It's Our Planet Too

By Priya Paul

How often do we notice birds sitting inside a cage and feel that something is deeply wrong with such a scene? For an animal who is usually considered a symbol of freedom, humans ironically steal that very freedom from them and cage them for several vain reasons. Perhaps we never question the plight of birds, but Kavya does.

An animal lover and nature enthusiast, little Kavya empathises with the Scarlet Macaw who is brought into her school one day and kept inside a cage in the name of education. She realises the injustice behind stealing an innocent life’s freedom and decides to raise her voice against it.

Flip through some intriguing anecdotes set against the nostalgic backdrop of Kerala and find out if Kavya and her friends manage to tell the world that birds are sentient beings too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Rose Publishers
• Release date: Jan 4, 2024

Book preview

1. Kavya

During the hot summer month of June, a little girl called Kavya was peddling her bicycle home as fast as she could. The scorching sun was blazing down, making the roads of Trivandrum – a scenic town in the coastal belt of the western ghats – a baker's oven radiating heat.

Despite the uncomfortable weather, little Kavya, who was undeterred by the angry sun, was peddling furiously. Every peddle followed the other in a cyclical motion, her cheeks were turning red and rivulets of sweat were streaming down her forehead, her hair was neatly parted into two plaits, and tied with red ribbons at the bottom making two perfect bows.

She raced into the compound and pushed open the iron gate of her house with one hand while she wheeled her cycle in with the other.

‘Maa! Maa! Maa!’ her voice was shrill and demanding, and with each successive ‘Maa’, growing louder than the doorbell.

That’s what Mrs Murthy always said about her daughter, ‘She doesn’t need a doorbell!’

Kavya hugged her mother. ‘Maa, exam over! Now listen, I will sleep late, I will wake up late and I won’t take a bath on Sunday! Oh, and one more thing, I’m not going to touch my books now!’

‘Kavya, just stop! Look at yourself. You look like a dust magnet picking up whatever dirt comes your way. Go and take a bath immediately,’ said her mum.

‘Ok, ok. Maa, what’s for lunch? I am so hungry,’ said Kavya.

With a pleased smile, Mrs Murthy said, ‘Rasam rice.’

‘Oh, Maa, we had rasam rice the day before yesterday,’ Kavya grumbled.

‘That was sambar rice, Kavya,’ her mother placated her, going on to explain the differences between the two most popular dishes of South India.

‘But Maa-’

‘Go now, Kavya and take a bath quickly. I am also very hungry and have not eaten a single morsel since this morning.’

Mrs Murthy, Kavya’s mother, was a religious lady born and brought up in a typical Brahmin family. According to her, there was only one thing that could bring peace to the human race – religion. She was a religious lady who embodied discipline as one of the daily chores of life.

With the first rays of the sun heralding a new day, one could find Mrs Murthy draped in a freshly, starched, crisp, cotton saree, her long hair entwined with a towel forming a knot at the nape of her neck, her broad forehead marked with red vermilion in a small round bindi. (A bindi is also believed to be the third eye as per Hinduism and is worn to ward off bad luck).

Kavya came out of the bathroom after an hour, wearing a light blue frock, her shoulder-length hair now curled up to her neck.

‘Oh, what were you doing in there for so long?’ enquired Mrs Murthy. ‘And what is this? Can’t you wipe the floor after using the bathroom? And who will switch off the light?’

‘Hungry, Maa…Food!’ shrieked Kavya.

She sat at the dining table with a bowl filled with soupy rasam and white rice, a few mustard seeds and curry leaves floating on top of the rasam. Kavya filled her spoon with the piping hot rasam and slurped it down.

‘Mmmm, yummy!’

Her mother smiled at her with a sense of satisfaction and served herself some rasam and rice and started mixing the two with her long slender fingers. ‘Nice, na?’ She gulped down her small rasam-rice balls one by one.

