It’s important to ‘teach’, but in a sly manner: Zai Whitaker

At eight, Zai Whitaker had an unusual problem. Everyone in her family seemed to know their birds, while she struggled to identify even the ones outside the window. Her uncle was the legendary ornithologist Sálim Ali; her father, Zafar Futehally, was a pioneering conservationist; and nature was so much a part of family life that dinner-table conversations revolved around birds, wildlife and books. She sometimes felt like the odd one out.Whitaker eventually found her own way into the natural world. She moved to Chennai in 1974 and went to work with her then-husband, herpetologist Romulus Whitaker, at the Madras Snake Park. Together they went on to establish the Madras Crocodile Bank in 1976, at a time when India’s crocodiles were under severe threat.Zai Whitaker is now an award-winning writer, educator and conservationist, as well as the Managing Trustee of the Madras Crocodile Bank. She has written more than 20 books, many of them for children, drawing on her work with wildlife and indigenous communities. Her books include Andamans Boy, Kali and the Rat Snake, Cobra in My Kitchen, Sálim Mamoo and Me, and Termite Fry.Edited excerpts from the interview:Also Read | We use some of the old stories as seed, and those seeds tell their own stories: Easterine Kire Could you tell us about your early relationship with environmental conservation? How did your interest in reading and writing about nature develop? In my babyhood, childhood, and teen years, I was surrounded by a family that had a passion for natural history and conservation, and also for writing about nature and conservation. So the ingredients were all there for us children to absorb and learn from. My ornithologist father, Zafar Futehally, was the founder-editor of the Newsletter for Birdwatchers and would often be out watching or ringing birds with the team from the Bombay Natural History Society, of which he was the Honorary Secretary. Weekend mornings were often spent in Karnala, Kanheri Caves, or Borivali, with picnic baskets, binoculars, and a change of clothes (in case we decided to jump into a stream). Then there was our lovely home and garden, in Andheri, which in those days was a tapestry of fields, tree groves, and open spaces with jackals calling at night and many birds nesting in the garden. My mother encouraged me and my sister (Shama Futehally, the novelist and translator) to spend the evenings outside, and we were either on the swing or in the fork of a big tree, reading or singing tunelessly. By the time we could write sentences, we were writing what we thought were “articles”, which is what our parents wrote for newspapers and magazines. Andamans Boy is set against the rich biodiversity and indigenous communities of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement What were your biggest influences growing up in Mumbai, especially in a family so deeply immersed in natural history and literature? What was it like growing up around your uncle, the legendary ornithologist Sálim Ali? This journey happened very naturally and dynamically because of the surroundings and surrounding people. Apart from the family, there was a constant stream of international conservationists staying with us, including the great George Schaller. Apart from telling Shama and me fascinating stories about his gorilla and lion studies in Africa, he was also very good-looking, always a useful incentive for teenage girls. Could you tell us about your wildlife work and how you came to establish the Madras Crocodile Bank, the Snake Park and the Irula Women’s Welfare Society? How have these organisations evolved over the years? Shama and I had been helping my father in the WWF office, and one of the projects it supported was the Snake Park in Madras. That’s how I met Rom, and we were married in 1974, by which time the Park was well established in the Guindy Deer Sanctuary. I began working there, and my life changed from bird-centric to reptile-centric. We had already decided to start another project together, a crocodile breeding centre that we were calling a Croc Bank, since our three species of crocodiles were endangered and one of them, the gharial, was nearing extinction. Using wedding-present cash from family and friends and selling the few valuable items we had, there was enough to buy a couple of acres of land on the East Coast Road outside Chennai. Some of Rom’s zoo-keeper friends abroad sent “gifts” of their surplus animals; an alligator called Heyward was a star. And recently, we celebrated 50 years of the Croc Bank. There are over 800 animals of 40 species, and 15 of the world’s 23 crocodile species. I am also still involved with the Irula Tribe Women’s Welfare Society, started in 1987. The focus is on indigenous knowledge and its use, social and economic empowerment and networking with the government and other Adivasi communities.

