The Barpali Days: Children Stories

Showing posts with label Children Stories. Show all posts

Mar 18, 2022

The Holi

While standing outside the boundary wall Tingalu shouted “Hari are you coming to play the colours or not”? Hari said haan bo going. Hari came out of his home while running, but said don’t have money to buy either the colourful gulal(colour powder), the colour concentrate or the pichkari(water gun).

Tingalu asked Hari to bring that discarded punctured cycle tyre that was hanging on the wall. On questioning, he said you just keep watching. Together they went to the end of the street. From the pocket of his half pant Tingalu took out one match box. Hari asked, afterall it is Holi, what is the use of a matchbox? Are you going to fire any crackers? It's not Diwali either. Tingalu said you budbak(stupid), just gather the dry sticks and leafs. Tingalu fired the leafs with a match stick and placed the cycle tyre on top of it. Hari felt suffocated, because of the bad fume that emitted out of it. Tingalu burnt the tyre until it turned to be black carbon. He collected the black carbon powder in a polythene and they headed for back home. Tingalu brought a small bottle of castor oil and mixed that with the carbon black powder to make a thick paste. Tingalu said here is our colour to play the Holi and swiped his both hands on the face of Hari. It was irritating and Hari checked his face on the mirror attached to the handle of a bike that was parked on the street. Hari was aghast as he could not recognise even his own face.

To pacify his own stand Tingalu said lets go and play the colours. Hari recalled he had to retaliate for an old issue with Bunty. He instigated Tingalu and together they headed towards his home. But at the chowk Bunty along with a couple of friends catapulted balloons filled with coloured water. Together they pushed Bunty and drenched him in the drain. Due to the onslaught of summer the drain was nearly dry. Anyhow Bunty managed to pull out himself from the drain with a patch of dirt on his buttocks.

When Bunty stood he was able to hear two girls laughing at him. He turned and felt embarrassed to see Swati and her saheli Amrita were giggling. Two of those girls came running with their pichkaris(water guns). Bunty lifted his both hands with a sense of surrender, but Amrita assured they did not intend to hurt him, instead wanted to help. Amrita went to the water tap and filled her plastic pichkari with water. She came back and asked Bunty to turn around. With her pichkari she gunned water on Bunty’s pants and washed the dirt. It was the onslaught of summer and the weather was dry with no moisture in the air. Bunty felt soothing when his body came in contact with water in the warm weather.

Amrita’s mother comes out of their home with a plate of sakkar pati sweets. It’s a special sweet that is made only once in the entire year and that is on the very day of Holi. She hands over two pieces of those sweets to Bunty. With wet hands, Bunty puts the sweet in his mouth and relishes its taste.

Whatsapp # +918249314972

kiranbima@gmail.com

E. Kiran Mohan(the writer) C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (M.D)

Main Road, Near SBI,

At/PO : Barpali-768029

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 0

Dec 20, 2018

Children Stories 10:46 AM

Monkey myhem

As such Barpali is a town where peace and tranquility prevailed over Centuries. Over here seldom we witness any crimes. But once a while, our town is invaded by foreign intruders. They are none other than gangs of monkeys who cause mayhem so long they campaign over here. These monkeys are of Rhesus macaque (Macaca mulatta) species which could be identified for their red faces. Basically these species of monkeys are aggressive by nature, even though smaller by physic as compare to their counterpart black faced monkeys of India.

When so ever they invade Barpali they go on a rampage at the vegetable market. They loot vegetables be it brinjals, cabbages, cauliflowers, beans and so on which are stockpiled openly on the ground. They even snatch away the polythene bags from our hands while we carry fruits. That apart those primates invade the narrow streets of Barpali. They target each individual homes and loots whatever eatable they can snatch in the broad daylight.

At home we got plenty of fruit trees. Each of them bear fruits as per their season. Be it guava, berries, mulberry, mangoes and custard apple. And these monkeys raid our residential complex. Seldom we the family members ever get aware when so ever they enter the complex as each of us are preoccupied with our own work. It is always our two pets Dany and Diana who raise the alarm by barking loudly near the trees. When so ever they bark for couple of minutes while leaving apart her daily household errands, my mother goes to the lawn to check what the issue is. My mother yells at these monkeys but seldom do they pay any heed to her. Every summer those raucous monkeys destroy the raw mangoes. I would not be hurt so much only if they eat them. But instead they drop half eaten fruits on the ground, because these are freebee for them. Neither I nor any other birds could eat such touched fruits.