‘Achha, listen, we are going to Kochipuram to your grandpa’s house tomorrow.’

‘Really, Maa? You are my darling!’ Kavya jumped up and kissed her mother with a mouth full of food. ‘Oh, I am so happy!’

‘Oh, oh, Kavya! What are you doing? Finish your food first,’ said her mother, pretending to be angry.

‘Your father is checking the availability of bus tickets – but most probably we’ll be going tomorrow morning, so we need to pack our stuff.’

‘Maa, you have made me so happy.’ She then dropped her spoon and used her fingers to relish the magic of eating rice in a typical South Indian style. A few more slurps later, her bowl was licked clean.

‘Maa, my clothes?’ enquired Kavya.

‘I have done your packing’, said Mrs Murthy in a reassuring voice. ‘You just have to look over it once in case you want to pack something else.’

‘Hey, Maa, what about Grandpa’s mango pickle and his favourite black lentil papadum?’

Mrs Murthy smiled while pulling Kavya’s cheek. ‘All done, baby. Achar for your grandpa and papadum is already packed, I just have to collect his kurta from the market, and all my work is done.’

‘Hmm, impressed,’ said Kavya with a cheeky smile.

‘Now you go and get some rest,’ said Mrs Murthy.

Kavya turned around with her smile intact and excitement in her eyes and moved toward her room. She lay down on her bed tugging the pillow between her legs and closed her eyes. She could see her maternal grandparent’s house just like a picture – a huge single-storey bungalow with a rustic brown exterior and a thatched roof.

An open and wide verandah running all around the house. She reminisced about her past vacations spent at her grandpa’s house; a giant mulberry tree in the middle of the yard, giving food year-round to the hundreds of birds that came visiting for a sweet treat.

She pictured herself playing hide-n-seek, hiding behind the stack of jute sacks full of rice, while Satya chased her, and then, she opened her eyes. Satya was her best friend. Her excitement doubled at the thought of meeting him.

Satya was the son of Mr Ravikant who owned the majority of farmland in that region and happened to be a good friend of Grandpa. And as luck would have it, he was also their next-door neighbour.

Kavya tossed and turned as she couldn’t sleep with excitement; she got up from her wooden bed which made a creaking sound with every move she made and went to check on the stuff that was already packed.

Something is missing, she thought with a mischievous smile and rushed towards her cupboard, opened it and started taking out a few things. Her sketchbook, a mouth organ, and then she picked up her gold medallion hanging next to her study table. She wanted to show off all these possessions to her grandpa, whom she referred to as Dadu.

Once her checklist was done, she sat down peacefully with a hairbrush in her hand, trying to take out the knots from her unimaginably tangled hair. It reached her waist when she pulled it straight but would spring back again to rest on her shoulders. She wondered if it would ever grow long and straight. In between this complicated scenario, she suddenly remembered that she needed to say goodbye to someone.

Someone very precious to Kavya – her very special friend – Captain.

2. Captain

‘Hey, Surya,’ said Kavya in her chirpy voice, raising herself on her toes and resting her hand and her chin on the boundary wall of their garden which served as a partition between each bungalow. All the houses were built in a row with almost the same external façade.

Surya was the son of Mr and Mrs Iyer, their next-door neighbour, and they had relocated from America a couple of years ago. Surya enjoyed chatting about how big and revolutionised things were in the US. He loved taking centre-stage among the kids of the neighbourhood and talking about how much improvement was needed here, comparing the differences in the way of life between the two countries.

‘You know what, the schools in America are much friendlier, and the teachers…they don’t give homework,’ Surya would say and have all the kids listen to him with rapt attention with their mouths agape.

‘And you know what the biggest difference is? Teachers don’t beat students!’

‘Even if they misbehave?’ asked one kid in utter surprise.

‘No, of course not.’

But Kavya was not at all impressed by his airs; the only thing that kept her coming back to him was his pet parrot, Captain, of whom she was