Woohoo Folks!
We are on our fourth edition of Sara’s Selections. Ms Sara has again brought us a wealth of young writers, writing from all over the world on multiple issues. Sometimes it is amazing to see how they think… and also give us a fresh perspective… And now let me hand over the collection to Ms Sara.
Poetry
Hi there friends, Sara here. Fifteen year old Varisha Rehman from Delhi, giving us the just the right dose of it in this message to a girl.
This is for the girl
This is for the girl
Who only wanted to be loved,
Shone like a pearl
And moved like a dove.
This is for the girl
Who was like a queen,
She ruled her world with everything.
This is for the girl
Who wrote words no one heard,
A pen was her sword
A paper was her shield.
Here is a message to this girl
Life has a funny way to teach us,
Live your life without a grudge
Live the life, you love.
Just be yourself. Because…
Life is too short to be someone else.
Nine-year-old Diya Sheth from Ahmedabad brings us some furry love in this adorable poem.
My Pet
One day I thought how pets love us a lot,
So I told my parents to bring me a dog.
Father said we can bring two birds,
Mommy said we can bring a turtle.
But still I argued for a dog,
My parents refused so I cried a lot.
On my 10th birthday my parents told me,
This time you will get a gift,
You wanted from the age of three.
I wondered what it will be. I was so excited for it,
My father gave a bow,
My mother brought a puppy.
I thanked my mother and father,
The dog’s name was Jimmy.
Now I play with him every day,
He protects me in every way.
We go on walk everyday,
I still thank my parents for my 10th birthday.
Nine-year-old Rohan Santhosh from Bangalore shares this adorable poem for his best friend.
My Best Friend
You are smart and kind
You can almost read my mind
You’re the first to notice when I’m blue
You have a 6th sense, it’s true.
You’re so intelligent and strong
You always tell me when I’m wrong.
Always alert and aware
When I need you, you are there.
I still remember the day at school,
So scared of the teachers looks,
I almost dropped all my books.
You noticed the slightest frown
You picked me up when I was down.
When I’m confused you help me decide,
Thanks for being by my side.
I always wished I had a brother,
But now I see, you are one…
Just from another mother!
Stories
Eight-year-old Navoneer Bhattacharyya from Kolkata writes of the most amazing conversation with Lord Ganesha.
When Lord Ganesha cancelled his birthday party…
And we were off to bed. But neither I nor my elder brother could sleep as we were a bit upset. Next day was Ganesh Chaturthi, the celebration of the elephant headed god’s rebirth, but due to COVID we could not go for pandal ( temporary structures set up to jubilate the festive occasion) hopping.
Nearly half-an-hour had passed when we heard a mouse squeak. We looked out and to our greatest surprise, what did we see there?
Lord Ganesha on his mouse was standing right outside our house!
“Lord Ganesha,” squeaked the mouse, “You said some kids are sad in this house so we have come here!”
“Yes you are right, we have come to meet them.”
My elder brother suggested that we should invite them to come in. So I opened the door and said humbly, “Oh Lord Ganesha, we would be honoured if you could step in our house and spend some time with us.”
He agreed and came in. We offered them some of his favourite sweets, modak and laddu. After having that he asked us, “Now tell me why all of you are so sad?”
I said,”Lord Ganesha, the Coronavirus is like the demon, Mahishashura. It is spreading death and sadness all over the world.”
“See here in Mumbai too, we cannot go for pandal hopping on our favourite festival, Ganesh Chaturthi.” said my elder brother.
Again I said, “Dear Lord, we all are terrified. Our life has come to standstill, we cannot have guests in our house. We cannot go anywhere; we cannot play with our friends; we cannot even go to school.”
Lord Ganesha listened to us very attentively and then he nodded his head and said, “My dear friends, I can understand your pain. But tell me one thing — is there no light of hope? I know doctors, scientists and lot of others are working day and night to protect the human race from this killer. But to defeat this deadly virus is not so easy. We Gods are also supporting these great warriors and patiently waiting for something positive to come out.”
He paused, took a deep breath and then again he said, “Us Gods are cancelling the celebration of our birthdays on earth just to protect mankind. Please, try to understand. If you want to overcome this hardship and again happily want to celebrate my birthday in future, then this year you need to sacrifice your festival enjoyment and be a little patient till my next birthday comes.”
