The Many Shades of Emotions

I looked in the mirror one last time. My hairstyle looked good. The new gel is doing the job it promised, I thought to myself.

I didn’t realize that Kiran, my little sister, was in my room and watching me. When our eyes met, she ran her hands in her hair and twisted her body, exaggerating my pose. I chased her out of my room. Can’t I have any privacy in this house?

In school, I looked out for Anaira all day. She didn’t come to class. She wasn’t in the canteen at lunch break. Where was she? Had anything happened to her? These thoughts filled my head. I couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone else.

Not even Sid’s silly jokes could uplift my mood, and they were aplenty.

I saw Anaira as I stepped out of the music class. She was in the corridor, talking to someone. Just looking at her, it felt as if a load was lifted from my shoulders.

She smiled when she looked up and saw me. Her smile lit up the corridor. As I walked towards her, I felt I was walking on clouds.

Until I saw who she was with. It was Anshul - everyone’s favourite Head Boy!

She told me that her cycle was stolen in the morning, which was why she couldn’t come to classes on time. But Anshul had seen some young boys with her cycle and managed to get it back.

I didn’t hear the details. I just kept thinking why it wasn’t me who had found her cycle. Why did I sit in classes instead of finding out what was wrong? Why was Anshul always the hero?

On my way back, Sid joined me. We had plans to play basketball in the park. When I told him about Anaira’s cycle, he said it seemed all too convenient that Anshul happened to see the boys with the cycle. Too convenient!

It suddenly became clear to me. It had to be Anshul’s scheme to gain Anaira’s attention, like in old Hindi movies! Anshul is more than capable of such a stunt. What a scheming dog!

I ran back towards Anaira’s house to share this thought with her, hoping to see her before she went inside. I wanted to avoid her mother, who always looked at me as if I was a worm. Her father was different- kind and gentle, though he was a famous lawyer. I looked up to him and wanted to be like him when he grew up.

When I saw Anaira, she was standing with Shalini outside her house. I wanted to tell her what I had realized about Anshul, but suddenly felt awkward. What if I was wrong? What proof did I have? What if she thought I was the one scheming to make Anshul look bad?

As I stood there staring at them tongue tied, Shalini started laughing. I felt like a fool and wished I had never come there.

Anaira hushed Shalini and came towards me, still holding her cycle. She asked me if she could borrow my notes for today’s classes that she had missed, adding that I had the best notes in the class. Best Notes!

I took out my notebooks and handed them to her, without saying a word. I didn’t mention Anshul and my suspicions to her.  He just wasn’t important in that moment.

As I walked back towards where Sid was waiting for me, I felt that the world was beautiful again!

Note: I wrote this story to talk about emotions to a group of young men, who believed there were only three emotions- happy, sad and angry. This story demonstrates several shades of these basic emotions including Pleased, Irritated, Anxious, Miserable, Relieved, Elated, Disappointed, Jealous, Furious, Inspired, Shy, Embarrassed, Proud, and Joyful. 

The Clever Mouse Meets his Match

This morning, I was sitting on my balcony and sipping tea. I could see my cat Lipi in the garden below.

It had been raining since last night. The garden was wet and muddy.

Lipi was trying to catch a mouse. The mouse was very clever. As soon as Lipi came near it, it would hide in the bushes. There was a big puddle in front of the bushes. The mouse was safe because Lipi was afraid of the puddle.

"Silly Lipi," I said to myself.  She was willing to get wet in the rain, but not in the puddle.

I continued to watch Lipi carefully. I saw her taking a few steps back towards the house. She then sprinted and leaped over the puddle and into the bushes. That was the end of the clever mouse.

She wasn’t a silly cat, after all!  My Lipi was as clever as the clever mouse, if not more!

Note: This story was written initially as a translation exercise for older students. It made a good reading activity for primary school students learning to read English using phonics because it has only 2 words that are irregular (bushes, since). It also has several words that can help revise phonics rules (leaped, sprinted, afraid, clever etc). And mostly because it is short! 

Upon reading it again, I realise that it can highlight the point about jumping to conclusions (pun unintended). 

A Gift for Suhani!

Madhavi was very sad. Suhani had invited Madhavi for her birthday party. But Madhavi didn’t have a gift for her. Her father had lost his job last month. She simply could not ask him for money for a gift. 

She decided she will not go to the party. “I will say I am not feeling well”, she thought to herself. But Suhani will feel very bad. They were best friends after all!

Lost in thoughts, Madhavi stepped out into her garden. Her mother was clearing the weeds in the garden. She saw Madhavi and asked her why she looked so sad. Madhavi kept quiet. Her mother cut a bunch of red and yellow Marigold flowers and asked Madhavi to put them in a flower vase. 

