01 - The Jungle Book, Curated by Charlie Levine
Plot points by: Sutapa Biswas, Rose van Mierlo, Sameer Kulavoor, Thomas Tsang, Gustavo S Ferro, John Ros, Vishwa Shroff, Tash Kahn and Katsushi Goto
Exhibited as part of SqW:Lab, Mumbai, March 2019

Charlie Levine - This is one of the foolish tales they tell under the big tree at dusk.

Sutapa Biswas - “How little! How naked, and - how bold!” said Mother Wolf softly. “...Now, was there ever a wolf that could boast of a man’s cub among her children?”

Rose van Mierlo - By Red Flower Bagheera meant fire, only no creature in the Jungle will call fire by its proper name. Every beast lives in deadly fear of it, and invents a hundred ways of describing it.

Sameer Kulavoor - The monkeys leaped higher up the walls; they clung round the necks of the big stone idols and shrieked as they skipped along the battlements, while Mowgli, dancing in the summer-house, put his eye to the screenwork and hooted owl-fashion between his front teeth, to show his derision and contempt.

Thomas Tsang - So as soon as Messua pronounced a word Mowgli would imitate it almost perfectly, and before dark he had learned the names of many things in the hut.

Gustavo S Ferro - Shere Khan needed no more trampling. He was dead and the kites were coming for him already.

John Ros - That autumn he left the beach as soon as he could, and set off alone because of a notion in his bullet-head. He was going to find Sea Cow, if there was such a person in the sea, and he was going to find a quiet island with good firm beached for seals to live on, where men could not get at them.

Vishwa Shroff - Rikki-tikki listined. The house was as still as still, but he thought he could just catch the faintest scratch-scratch in the world - a noise as faint as that of a wasp walking on a window-pane - the dry scratch of a snake’s scales on brickwork.

Tash Kahn - The air was full of all the night noises that, taken together, make one big silence - the click of one bamboo-stem against the other, the rustle of something alive in the undergrowth, the scratch and squawk of a half-waked bird (birds are awake in the night much more often than we imagine), and the fall of water ever so far away. Little Toomai slept for some time, and when he waked it was brilliant moonlight, and Kala Nag was still standing up with his ears cocked.

Katsushi Goto - That line grew and grew till it was three-quarters of a mile long from wing to wing - one solid wall of men, horses, and guns.