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54 pages

English

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Life will never be the same for Siddharth when he starts living next door to AliseNine-year-old Siddharth is the despair of his parents. He does not want to run around or climb trees, and is terrified of ants. Then one day, he finally makes a friend—the fast-talking; quick-thinking, ultra-intelligent baby elephant, Alise. Together the two friends set out on a series of exploits. But the friends don’t stop at just having fun. The Bearded Bandit has spread terror among the elephants in the forest and someone has to stop him.

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Publié par	Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd
Date de parution	07 décembre 2006
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184759129
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0600€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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ANITA NAIR

Living next door to Alise
Illustrated by Sayan Mukherjee
PUFFIN BOOKS

PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
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Copyright
PUFFIN BOOKS
LIVING NEXT DOOR TO ALISE
Anita Nair is the bestselling and critically acclaimed author of the novels The Better Man, Ladies Coup , Mistress, Lessons in Forgetting, Idris and Cut Like Wound . She has published a collection of poems titled Malabar Mind , a collection of essays titled Goodnight God Bless and four books for children. Anita Nair has also written two plays and the screenplay for the movie adaptation of her novel Lessons in Forgetting which was part of the Indian Panorama at IFFI 2012 and won the National Film Award in 2013. Among other awards, she was given the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for total contribution to children s literature in English. Her books have been translated into over thirty languages around the world. She is the founder of the creative writing and mentorship program Anita s Attic.
Also in Puffin by Anita Nair
Who Let Nonu Out?
The Puffin Book of Magical Indian Myths
The Puffin Book of World Myths and Legends
For Siddharth, who believed in Alise and wanted so very much for her to be true
1
Why does your headmaster want to see me on Monday? Daddy asked.
I looked down and counted the specks on the mosaic floor. There were twenty-four white, twenty-nine black and sixteen pink specks.
I heard Daddy say, Look at me, Siddharth. Look at me when I am talking to you.
Mummy cleared her throat. Look at Daddy, Siddharth, she added, for effect I suppose.
Did they think I was deaf?
Son, Daddy said in a tone I knew very well. I stifled my sigh. I knew what was coming. The moment I felt that hollow sensation in my stomach, I sensed trouble. Serious trouble.
Siddharth, Daddy said. Why don t you go out and play? You are nine years old. Boys your age should be running and jumping, climbing trees, rolling in the grass and skinning your knees . . .
I mouthed the words with him. I had heard it a hundred times before. Actually I had heard it one thousand three hundred and sixty-one times. This is the equation:
365 times every year since I was five. Minus the twenty-five days Daddy was away on a training programme. Minus the ten weeks over the last four years when I had an assortment of illnesses ranging from the flu to a bee sting. And minus the four days when we went to attend Mummy s cousin s wedding.
365 x 4 = 1460
- Daddy s training programme = 25
_______
1435
- Illness = 70
_______
1365
- Wedding = 4
_______
1361
_______
Are you listening to me, Siddharth? Daddy frowned.
He s not, Mummy burst in. Can t you see that blank expression in his eyes? He is not listening . . . And why are you opening and shutting your mouth like a demented goldfish?
They were livid. And anything I said now would make them only angrier.
What I can t understand is why do you dislike being outdoors?
I could tell him. But he wouldn t understand why I preferred to lie in bed and read a book instead of chasing dragonflies, or whatever it was he wanted me to chase.
You still haven t answered my earlier question. Why does your headmaster want to see me on Monday?
It s nothing, I said.
He wouldn t want to see us for nothing! Mummy said.
What have you done now? their expressions demanded.
I bit the PT master, I said. Was that my voice? It sounded like a mew.
Bit the PT master! What on earth for? Unlike mine, their voices rose in a rat-like squeak.
I cleared my throat. My parents are reasonable human beings. They have less hair on their bodies than animals. They use their thumbs. They ought to understand my reasons for doing so. My parents could be trusted to behave like rational human beings, I told myself again and took a deep breath.
Well, you see, we were doing exercises . . . I began.
What exercises?
Sitting exercises. And I suddenly stood up. The PT master stared at me and asked, Hey, why are you standing?
I showed him a line of red ants that were running around where I sat. They are biting me, sir, I said.
Sit down, he said.
But I wouldn t, because I am scared of them.
I won t, I said. The ants will bite me . . .
So he began twisting my ear. I didn t mind that. I really didn t. But when he said, You are scared of the ants biting you, huh? This is what I suggest you do . . . Bite the ants back! the rest of the class began laughing at me, and then I don t know what came over me. I turned my head and bit his hand! Then I thought since the first-term break starts tomorrow, what could happen? I really didn t think they d send for you . . . I finished lamely. Their expressions revealed they had not understood a word.