As Madhavi held the flowers in her hands, she got an idea!

She went inside her room. She picked up her favourite red and yellow ribbon and tied it around the flowers. She then placed the birthday card she had made for Suhani next to it. It looked like a beautiful gift!

Madhavi will be going to Suhani’s party tonight

Note: This story is inspired by a story written by my late father-in-law Sukumar Shankar, titled "The Ribbon". That story was also about a birthday gift and how a friend coincidentally found a lost favourite ribbon and used it to tie the birthday gift. 

My story has no happy coincidence. Its premise is simply about being creative with whatever resources one has.

Words that don't follow phonics rules: Month, decided, thoughts, favourite, beautiful

The Red Jacket

Anya was so happy in her new red jacket that her uncle had brought from Manali. “Anya, take off the jacket. You should wear it when winter sets in properly,” her mother said. But Anya kept it on. It was Diwali, and she wanted to look special.

All the children of the village had gathered in the flat ground in front of her house. The girls played with sparklers, while the boys were going crazy with noisy crackers. There was so much fun to be had that Anya got home later than her usual bed time.

As she took off her jacket, her heart nearly stopped. There was a round hole on the left side near the pocket. How could this happen? Maybe an ember flew off a sparkler and burnt this hole. 

Before she knew, tears had pooled in her eyes. Her beautiful jacket was ruined. And mother! She would be so angry. She had to hide the jacket someplace no one would find it. Where? Where? Under her mattress!

“Anya, wear the red jacket today. Your uncle will be so happy to see you in it,” mother said. “I don’t know where it is,” lied Anya, pretending to look for it. They were getting late, so the jacket was forgotten.

But mother had not forgotten. The next day, she called Anya to her room and asked her if she had given away the jacket to one of her friends. 

Anya was shocked. "How could mother think that? I love that jacket. I love my uncle. I would never give away a gift he gave me!" she thought to herself. 

She pulled out the red jacket from under her mattress and brought it to her mother. She expected to be scolded about the dreadful hole, maybe even smacked, but mom just looked seriously at the jacket and then at her.

A couple of days later, mother came into her room and handed her the jacket. 

Where there was a hole earlier was a beautiful embroidered flower in red and yellow. There was another similar flower on the right side of the jacket. The red jacket looked even prettier than before. 

Anya hugged her mother tightly, saying "thank you" over and over again.

Sometimes grown-ups have solutions that children like us can’t think of.

Note: This could easily have been a story about the perils of lying, but I stayed away from it. It is about creative solutions to seemingly untenable problems. It is about seeking help when lost. 

Words that don't follow phonics rules: Special, usual, flew, ruined, brought, couple

The beautiful illustrations are by Aradhya, a 12-year old friend of my daughter. 

But I am not all those things!

Vivan was livid. He had had a massive fight with Aryan during recess. He was still boiling with anger when he reached home. Even when his mother served his favourite meal of Rajama-Chawal, it didn’t elevate his mood.

“I absolutely hate Aryan. I am never going to play with him again!” he said when his mother asked him what was wrong. Mother was surprised. The two boys always played together, even during holidays.

“He is a cheat,” Vivan added. “You know why he always wins? Because he cheats all the time! When we play with marbles, he always takes one step closer than allowed. When we play hide and seek, he counts faster than all of us. And today, he insisted I got run-out when I had actually reached before the ball hit the wickets!”

“I thought you guys have an umpire to make such decisions,” mother said.

“Today everybody wanted to play, so there was no umpire. But I know I was not out. He just doesn’t listen, mom. Aryan is a cheat. And always so stubborn! He is no fun. I don’t ever want to play with him again!”

When she saw how distressed he was, mother gathered Vivan in her arms. She hugged him and stroked his hair. 

“I am sorry you feel so bad, Vivan. I want you to do something. Imagine for a moment that Aryan is with his mother right now. What do you think he is telling his mother about you right now?”, she asked gently.

Vivan was quiet for a while. Not that it was a tough question, but he didn't want to answer it. But mother insisted. 

“He must be saying that he doesn’t want to play with me anymore. That I am a bad player and a sore loser, no fun to play with,” Vivan said reluctantly.

“But I am not all those things, mom!”, Vivan added with tears in his eyes.

As mother nodded and murmured softly, Vivan closed his eyes and squeezed his tears out. Just before he opened them again, he could imagine Aryan telling his own mother, “But I am not all those things, mom!”

Note: This story is written to start a dialog with young children about perspective and empathy. I wanted to write a story that is not preachy, yet gets the point across, or at least gets children thinking about different perspectives of the same event. It is inspired by my own experience of explaining perspectives to my son when he was 8 years old.