The felony of these monkeys does not end here. Once a while, they do surgical strike in our residential complex. When so ever they invade our house they mostly leap from the zizaphus tree to asbestos of the shed. One afternoon when Daina barked I went to drive away the monkeys while carrying a stick. I was helpless as my stick could not reach the height where they were at. When I waved my hand one of the elderly monkey showed its teeth as if it wants to bite me. In the meanwhile a youngster was started jumping with aplomb. It hanged on the aluminium wire where the wet clothes were dried. I was worried as it was leaping on my new red colour underwear that I had purchased by paying 150 INR. When I ran towards the baby it jumped away while carrying the red under garment. All the monkeys jumped outside the wall. I went to the backstreet to chase the prankster. I found few children of the street jumping, pointing their fingers and shouting “a mankad, a mankad…..khoo….. khoo”. I was helpless as the youngster was on top of a house while holding my underwear in its mouth. It would have been an embarrassing situation if I shout at the young monkey, so I returned home losing yet another possession of material life.

kiranbima@gmail.com

WhatsApp# +918249314972

http://barpalidays.blogspot.in/p/ekiran-mohan.html

E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (M.D)

Main Road, Near SBI,

At/PO : Barpali-768029

Dist.Bargarh,Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 4

Mar 19, 2017

Children Stories 9:42 PM

Tiranga fur, furh, furhhh……..

These days our patriotism is restricted only to sharing the image of the National Flag either in Facebook or Whatsapp. Most of us share it only on two schedule dates, either on Republic Day or Independence Day. The new breed of youngsters seldom read the history books to learn how our great Oriya hero’s sacrificed their lives to free India from the clutches of British raj. Seldom you might have ever heard the names of Oriya martyrs be it Madho Singh Bariha, Rindo Majhi, Jai Rajguru or be it Lakshmana Naik. But for many of us our national flag Tiranga is not just a piece of cloth, we adore it a lot by heart. When the National Anthem is telecasted in televisions, with a sense of admiration most of us stand on the floor. We have inculcated such values from the primary school, where we have been taught the basic alphabets of our own vernacular.

Now the present generation of kids has got ample stationery to play with. They spend enormous money to buy the colorful stickers, glowing tattoos, panoramic post cards and all the garbage. Whereas during the late 70’s of the last Century, I was virtually brought up in a black and white era. Indian economy was in the doldrums. Only on the week days I was getting 10 Paise as the pocket tips while going to school. That money was not enough either to buy an eraser, a pencil or to fill the ink in the fountain pen at the book store.

Since childhood I was fascinated by our National Flag “Tiranga” merely because of its tri color and for a blue wheel at the centre of it. One evening I was walking along with my mother to the market. On the way at a junction of the town there was a gathering of people. They were shouting as “जिंदाबाद जिंदाबाद” which means, hip hip hurray. I left the hand of my mother and stood there while saluting towards the gathering. My mother looked backward and asked “What this ridiculous thing you are doing ?”. I pointed my little finger towards a tricolor flag. She laughed at me saying “You stupid, every tricolor is not a Tiranga. Look there is a palm of a hand at the centre. And it’s not our Tiranga, rather the flag of the Indian National Congress (INC) party”. She said a tri color flag with a wheel at the centre is only our National Flag. I scratch my head and followed my mother. She is the first teacher in my life, who has invoked patriotism in me.

While I was attending the primary school at Khalikote, the Physical Education teacher was endowed with the responsibility to hang the National Flag either on 15^th August or 26^th January. A day before these two schedule dates he would collect the National Flag from the wooden cupboard of the Head Master’s office. Religiously he would undertake the job of washing it with a detergent cake and dripping it in the indigo blue so as the white portion of the flag would glow. Hours before the flag hoisting the PT teacher would stuff the flag with the petals of roses and a short of non-fragrance tropical white flowers called Tabernaemontana divaricata and a dozen chocolates.

