Mansuri’ (just one of several midway corrections that he asks his adult readers to do: respect the things that 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 on the good side and the corrupt officials who promote the twin evils of ‘Progress’ and ‘Development’ on the bad side. Oh yes, there is a young sister who plays soccer, Pem, and a tiny baby, ‘The Moof’. The heroes are under twelve years old and the villains are rich and old, barbaric and brutal, thoughtless and cruel, and occasionally burp eggs. The heroes’ parents have problems with the United States government. They need to be rescued. Everything is tension, but the relief is in football. Play hard, make the school win. Get the parents out and move on. So easy? Well … maybe not! The simplicity is in the plot and even more so, in the narration. But the complexity is in the depth of perception that requires a certain concentration and careful reading. It’s a clever mix of mind, heart and an energetic fight, against an evil duo posing as Progress and Development, one skinny, one fat.

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

Pretty sure! The cosmos conspires to aid the fighters, in the form of a quirky and sarcastic goatelope Tahr, a vegetarian snow leopard, and a thunder dragon that can only brag and brag but not spew fire or thunder, they all speak and work under the hood. almost divine guidance. from a monk who will not hesitate to demonstrate a bicycle kick to children, if only to demonstrate his soccer prowess and gain their 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 fight with a handicap. The novel is intoxicating and actually quite substantial, as you will sink into it quite easily, just as you would, on the sofa in the living room. And then you find yourself sinking deeper. It is that unsurpassed.

I think I should recommend this book to IAS officers, police officers, politicians, and generally anyone who wants to be in Indian public life and still seeks to remain conscientious. Well ..?

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