By Dr Supriya Baijal
Introduction
Growing up in India, I never stumbled upon enchanted wardrobes or magical portals in the books I read. Instead, I found lively fables, moral lessons, and clever folk tales—often featuring talking animals, wily tricksters, or noble kings. Stories like those from the Panchatantra or Tinkle charmed me with vivid illustrations and memorable characters, but they rarely invited me to explore other worlds. Much of what I read felt rooted in everyday responsibilities, communal life, and moral instruction. When I later encountered British and American children’s fiction brimming with reckless adventures and magical escapades, I was struck not just by the presence of magic but by the sense of freedom these stories granted their child protagonists.
Where did that sense of boundless imagination come from? And why was it missing—or at least much rarer—in Indian children’s literature? This question goes beyond personal reading tastes. It points to a deeper inquiry: How does a culture define childhood, and how does that definition shape what children are allowed to imagine?
Childhood in the West: A Space for Wonder
In much of Western thought, particularly since the Enlightenment, childhood has come to be seen as a protected and imaginative phase of life. The child was understood to be innocent and curious, deserving of nurturing and creative exploration. This cultural framing laid the foundation for a thriving tradition of children’s fantasy fiction. Classics like Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan made it routine to celebrate a child’s wayward imagination, while more recent works, such as Harry Potter, built on that legacy, placing children at the centre of epic battles between good and evil.
Of course, early Western children’s literature also bore didactic tones—Little Women, for instance, is steeped in moral instruction. However, over time, fantasy emerged as a counter- current, providing children with a space to rebel, explore, and imagine otherwise.
These stories weren’t just amusements; they were vehicles for children to test boundaries, form identities, and rewrite the rules of their worlds. Even when these stories included moral or educational elements, they often reinforced a key idea: children deserved their adventures, free from the constraints of adults. Imagination wasn’t just a whimsical bonus—it was an essential part of becoming oneself.
Childhood in India: A Space of Embeddedness
By contrast, Indian childhoods have traditionally been interwoven with familial and communal responsibilities. While children across cultures face responsibilities, Indian childhoods often foreground duties to family and community from an early age — academic excellence, caregiving, or religious obligations are not seen as exceptional but expected. Imagination certainly exists—India is rich in myth, folklore, and epic tales—but it usually serves to convey moral or religious instruction. Texts like the Panchatantra and Jataka Tales are ingenious in their wit and wisdom, but their aim is often didactic, guiding children to be clever, prudent, and ethically sound.
In my childhood, I read stories about Tenali Raman and Birbal—smart, humorous characters who outwitted the proud or the greedy. I also loved Amar Chitra Katha, which adapted Indian mythology and historical figures into a comic-book format. These stories taught me lessons about morality, resourcefulness, and respect. Yet I rarely found narratives that said, “Break free of your world, challenge the status quo, or dream of alternate realities.”
Fragmented Literature, Consistent Expectations
One factor behind the relative scarcity of fantasy-driven literature in India is the country’s linguistic and regional diversity. What a child in Kerala grows up reading can be very different from what a child in Punjab sees. India’s rich linguistic and literary diversity has nurtured countless local traditions, but it has also made it challenging to develop a shared, nationwide market for children’s literature. Without a unified publishing ecosystem, genre-building—especially in a resource-intensive genre like fantasy—has remained scattered and inconsistent. Moreover, publishing for children has historically been tied to educational goals. Books were expected to foster good behaviour, teach moral values, and reflect cultural traditions.
Another element is parental and societal expectations. While Western narratives might romanticise childhood as a period of playful exploration, Indian narratives often see it as a training ground. The child is a future adult responsible for carrying on family or community duties. The line between “fun” and “productive learning” is frequently blurred, which can discourage purely imaginative storytelling.
This isn’t to say Indian children’s literature is devoid of creativity. Our oral traditions, folklore, and mythic epics are rich in imaginative tales. But these tales often come packaged as moral or religious instruction, preserving social norms rather than subverting them. They delight but within a framework that values conformity, family harmony, and social cohesion.
A Tale of Two Worlds: Feluda vs. Artemis Fowl
To illustrate how cultural assumptions influence children’s stories, compare two detective protagonists: Feluda, by Satyajit Ray, and Artemis Fowl, by Eoin Colfer. Both are young, intelligent and solve mysteries—but their styles differ drastically. Feluda operates in a realistic setting, guided by ethical principles and logical deduction. He’s clever, but he rarely challenges the moral fabric of his world. The focus is on rational thinking and respect for tradition.
Artemis Fowl, on the other hand, plunges into a fantastical underworld inhabited by fairies, dwarfs, and elves. He starts off as a borderline villain, manipulating magical creatures for personal gain. The series evolves into a chaotic blend of technology, magic, and moral ambiguity, giving readers the sense that anything can happen. Where Feluda’s reasoning mirrors the adult notion of a “good child,” Artemis Fowl invites young readers to flirt with moral risk, to break the rules, and to see themselves as powerful agents in rewriting their own stories.
Neither approach is inherently superior. But the contrast reveals two profoundly different ideas of what it means to be a child. One fosters mastery of the existing order; the other embraces the possibility of overturning it.
The Politics of Imagination
Fantasy isn’t just about wizards or dragons—it’s about the freedom to question, create, and reinvent. In cultures where children are expected to conform, a robust fantasy tradition can offer a rare space for resistance. The comparative paucity of radical, rule-breaking fantasy in Indian children’s literature underscores deeper concerns about order, respect, and communal harmony. This isn’t a question of right or wrong—but of what kinds of freedom different cultures choose to prioritise in their stories.