On the eve of the celebrations we the students use to stand straight in a row. When the flag hoisted we would sing the National Anthem “Janagana mana adhinayaka jaya he, Bharata bhagya bidhata…………” while placing the right hand on the forehead by saluting. While singing the National Anthem the kids on the front row would use to look at the base of the iron pillar instead of looking at the National Flag. Why? Because along with the petals of the flowers, the flag has been stuffed with one or two dozen pieces of 5 Paise Parle’s orange candies and they as well use to drop on the ground. When the singing of the National Anthem would end with the last stanza “jaya he, jaya he, jaya he……jaya, jaya, jaya, jaya he” we all the kids would break the Code of Conduct and run towards the flag post to collect the orange candies that fell on the ground along with the flowers. My batch mate Motu use to grab a couple of candies as he was a hefty boy and use to overpower others.

I recalls yet another event of my childhood associated with the National Flag of India. It was during the early eighties of the last Century. Than I was a student of Class Five in a Oriya primary school at village Khalikote of Ganjam district of Odisha, India. This school was set up in the premises of royal palace of Khalikote. On this palace apart from the primary school, there exists a fine art college as well. Once somehow I accessed a paper Tiranga. With care I kept that in the school notebook. Next day I carried it to school and proudly showed my possession to my classmates. But Chaitu the hooligan boy of our class grabbed the flag from my hands. I caught hold of his shirt, so as he should not escape with my property. But in a retaliation he caught my hair on the head. He pulled my hair and I was in acute pain. I left his shirt and caught hold of his hair as well and grabbed it. We both were wrestling on the floor of the classroom holding the head of each other. While watching us the rest of the classmates were clapping and shouting as if they were watching a wrestling bout. In the meanwhile I got a bash on my buttocks. I was shocked and turned back to look. It was the Head Master of our school. He was standing there holding a stick in his hands, with a pair of red bull’s eyes. My half niker was wet as I urinated with fear. All the batch mates laughed at me. The head master turned his eyes around. All the class mates went to their respective place to occupy their space on the floor. The head master asked Chaitu to show what he is holding in the hand. Chaitu handed over the National Flag to him. He inspected the flag, it was tattered at the centre. The Head Master advised, you both are excused because you are fighting for our National Flag. But remember two sons of a mother should never fight in between themselves. After thirty five years now I realize how being Indians we are fighting in between ourselves, further to divide our existing States and Union Territories. Of course all these things are being invoked by the ever greedy political clouts to cheat the gullible civilians.

WhatsApp# +918249314972

kiranbima@gmail.com

E KIRAN MOHAN(The Writer)

C\o. Dr.E.R.Rao(MD)
Main Road, Barpali-768029
Dist-Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 13

Jun 16, 2016

Stories 2:06 PM

Mango mania

[The charming story of school kids invading a mango grove to steal the raw mangoes]

It was the year 1983 and then I was a student of Class 7^th of the historic Prithiviraj High School of Balangir, Odisha. Though I used to be a below average student in studies, but was always loyal and obedient either to the teachers at school or the parents at home. It was the month of April and the summer holidays has just begin. Unlike the present generation of kids, during the 80’s of the last Century we did not had many options to play games. There were no video games, cell phones, tabs, computers or lap tops to play electronic games. We had to resort to play outdoor games only, that involve physical movements. But we the kids did not used to have much sports equipments be it either a football, cricket bat or badminton racket to play, since most of my friends were from the poor families. Our parents were keeping a strict vigil on our movements as during the noon hours of April and May in Western Odisha the temperature surpass 45 (°C) degree Celsius. They did not wanted us to be victims of summer heat stroke.

We were a gang of around eight friends who were always playing together. One of my close compatriots whom I calls as Marsad proposed to invade the mango grove that exist on the Sonepur road. We planned to raid the grove at noon hours when our mothers would go to sleep after partaking lunch. Out of the eight only four of us had cycles. I agreed to take a friend along in my bicycle with the condition, he has to pedal the cycle while I will seat on the front beam. On the state high way we raid our bicycles. The road was empty because of the summer heat. In those years vehicular traffic was scanty, because people did not used to have personal vehicles. My Marsad instructed us to park the cycles behind a bush and to walk final lap silently without causing any noise. And we just followed his instructions cautiously. Finally we reached our destination.