One of her books that brings wildlife and encounters with snakes into the everyday lives of young readers. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement Your award-winning children’s story Kali and the Rat Snake has appeared in anthologies, textbooks and school curricula across India. What inspired the story, and why did you choose to tell it through a child’s encounter with a rat snake? Kali was the son of snake-hunter Chockalingam, and a playmate of my own sons, Nikhil and Samir. The trio roamed around the village across the road, living among the wildlife and chasing and catching the odd creature (mostly rats). Through Kali and his family, we frequently heard stories about snakes, and a common one was about terrified village people who called Irular to “save” them from a harmless snake like a rat snake or keelback. So when Tulika Books suggested I write about the Irular community for children, this was a natural story to turn to. Not only was it a true story many times over, but there was important information to share, and—very importantly—there was humour in it. You have written children’s books, nature essays and biographies. What have you learned from writing about conservation and environmental issues, particularly for children? That it’s important to “teach”, but this has to be done in a sly manner so that one doesn’t fall into didactic solemnity. Also, correct, factual information is sometimes hard to spot because there’s so much nonsense online. (It’s safer to go with print, but then much of what’s in print is from online sources!) Spending time with naturalists is one wonderful way of getting authentic information. I did this for a book on king cobras, pestering a poor guy about the species, their behaviour, and habitat. From many days of this came a small little picture book. But that’s how it works. A mountain of information gets spun down to an anthill. As natural history writers, we are interested in and excited by everything, but it’s good to grab an area of focus for yourself. Mine, obviously, is reptiles. And if I hadn’t ended up at the Croc Bank, it may have been dragonflies. What amazing creatures! Sálim Ali for Children introduces young readers to the life and work of the legendary Indian ornithologist Sálim Ali. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement You have written across genres, from picture books and young-adult fiction to biographies, poetry and natural-history columns. Which form have you enjoyed most? Are there books you especially enjoyed writing that also found a wide readership? Unfortunately, the book I found most enjoyable to write—Termite Fry, a novel based on Irular life—never got a decent readership. Andamans Boy has done well in terms of readership and response, and I loved writing it because the rich biodiversity and indigenous communities of Andaman-Nicobar and what we outsiders are doing to them have been on my mind ever since my first visit to the Islands in ’75. It’s an ecological heaven that is being destroyed, as are the Jarawa, Onge, Shompen, and Nicobarese (the British finished off the Andamanese). So it was a hard book to write, but every word came from the heart. Who are some of your favourite writers and naturalists, from India and elsewhere? Which books have most influenced how you think about nature and conservation? I love the language of Salim Mamoo’s field guides; he was a master writer and his books are a veritable language lesson. E.O. Wilson and George Schaller are also favourites; I recently read the latter’s Homesick for a World Unknown, one of the best biographies I have ever read. Everyone, please read it! Have also recently enjoyed Aasheesh Pittie’s The Living Air and have just begun and am loving Kulbhushan Singh Suryawanshi’s The Ghost of the Mountains.

This children’s book uses the fascinating world of amphibians to introduce young readers to nature and wildlife. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement Is there a favourite book you return to often or like to give to friends and family? The all-time favourite is My Family and Other Animals. Gerald Durrell was a genius with both animals and words. I turn to it whenever I want some cheering up or am unwell, and have gifted several copies to friends and enemies. How do you view the evolution of children’s literature in India, particularly writing about nature, wildlife and conservation? Has the quality and range of such writing changed significantly? There is certainly a lot of it, and some very good stuff, but I am beginning to feel that we—myself strongly included—should start stepping on the toes of the government, the polluters, the irresponsible consumers. Because this new generation of young readers is ready for it and can absorb more than “Oh, let’s separate our waste and recycle newspapers.” You have also mentored younger writers interested in nature and conservation. What can writers and publishers do to make this kind of writing more engaging for young readers? I try to accept as many requests as I can to read and comment on manuscripts. There are three categories: those who genuinely want suggestion/criticism, and run with it; those who meet you halfway, discounting some and accepting some; and those who only want to hear that their work is excellent, and feel you should find a publisher for them. As I said earlier, writers and publishers should explore deeper waters, but this has to be done carefully and with great sensitivity. How does one create deeper biodiversity concern among young readers without getting into the end-of-the-world doom and gloom? I can’t give an answer to this because it’s a different one for each of us depending on who and what we are as writers. Also Read | A writer’s job is to see what is not immediately visible: Khalid Jawed Why is it important to write about the environment for children and young people? How can literature deepen their understanding of the natural world? The environment is a rich and generous pool of fascinating things to write about. You just have to dip into it anywhere, and there it is: a marine gymnast or arboreal clown or…it’s endless. But apart from these fantastic stories waiting to be told, there’s another reason we need to write about the environment: because the planet is on fire, and underwater, and shrouded in toxic fumes. We need to put this out there again and again, in a way that inspires rather than demoralises our young readers. How one does this is the million-dollar question. Environmental awareness and vision, and an empathy for the natural world, are the lenses through which young readers can gain a greater understanding of it. As writers, we need to create that empathy, open up the doors to that magic world of nature, and find stories that will sit well in this literary ecosystem. It’s a challenge; it’s not for the faint-hearted, but the rewards are enormous. Majid Maqbool is an independent journalist and writer based in Kashmir.