Born Behind Bars

by Padma Venkatraman

  We walk in through doors unlocked before us and locked again behind us.

  Clanging metal and squeaking keys make me feel jumpy. Thatha must sense this, because his hand squeezes mine just a little tighter.

  Tanvi Ma’am talks to a bunch of policemen, and their voices blur like ocean waves, because all I want to hear is Amma’s soft voice again. Everything fades except the thump of my heart as we sit in cold metal chairs and wait.

  And then, there she is, Amma, wearing the widest smile I’ve ever seen; there she is, with Grandma Knife right behind her, saying in her rusty voice, “I thought I heard you promise your amma that once you left, you’d never return to jail?”

  My movements are jerky as I stand up. I’m too confused to reply, but then Amma chimes in, “Some promises should be broken.”

  Suddenly I’m caught inside the circle of Amma’s arms. I’m shouting, “Amma, Amma, Amma!” and no one tells me to stop.

  Amma starts bawling, and I do too. I don’t know why, though, because it’s the best moment of my life.

  But then I hiccup, and she starts hiccupping with laughter, and we’re laughing when we break off our hug, though we’re still holding hands.

  “Well, I must say,” Grandma Knife cuts in, “I’m pretty impressed you managed to get your mother out so fast.”

  “Your tips helped me out of some really tough spots,” I tell her. “Especially the one about chucking stuff at people you can’t trust.”

  “Ai,” she says. “That’s a good one.”

  I laugh. “How are Aunty Cloud and Mouse Girl?”

  Amma looks confused, but Grandma Knife catches on right away.

  “Aunty who and who? Don’t explain, boy, I know just what you mean.” Grandma Knife laughs so hard, tears wriggle down her cheeks. “What secret nickname did you give me?”

  “Grandma Knife,” I admit. Amma gasps, but my real grandparents find this as funny as Grandma Knife does.

  “All this while I thought you were such a sweet boy.” Grandma Knife wipes her eyes. “Aunty Cloud, as you call her, got her day in court, and they let her out. She’s living with her eldest son—I just heard from her. As for Mouse Girl, I’m doing my best to keep her from turning into a Rat Girl, poor thing.”

  “Grandma Knife,” I say, “when I grow up, I’m going to become a lawyer and help you get out too, okay?”

  “Never mind me, boy.” Grandma Knife gets all serious. “All I need to keep going is the sight of you two leaving together.”

  “Well, here’s something else to keep you going—some fruit for you, and sweets for my friend Malli.” I give Grandma Knife two packages. “Can you get it to her?”

  “Of course.”

  Knowing Grandma Knife is going back to her cell saddens me, even though she acts as if it’s fine. I know the world isn’t perfect—inside jail and outside it. But I thought this day would be.

  “Don’t you be upset, Kabir.” Grandma Knife waves jauntily as if she’s the one leaving jail. “In here, with a roof over my head and food in my stomach, is a good place for my body to stay, knowing you two are out there praying for my soul—if I actually have one.”

  After Grandma Knife leaves, Thatha and Patti introduce themselves to Amma.

  Amma presses her hands together and bows. She stammers her thanks to them.

  Amma and Patti and Thatha are smiling nervously at one another and standing sort of together but also sort of awkwardly apart. And I know what’s missing: me. I’m like a missing puzzle piece they need, the piece that will make everything else fall into place.

  My chest feels tight, as if my heart has suddenly grown huge. I stare at the three of them.

  My family. My family is together, though not exactly the way I’d imagined it.

  I feel a pinch of sadness in my heart because my father isn’t with us. But my world is also a whole lot bigger than I could have ever imagined, because now it holds Rani and Jay and Lakshman and my grandparents inside. So much good that I didn’t even know about.

  Best of all, Amma is free—free to turn her back on this building forever, free to live outside with me.

  “Ready to go home?” Tanvi Ma’am asks, and she leads the way out.

  As my family steps into the dazzling sunshine, I start to sing the happiest song I can think of.

  Amma joins me. Her voice is trembly, so I say, “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not,” she says. “I’m not worried at all.”

  We hold hands and start singing again. Our voices are stronger than ever—and together they climb right up into the wide-open sky.

  Author’s Note

  This novel is inspired in part by a BBC news report I read nearly a decade ago, in 2013 (www.bbc.com/news/av/world-asia-22677788). These facts embedded themselves in my mind: A boy had been born in jail, and when he was set free, he fought to free his mother, who had languished in jail without a trial because she was too poor to post bail. The seeds of two characters had been planted, and they grew into their own, bringing with them a story whose roots reached into the story of my friend Indira, from the Roma community. The details about the Roma community provided in this novel are based on information Indira shared with me and my mother, who volunteered to help at the Kuravar Patashalai (School for Roma Children) in Chennai when I was a child. I also read books and articles on the Roma community of India.