It looked something like a forest. There were as many as twelve to fifteen trees bearing raw mangos. We were about to invade the mangrove as if dacoits, but our gang leader Marsad halted us. He raised his hands and asked us to seat on the ground. We followed his instructions obediently. He said there is an old watchman who is guarding this mango garden. If he catches any of you, than he will rupture your bones into pieces with the thenga (thick stick) that he carries. He choosed three out of us to lead the mission. He said Mankad, Hanu and himself will climb to the top of the trees to pluck the mangoes. While Deba, Luku and myself will stand at the bottom of each tree to gather the fruits. And the rest two will be vigilant on the outskirt. And these two boys have been entrusted with the most important job. When they notice the watchman coming they will raise the alarm to the tune of a cuckoo bird saying “koooo……..koooo……..koooo”.

I followed Hanu to the garden. He choose a massive tree and halted before it. He removed his sleepers and touched the trunk of the tree and folded his both hands while closing his eyes. With his head he touched the tree. He paid his obeisance to the tree so as he should not fall accidentally from the top. Then he looked towards me. I raised my both hands to say be careful. With articulate movements of his limbs in half a minute he climbed the tree. While standing on the tree he located the branches of the tree that carry fruits. He went to one edge and plucked a few raw mangoes and started filling his knicker pockets. Then I spotted him biting a mango and eating it. I lost my temper. I raised my voice saying “kshhh…..kshhh……….”. Hanu looked towards me. With my hands I instructed him to throw one mango. Instantly he threw one raw mango. With much pleasure I picked the mango, but was disappointed to find it was bitten by Hanu. In a vulgar language I said “sala mankad (monkey) you are giving me a bitten fruit”. I asked him to get down so as I would climb the tree. But he laughed saying, one who sleep on the lap of luxury of an air cooler at night can never climb a mango tree during the day. I threw the raw mango back at him. But it missed its target and fell back on the ground. Hanu laughed at me. I was getting impatient. He dropped yet another mango. I was reluctant to lift the second mango, but he said it’s a good one. I believed on the voice with which he said and went to lift it. It was comparatively a bigger green mango. From the pocket of my knicker I took out the salt rolled in a news paper piece that I carried from home. While dripping in the salt I eat that mango. It was so sour in taste. I shouted back at Hanu. He said the most sour raw mango turn out to be the sweetest when ripen. I asked, does that mean I have to wait in this humid weather until the mangoes ripe. He said, go to the grocery store and buy “aam papdi”.

While I was relishing the raw mango Hanu screamed from the tree. I thought it to be yet another prank of this notorious kid. I asked him not to raise the voice, the watchman would come and catch us. But when I looked upward Hanu was moving further towards the edge of the branch while shivering and stammering. I noticed a monkey was approaching him. I shouted from the ground, “a mankad ja bhag, a mankad ja bhag” (hey monkey you get lost). But it kept moving forward. Hurriedly I picked a rock from the ground and threw towards the monkey, but it missed it’s target. It was non of the fault of the monkey, rather we invaded his territory. While shivering and moving backward the leg of Hanu skidded from the branch of the tree and he crash landed on the ground from a height of around 15 feets. I rushed to the spot to lift him. He was crying while saying “a Maa go, a Maa go” (Oh mother ! Oh mother). Other friends also gathered. Hanu was crying insistently while checking his left hand. We made him seat on the cycle and returned to our street. First we went to drop Hanu at his home and we all returned to our respective homes.

At late evening when I went to street to play, I found Hanu was walking bare body while his hand was striped in a white bandage. I went to ask his wellbeing. His younger brother said Hanu’s left hand has been fractured, because he fell while riding the cycle. I looked towards Hanu with concern and he smiled back at me. I asked him in which grocery store I can buy the aam papdi ? He said buying a pack of aam papdi with the stolen money is easier than stealing mangoes from a garden.

WhatsApp# +918249314972

kiranbima@gmail.com
E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

E Kiran Mohan 6

Jan 17, 2016

Children Stories 1:59 PM

Sreyanshu : A kid Lost and Found in a Delhi Metro train

[A drama in real life : How a kid got lost in a Metro Train of New Delhi and later traced back]

Sreyanshu the seven year old nephew of mine could be as mischievous as any other kid of his age group. Academically he is not a topper in his class room, but he got a knack for the machine tools. This boy has got a technical bent of mind. He enjoys dismantling any toy that is given to him for play. He would spend next couple of days to reassemble the broken parts to invent a never seen before alien toy. He is fascinated to watch racing cars, elevators and airplanes in the television. With his constant pranks this kid makes everyone breathless at home, especially his mother. So long he is awake during the day hours someone need to keep a vigil on every movement that he makes.

