I have always been a children’s literature enthusiast. As I grow older, I find deeper shades of meanings embroiled in the exact text I read as a kid. Case in point, as a kid, when I read Ruskin Bond’s Cherry Tree, I linearly understood the narrative and interpreted the end literally — “Is this what it feels like to be God?” aka Rakesh must feel like God.
A quick summary of the story — Rakesh, who lives with his beloved grandpa in Mussoorie, India, happens to plant a cherry seed. After enduring many mishaps, finally, the tree grows big and strong. And the story ends with his “happily-ever-after.” Every time I teach a new skill to my kid, and after trials and tribulations when he gets it right — I feel like I am God. Today, Rakesh’s struggle while growing his cherry tree and the feeling of being God means a lot more to me.
So that’s crossover literature. The same piece of literature is enjoyed and interpreted differently by a child and an adult. I have written Mōrambā with the same intention.
The story is about an 8-year-old girl, Avani, growing up in the ‘90s in Bombay, India, trying to find her voice in the world of adults. The child and adult could read this book together. Adults sensing references or subtle jokes should take the time to explain how relevant they were to that time or explain the more profound meaning. In short, use the book to strike a conversation with your kid. I pinky-promise that if you are a parent wanting to talk to your child about “those years,” you will not be disappointed while enjoying the timeless story.
Also, prima facie, it’s a children’s book, but as adults, if you ever intend to understand the children’s perspective on their strong-willed nature, this book will not disappoint.