  In addition, I read books and articles on jails in India, visited a prison, and spoke to people who worked with inmates. I named Kabir’s teacher Bedi Ma’am in honor of Kiran Bedi, a social activist who greatly improved the conditions of prisoners in Tihar Jail in India. In the United States, there are many organizations working to help those who are incarcerated or who have an incarcerated relative, such as Poetic Justice (poeticjustice.org) and CLiF (clifonline.org/literacy-programs/children-of-prison-inmates), which undertake projects that involve books and reading. The Innocence Project (innocenceproject.org) seeks to overturn wrongful convictions, and the Equal Justice Initiative (eji.org) works hard for children’s rights and to keep children from being imprisoned, because this is another shocking human rights abuse that occurs in our nation and across the world.

  Unfortunately, inequities and injustices continue to be perpetrated against incarcerated people in our nation and across the world. For instance, arrested people can be sent to jail, but they’re supposed to be tried in court soon after. Only criminals who are proven guilty are supposed to serve long sentences in prison. In India, as in the case of Kabir’s amma in the novel, people who belong to socioeconomically oppressed groups are far more likely to suffer police brutality and may even end up serving more time in jail as “undertrials” (those who are being held although they have never had a chance to argue their cases in court) than if they were prosecuted for the crimes for which they are accused. In India, police distrust is common among people considered to be “low-caste” because of corruption, cruelty, and police brutality against low-income and low-caste people. In the United States, people who are Black are far more likely to be subjected to police brutality and also to be wrongfully convicted. I first learned about anti-Black prejudice in our criminal justice system while analyzing statistics in a categorical data analysis class taught by Professor Bob Diaz decades ago, but unfortunately this terrible injustice continues today.

  Water is one of our most precious resources, and regardless of where we live, we should take steps to conserve it (epa.gov/watersense/watersense-kids). Due to climate change crises, water scarcity is increasingly common in the United States and elsewhere. In India, droughts have been more severe in the recent past, and people in the crowded city of Chennai frequently face water shortages. Disputes arise, tension builds, and sometimes, violence erupts (cnn.com/2016/09/13/asia/india-water-dispute).

  I’ve seen and experienced hatred and prejudice firsthand in each of the five countries where I’ve lived.
But I’ve also rejoiced in love and friendship in each of these countries. I hope Kabir’s story will engender compassion and empathy, raise important questions about how we might choose to act peacefully to change ourselves and our society, and help to shape a better future for our world, no matter where we live.

  Acknowledgments

  My career as a writer would not be the same without certain people. First and foremost, my editor, Nancy Paulsen, and my agent, Rob Weisbach. Nancy is brilliant and insightful. I’m immensely fortunate to have a legendary editor who believes in me and my work. Rob sees my first drafts when they’re as amorphous as amoebae, and yet never refuses to read anything I send him. He’s always ready to make me laugh and always willing to listen. And my speaking agency, The Author Village, is amazing.

  I’ve long admired Pernille Ripp’s dedication, perseverance, and commitment; my gratitude knew no bounds when she welcomed me into the Global Read Aloud community.

  If you’re one of the readers who asked what happened to the characters from The Bridge Home, you’ll know I’ve kept my promise to give one of them a guest appearance in this novel. And whether you’re a first-time reader of my work or not, my sincere thanks to you for picking up my book.

  Deepest appreciation to those who helped strengthen my research by sharing insights from their experiences teaching in prisons, arranging for feedback from those who have served time, providing comments, or allowing me to glimpse prison life and meet people who were incarcerated: Mr. Ako Mutota and Mrs. Fanta Mutota, Ms. Chandra, Ms. Cheryl Ann Quamina-Baptiste, Ms. Dede Fox, and Ms. Tanvi Suresh. I’ve had the honor of learning from Dr. Bernard Lafayette about his efforts to share Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s nonviolence principles with people who were incarcerated, and hearing Ms. Beth Roan share her experiences teaching in correctional facilities. All this surely fed into my work.

  Friends and family took time off their busy schedules to serve as beta readers and specifically to look at my portrayal of Muslim characters, including Dr. Uma Ali and Mr. Hyder Ali, Mr. Datoobhoy and Mrs. Rehana Datoobhoy, Dr. Kasseim Muhammad Jacobs, and Dr. Ulrike Lohmann. I can’t express how much that meant to me. Sincere appreciation to Armin Arethna, Phil Bildner, Steven Bickmore, Victoria Coe, Leah Henderson, Saadia Faruqui, Sarah J. Donovan, Laurie Rothenberg, and Elly Swartz.

  Thanks to Sara LaFleur for her patience and willingness to always assist. Gratitude to Venessa Carson, Carmela Iaria, Trevor Ingerson, Summer Ogata, and Rachel Wease for their enthusiastic support of my work over the years, to Jennifer Bricking for the cover, to the copyeditors, and to everyone else who worked so hard to bring this book to life.

  Last but not least, as COVID-19 continues to restrict our movement, I am happier than ever to spend time with my husband and daughter, whose steadfast encouragement and kindness keep me going. You’re always there to assist me in whatever way I need. I wouldn’t be the same writer if it weren’t for you both.

  About the Author

  Padma Venkatraman was born in India and became an American after living in five countries and working as an oceanographer. She also wrote The Bridge Home (Walter Award, Golden Kite Award, Global Read-Aloud), A Time to Dance (IBBY selection, ALA Notable), Island's End (CCBC Choice, South Asia Book Award), and Climbing the Stairs (ALA/Amelia Bloomer List, Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People). She lives in Rhode Island.

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