Safe Harbor

An uplifting novel in verse about an immigrant girl adjusting to life in the US through her love of nature, music, and poetry, by the award-winning author of When Geetha and her mom move from India to Rhode Island after her parents’ divorce, they leave everything Geetha loves behind--her family, her friends, her dog, and all that’s familiar. As if that’s not hard enough, Geetha is bullied at her new school for her clothes, her food, and her English (who knew so many English words could be spelled or pronounced differently in the US--or just <be< altogether different!). She finds some solace in playing her flute and writing poetry, and even more when she meets Miguel, a kid with whom she has a lot in common, and the two of them help rescue an injured harp seal stranded on the beach. But Geetha can feel her anger building over lots of things--careless people who pollute the sea and hurt animals, and her mom for making her move. She’s never been so sad and angry. She can see a lot of her fears mirrored in the injured seal when she visits it at the Marine Mammal Rehabilitation Center, and this broadens her understanding of survival skills. And when she and Miguel start a beach-clean-up venture, she’s surprised to find how many kind kids are out there. Geetha is torn as the time comes to let the seal go, knowing she’ll miss him, but wanting the best for him. She’s learning to live with mixed feelings and accept that while there will always be rough waters, there are plenty of safe harbors too.

Auteur
Padma Venkatraman (padmavenkatraman.com) was born in India and became an American after living in five countries and working as an oceanographer. She also wrote Born Behind Bars (South Asia Book Award, Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People), 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.

Échantillon de lecture
*Our Dreams

• “Geetha, we’re almost there,” my mother whispers. I
  scowl (because she woke me up)
  wiggle (because the cramped airplane seat won’t let me stretch)
  yawn (because I feel like I only just fell asleep).

In my dream
(which burst when Amma’s voice poked it)
we were still in India.

In my dream
I was a famous musician
playing my bamboo flute at the Music Academy,
playing powerfully enough
to move my packed audience to stillness
before thunderclaps of applause rose
to the vaulted ceiling and my father
strode onstage and clasped me in his arms
because I’d brought him back to us
through my music’s magic.

In reality
I’m slumped in stale airplane air,
my ears popping like dosai flour on a hot griddle
as the plane drops down, down low,
landing

in my mother’s dream.

• Three Years Before We Moved Across Oceans*

My mother said she and my father grew apart
as if they were two branches on the same tree,
bending in different directions.

Truth: Angry storms blew apart
our family tree.

That’s why
only Amma and I flew to America.
Appa stayed behind, in India.

Now that the two of us are so far away from him,
I should stop imagining my parents
will somehow get back together.

But I guess hope is a cork that never stops bobbing
on the waves of life’s ocean.

• Welcome to America*
  
  My mother’s sister, Kamali Chithi,
  and her husband, Payya Chithappa,
  are waiting in the airport with welcoming hugs.
  Let me take that. Payya Chithappa tries to lessen my load.
  I tussle with him, clinging to my backpack, although
  I’m so tired, I could fall asleep standing up
  in spite of the clackety carts, clickety shoes,
  chattering voices.
  I’m sure I can trust my uncle, but I want to hold
  my old moss--green backpack tight
  because my fragile bamboo flute is inside.

  Welcome to the land of the free!
  Payya Chithappa shrugs,
  lets my backpack go, and leaves
  me to carry my burden on my own.

  Empty Apartment
  *
  Isn’t this great? my aunt exclaims as we
  walk into our new place.
  I trudge through the poky kitchen,
  two tiny bedrooms with a bathroom squished in between,
  and something my aunt calls the *family room,
  although most of our family is in India!
  I feel further from home than ever before.
  I squint out a grimy window
  at the squat gray buildings, crouching&#160;
  like a flock of pigeons
  on a narrow gray street below a dull gray sky.

  My uncle cranks open a window, and tangy sea air
  whooshes in, making my skin tingle.

• Isn’t it nice, Geetha? Our new home?*
  Amma’s eyes sparkle.

• Yes! I say real loud. *Yes! I repeat
  as if shouting something
  more than once can make it true.

  Traveling Heavy
  
  My aunt and uncle have filled up our
  super-tall American fridge with
  super-big American fruits and vegetables.
  Now we have butter instead of ghee,
  cheese slices instead of paneer cubes,
  milk in cartons, not bottles, and a container of
  butter pecan ice cream—a flavor I’ve never heard of.
  After they hug us goodbye,
  saying, Call us if you need anything, see you soon,
  we eat and unpack.
  Then I go straight to bed,
  where I lie awake thinking of all
  I couldn’t carry with me:

  Our tall tamarind tree
  with its sweet fruit and shady canopy
  under which I felt safe.

The room lined with shelves full of books
that I loved to touch and smell and read and reread.
Books full of stories and poetry and
facts about animals and nature.
I wanted to bring my favorites with me, but Amma said,
*Sorry. We can only bring what we really need, Geetha.

• She kept taking books out of my bag and
  I kept sneaking them back in, till finally
  she hugged me close and said,
  There are weight limits on what we can carry.
  But there’s no limit on how much
  you can dream for in America.
  There, if you work hard enough, you can
  *be anyone you want, do anything you want.
• So I packed light
  and we flew across the sea
  with my little suitcase, my old backpack,
  and my weighty heart.