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 Anya 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 Anya 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. The thought of what mother would say added fear to her sense of loss. She had to hide the jacket someplace no one would find it. 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 brought the jacket with the dreadful hole to her mother. She expected to be scolded, maybe even smacked, but mom just looked seriously at the jacket and then at her.

A couple of days later, mother came into Anya’s 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.

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 bends more inside 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. Imagine 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 continued to hold him and stroke his hair, Vivan closed his eyes and squeezed the tears out. Just before he opened them again, he could imagine Aryan telling his own mother, “But I am not all those things, mom!”