I said, “Lord Ganesha, I know how it feels when birthday celebrations are cancelled as mine got cancelled this year too. But yes, you are right. We should be patient.”
Lord Ganesha smiled and said, “Hope you understood that it is time for Gods and humans to team up against the deadly virus and throw it out. Now all of you give me a big smile and a big hug.”
Then he left with his carrier and we bid them goodbye.
We all found that suddenly our sadness had gone and our minds had become light.
We looked into the sky and said, “Thank you Lord Ganesha. We love you a lot. Happy Birthday.”
This haunting piece by Aashvi Rajani from Ahmedabad is a beautiful example of what thirteen-year-olds can do. While most of us are fussing over missing our birthdayday parties and gifts, here is a story to showcase reality of a different kind.
An Unforgettable Birthday
Raheema’s typical day would begin with mopping their home in Kabul and end with her burying herself under heaps of assignments. But today was not a regular day, Raheema Jan would be thirteen today. It was a significant day. Under no circumstances could her parents afford an enormous celebration, but Raheema didn’t mind this, as long as Baba would be with her. Baba would be her shadow, against all odds.
“Are you ready Raheema Jan?” Baba questioned in a silvery tone, standing beside the flimsy door.
“In a minute!” She replied as she sprinted to pick up her book.
Raheema had picked up the skill of reading since she was five, yet hearing her father narrate a story was one of the most congenial things to her. He cleared his throat dramatically, and began, “I became…”
Baba’s eloquent storytelling came to a halt when Raheema spotted a figure hurtling towards them.
“What happened?” Baba’s hazel eyes narrowed as he saw Khalil gasping for breath.
“They are looking for you Agha, it’s urgent.”
His eyes laid on Raheema, she flashed a priceless smile that made him feel sorry for her. He crouched down and asked in a whisper, “Shall I go?”
She reluctantly nodded.
When Baba departed, Raheema locked herself in the washroom and unwillingly broke into sobs. Soon she was shuddering. Mâmâm interrupted her by banging the door. “Come out, Mariam is here to wish you!”
Carefully, she wiped her tears and prepared to be just the buoyant girl she was
expected to be.
“Happy Birthday!” Mariam beamed. Enthusiastically, she dragged Raheema out and began babbling. Baba kept crawling back to Raheema’s mind, despite her attempts to pay attention. Were they harassing him?
Mâmâm barged in to inform Raheema that she had to pay a visit to Akmal Agha’s mansion, and Raheema should return home. Obediently, the girl nodded.
“What’s going on Raheema? Is everything okay?” Mariam questioned. Initially, Raheema decided against revealing anything, but it was too much for her. And so, she confessed it all. She narrated how Baba was responsible for Akmal Agha’s residence, how the gangsters had an eye on it, how Baba had refused to sacrifice his integrity for them, how they had been receiving appalling threats.
Mariam gently embraced Raheema, who was now weeping. “Don’t—”
The air shattered and they heard a roaring crack, then, absolute stillness. Raheema darted to the street like a whirlwind, oblivion to all the eyes gaping at her. She was terrified to the thought of what happened. No, Baba wouldn’t leave her. She was his Shāhdaught, his princess.
What she saw at the end of the street was something she will never forget. Baba on his knees, soil smeared on his kameez. Alive. His hands were folded, tears rolling down his cheeks. A man in front flashed a lopsided grin and said, “You are fortunate because I will let you go this time.” His hoarse voice sounded like a melody to Raheema at the time. To her surprise, she was weeping as Baba dashed towards her.
Never did Baba’s embrace console her more. That was when she found herself detached from everyone but her Pādīshāh, Baba.
How can you play a good host to wild animals in your house? What a scenario to think of! Here is a very unique and empathetic story by nine-year-old Eric Johan from Chennai. Welcome to his world of creativity!
My Wild Home
One fine morning, I woke up and saw my bedroom full of wild animals.
I was surprised on seeing all the animals talking. A lion stood before me and said, “Do you have any animals to eat?”
I replied, “I don’t have any.” I saw the lion roared in great hunger and went away.
Then a big crocodile of twenty feet length came near me and asked, “Do you have any meat to eat?” I replied saying, “No.” Then the big crocodile went away.
Next a tall giraffe looked at me and asked, “Do you have any grass to eat?”
I answered, “Yes, you can find grass behind my house, in the garden.” The giraffe and his friends went joyfully to have the grass in my garden, but the lion and his friends were sad.