I don t believe this, my parents said. How can you be scared of red ants?
My parents, I saw, were not so perturbed by my biting Gowda Sir s hand or that the headmaster had sent for them. Instead what bothered them was my fear of ants.
Daddy is a zoologist. He is researching the habitat of tigers. So he doesn t understand fear. As for Mummy, she is a biologist too, and is researching frogs. They cannot understand how I have turned out the way I have: petrified of all creatures, great and small. If only my parents worked in a bank or an office like normal human beings.
Red ants, Daddy turned to Mummy. Did you hear that? He is scared of red ants!
You said an army of warrior ants can reduce a grown leopard into nothing in minutes, I said.
Daddy frowned. Don t be silly. They are warrior ants found in the jungles of Africa.
What if they were the new species of ants someone discovered last week: the trap-jaw ant Odontomachus bauri . It has the fastest jaws in the animal kingdom. That hunter ant s mandibles can clamp shut at 78-145 miles per hour. Do you realize, all you would have to remember me by would be my school uniform and shoes? I mean, I could have been sitting ant fodder!
Don t talk nonsense. We don t even know if the Odontomachus bauri has its habitat here or what they feed on. The ants you saw . . . they were the garden variety of ants.
Still . . . I tried to argue. When I was younger, my parents always claimed all scientific discoveries happened because someone argued against what was considered the truth. But I was beginning to realize these days that they didn t like it when I tried to defend my point of view.
Out! Out of this room, do you hear me? Daddy stormed.
If he screamed this hard, he was going to lose his voice one of these days, I thought.
Don t stand there gaping at me, Daddy continued to shout. I want you to stay in the garden till I say so. From now on, no books, no computer games, no Gameboy, no iPod or discman, no nothing indoors. Let me see if I can get you to behave like a normal nine-year-old boy!
I walked into the garden and sat under a tree. I looked up at the branches. It had taken us almost a million years of evolution to stand upright and now Daddy wanted me to go back to what we were once: a monkey clambering up a tree. Why would anybody want to climb trees? Particularly when it had an army of red ants running all over it?
I peered at the house. Daddy was standing on the veranda. When he saw me, he waved his hands at me. Go, go, his hands gesticulated.
Shoo, shoo, Mummy added as if I were a crow.
I screamed loudly since that s what they wanted me to do. Then I ran to the bottom of the garden, a place I seldom visited. I sat on a stone and stared at the ground. I won t cry, I won t cry, I told myself. It was so unfair. Why couldn t they let me do what I liked to do? I had a really good book to read. But instead I had to prance around the garden . . .
Suddenly, a moan filled the air. I turned around in fright. On one side of the fence was a bamboo copse. Each time the wind wove its way through it, the bamboo moaned. I shivered in fright. It was enough to make one think of werewolves and vampires.
Then I heard a rustling sound. Was it a snake? Twigs snapped as if someone had stepped on them. Who was there? I took a deep breath and stood up. Someone was there and even if I was scared, I was going to find out who it was. I went towards the fence and peered over it. I couldn t believe my eyes. There stood a baby elephant. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.
The elephant shook its head. Hello, it said. I waggled a finger in my ear. I couldn t believe my ears now.
Hello, it said again. Why won t he say hello back? Is he deaf or dumb? Or plain stupid? the elephant said to itself.

Hello, I said meekly. I was still in a state of shock. An elephant. A talking elephant and a cheeky one at that!
You are rude, I added.
You were rude first, it said. You stared at me as if I had two heads and wouldn t say hello back! So, what s your name? the elephant retorted, shoving a piece of bamboo into its mouth.
Siddharth, I said and a devilish impulse made me ask, and yours?
Aishwarya.
Aishwarya, I hooted in laughter thinking of the beauty queen. Aishwarya, what a joke!
Don t laugh! That s rude. I can t help my name. But I would prefer it if you called me Alise!
Whoever heard of an elephant called Alise? I continued to giggle.
No one has. Which is why I like being called Alise. You see, when they found me, they took me to the elephant camp but no one wanted me there. They are all working elephants. So Uncle was sent for. He took one look at me and said, I don t believe this. She is the spitting image of my next-door neighbour Alise Kochamma. The same long nose. The same flapping ears, the big fat belly and the bristles on her head are exactly like Alise Kochamma s . . . And so he calls me Alise.
He must be mad, I said.
Actually he is mostly drunk. But that s okay. Besides, I prefer Alise to Aishwarya! Alise said. It has a certain ring to it, don t you think?
That was how I came to meet Alise.
From the house a voice floated. Siddharth, I hope you are playing.
Alise raised her eyebrows.
What was tha