This doesn’t mean Indian children don’t dream. But the stories presented to them often channel their imagination in ways that reinforce social norms rather than subvert them. Western tales might say, “Imagination can disrupt the status quo,” while Indian tales more often say, “Imagination can help you navigate it wisely.”
Looking Ahead: New Waves of Imagination
Thankfully, change is underway. Contemporary Indian publishers like Tulika, Duckbill, and Ektara experiment with whimsical, inclusive narratives that place children’s perspectives at the centre. Authors are reimagining mythology, blending old stories with futuristic or magical elements. Books like And That Is Why… Manipuri Myths Retold by L. Somi Roy and Dakshin: South Indian Myths and Fables Retold by Nitin Kushalappa de la Har bring regional myths and folktales to the fore, making space for lesser-known traditions in the children’s literary landscape. Online platforms like Pratham’s StoryWeaver and self-publishing have made it easier for niche genres—like Indian fantasy—to reach readers directly. Slowly, these works are challenging the idea that children’s literature must always be instructive.
There’s also a budding community of writers who fuse Indian lore with outright fantasy, reminiscent of the way Rick Riordan combines Greek gods with modern adolescent life. Dhruva Chak’s Wizard’s Winter offers an epic fantasy featuring dwarfs, kingdoms, and wizards in a richly imagined Indian setting, while his Wandering Through Unlikely Worlds explores surreal, myth-inflected spaces. Amish Tripathi’s Shiva Trilogy, though aimed at older readers, reworks Indian mythology through a fast-paced, mythopoeic lens. This hybrid approach may open doors for children to see their cultural heritage as a springboard for infinite creative possibilities, not just a repository of moral lessons.
Conclusion: Dreaming Otherwise
Why don’t we dream like that? Perhaps because our cultural priorities and social structures have historically left little room for unbridled exploration. We’ve prized responsibility, decorum, and tradition in our literary heritage—values that have shaped the stories we tell our children.
Yet imagination is a powerful force. It can expand horizons, challenge norms, and enable children to see themselves as active participants in shaping their world. By asking what we let children imagine, we reveal our broader cultural commitments. And if we find them too restrictive, we have an opportunity to transform them. Of course, neither tradition is monolithic—Western literature features its share of moral lessons, just as Indian storytelling holds deep reservoirs of subversion and whimsy. Still, the balance between imagination and instruction has historically tilted differently in each context, shaping how children engage with the world.
In rethinking how we write for children, we aren’t just deciding the fate of a few fantastical tales—we’re shaping the possibilities of childhood itself. Perhaps it’s time to step through our portals, whether real or metaphorical, into a realm where Indian children aren’t just preparing for adulthood but discovering the wonder and wild potential of a dream unleashed.
By Dr Supriya Baijal
Bibliography:
Alcott, Louisa May. Little Women. Penguin Classics, 2007.
Amar Chitra Katha. Various titles. India Book House. https://www.amarchitrakatha.com/
Chak, Dhruva. Wizard’s Winter. Notion Press, 2017.Chak, Dhruva. Wandering Through Unlikely Worlds. Notion Press, 2018.
Colfer, Eoin. Artemis Fowl. Viking Press, 2001.
Duckbill Books. Various titles. https://www.penguin.co.in/community/about-
us/publishing-divisions/childrens-publishing-2/duckbill/
Ektara Trust. Children’s Literature Titles. https://www.ektaraindia.in/
Kushalappa de la Har, Nitin. Dakshin: South Indian Myths and Fables Retold. Puffin, 2023.
Murthy, C. L. L. Tales of Tenali Raman. Children’s Book Trust, 2005.
Panchatantra. Translations and retellings. https://www.talesofpanchatantra.com/short-
stories-for-kids
Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. Hodder & Stoughton, 1911.
Pratham Books. StoryWeaver platform. https://storyweaver.org.in
Ray, Satyajit. The Complete Adventures of Feluda. Penguin Books, 2004.
Riordan, Rick. Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Disney-Hyperion, 2005–2009
Roy, L. Somi. And That Is Why… Manipuri Myths Retold. Ponytale Books, 2021.
Tulika Books. Various titles. https://www.tulikabooks.com/
Tripathi, Amish. Shiva Trilogy. Westland Books, 2010–2013.
“The Museum of Childhood Ireland is delighted to present “Why We Don’t Dream Like That: Rethinking Childhood and Fantasy in India” by our Literature Team Member Dr Supriya Baijal as part of our ongoing commitment to exploring diverse childhood experiences across cultures and time periods.
At the heart of our museum lies the understanding that childhood is a culturally constructed phase of life that varies dramatically across societies and eras. Supriya’s thoughtful, personal exploration of Indian children’s literature and its approach to fantasy, imagination, and moral instruction aligns with our goal of examining how cultures conceptualise childhood and create spaces (or limitations) for children’s creative expression.
By examining the contrasts between Western and Indian literary traditions for young readers, this piece invites us to question our assumptions about what childhood is, could, or should be, and how our stories shape children’s understanding of their place in society. As a museum dedicated to exploring and celebrating childhood heritage and narratives, we see Supriya’s article as offering valuable insight into how cultural values influence the stories we tell our children and, ultimately, the adults they become.
We invite you to approach this article as an opportunity to reflect upon and appreciate how childhood is imagined across cultures, reflecting deeper social values about family, community, individuality, and imagination.” MCI