Suddenly my dad rushed into the room with some delicious breakfast. It had my favourite roasted chicken. The lion and his friends saw it and asked me, “How many plates of meat do you have?”
I said, “ We have twelve plates”.
The lion asked, “Can I have nine of them?” I said, “Yes, of course, you can.”
Finally, the lion and his friends enjoyed the meat and went away happily. It was the most amazing morning ever.
Essays
Ten year old Shashwathi V from Bangalore would like us to think beyond one day and beyond a few popular names to understand better the meaning of independence.
Here is a much needed write up on the courageous queen and freedom fighter from Karnataka, Kittur Rani Chennamma.
Shashwathi V is a student of CMS NPR, Bangalore.
Kittur Rani Chennamma: Remembering one of the first female freedom fighters
On 15th August, our 74th Independence Day, my school asked us students to dress up as freedom fighters. I dressed up like “Kittur Rani Chennamma” for my class celebration online.
She is one of our greatest freedom fighters but to my surprise some of my friends did not know about her. So I thought I should write about her for my friends who do not know about her.
Kittur Rani Chennamma was born on 23 October 1778, in Kakati, a small village in the present Belagavi District of Karnataka, India. She learnt to ride horses, sword fighting and archery in her childhood. At the age of fourteen, she got married to Raja Mallasarja. She became the queen of Kittur. After her husband and only son died, she took over the kingdom and adopted a son but the British refused to accept her son.
The British tried to take over her kingdom thinking she would easily give up but she fought them in a war in which she won. The British, angered by the defeat, fought more wars in which despite her bravery she lost and was put in jail where she died.
Like Jhansi Rani, who came several years later, she made a mark on the country for her courage.
She was one of the first female freedom fighters to resist British colonization. She is a national heroine, well known in Karnataka and a symbol of the independence movement in India.
Here is one of the inspiring lines she said in response to the British demanding high-taxes, that people remember her best by:
“Why should I pay you tax (Nimageke kodabeku kappa)? Are you my brother, sister, relative or a friend?”
This moving piece by eleven-year-old Mehr Kapoor from Kolkata is for everyone who ever left behind their house, and a piece of their life in it. How there is an urge to capture every little moment spent there!
Walk down the memory lane
We walked through the garden one last time, knowing we’d never return to this house again. My family and I were moving to a better house this very day and while we took a stroll for the last time in this beautiful garden it brought up a lot of emotions.
I thought about the day I was running around the garden playing games with my friends, knowing I would never be able to do that again. I think the most difficult part of moving is giving up the garden because almost everything in a house could be packed up however a garden is the one thing that one cannot take with them. I looked at the cherry plant which I had grown on my own. I remember I was very proud that day because it was the first time I had ever planted something on my own. As I walked away, I thought about whether the next family that would stay here would even want a garden? Maybe they will build something in place of that, the thought disheartened me. I moved away from the garden and went inside the house.
I went inside and to my room for the very last time. I tried to absorb everything around me because I knew I would never see it again.
I went around every room in the house this way, for the last time.
Whatever the new family would change about this house, I shall never forget it and the eleven special years I spent in this house will be memories that I will cherish forever.
We live in a world flooded with endless images, spending so much time and effort spent in clicking, editing and publishing them. But is this how it always was and is this how it should be? Ten year old Hridi Talati from Vadodara raises and answers some of these important questions in her wonderful essay.
Photographs are Memories on Paper
And click! 5 years ago your mother just clicked a memorable photo of you in the summer. Now you are skimming across your mother’s pictures when a bright picture catches your eye, you click on it and go down a little trip in your memory lane and flashback to what happened 5 summers ago…
Clicking a photograph means that you want to preserve a moment till the end of time, and when you look at that old photograph again you feel exactly the way you did that day.
Each picture holds a powerful feeling, whether it is sadness or happiness, anger or relaxation, nostalgia or forgetfulness. A picture doesn’t have to be perfect to be memorable, it just has to be heart-felt.
I am personally not a fan of editing a picture to make it look like it is done by a professional. Why would you want to spoil a perfectly good and true photograph by adding false make- overs to it? It makes the photograph look a little too overdone, unless, of course, it needs the editing to make it look better.
A good memory is the most popular kind of picture because seeing it makes you feel pleased and happy. And so ,“When you think good thoughts, they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”- Roald Dahl.
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