During the summer holidays of 2014 he went New Delhi to his maternal uncle’s home along with his mother and sister. His Santosh Mamu is a Chartered Accountant and works with City Bank as a manager. They reside at Nawada. One day his uncle Santosh wanted to take them to Connaught Place to show how glittering the heart of the city look like in the evening. It was 5.30 pm and the peak evening rush hours as working class people would return to their respective homes after the office. Sreyanshu along with his mother, grandmother and uncle reached Dwarka Mode Metro Station to catch a train. By the time they reached the basement of the station, there was an announcement in the speaker that the train is reaching the platform. And this freak out of four rushed through the stairs and managed to reach the platform.

Sreyanshu was the youngest and very much agile. He had the indomitable curiosity to traverse in a superfast Metro Train, to which he is not familiar with. The train reached the platform and some passengers disembarked. Since this boy is of short height, he managed to penetrate his body in between the shoulders of the commuters and swiftly entered one of the compartments. At the nick of the moment the door of the compartment closed, while his companions left on the platform. And the train started moving. The mother and uncle of this boy started running helplessly on the platform along the side of the compartment to stop the train, but to no avail. Soon the train left the station. The old granny of this boy set down there on the platform itself while crying and hitting her head with her own hands. The commuters on the platform reached to console her but to no avail. The mother and the uncle returned helplessly.

The mother of Sreyanshu was sobbing on the platform as she lost her only son to whom she had nurtured nine months in her womb, apart from these long seven years. Lot many wild thoughts hunted her mind. Delhi is the fourth largest urban settlement in the world with a population of 16.3 million people. Every day in an average around eighteen children go missing, whereas only a miniscule are traced and restored to their parents. The mother thought, what she will answer to the father of her child who is back at home in Odisha.

On the other hand, inside the train compartment Sreyanshu the seven years old kid was nervous. He was still looking outside the glass door with a glut of fear, as he is not acquainted with metro life since he is born and brought up in the rural area of India. At the nick of the moment someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt warmth on the touch and looked back. There was a young man who was standing near the door and was watching all that had happened on the Dwaraka Metro Station. He asked where are you from ? While stammering the boy said “Ba..Ba….Barpali”. The man now asked, but where is that. The boy said “Odisha”. The commuter exclaimed “Ahha i.e. the land of Lord Jagganath, Puri !”. He said not to fear and asked for the phone number if any. Fortunately this kid was carrying a piece of paper in his shirt pocket that carried his mother’s phone number.

It is not that every Delhite is cruel or a miscreant. In Hindi this city is called “Dil walon ki Dilli”. The boy gave the phone number to that young man to call. And when that man called, there bloomed thousand flowers on the face of the mother who was still crying insistently since the moment train left Dwarka Mode Metro Station. That man said, while carrying this boy he would disembark from the train on the very next station and you come to pick your son. Accordingly the mother, uncle and granny of Sreyanshu reached Uttam Nagar Metro Station in the very next train. They got down from the train and searched for the boy. They found the duo standing on the platform. On seeing his mother, Sreyanshu came running and hugged his mother.

Out of courtesy Santosh the uncle of the Sreyanshu invited that gentleman to have an ice crèam, but that unsung hero left calmly refusing to accept any gratification in return. Despite the high crime rate, New Delhi is a city that is moving ahead for the presence of a few good souls like this unknown Metro train commuter.

While they were returning home there started a new set of nagging by Sreyanshu. He said in the Metro train he had seen a kid was carrying a remote controlled airplane and he was adamant to buy that kind of toy for him.

kiranbima@gmail.com
Whatsapp# +918249314972

E.Kiran Mohan(The Blogger)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

E Kiran Mohan 1

Nov 6, 2015

Children Stories 7:38 PM

Hunt for the sugar canes

[The charming story of school going kids how they loot sugar canes

when a tractor load of it turned upside down due to an accident]

It was the year 1983 then I was a student of Class 7^th of the historic Prithviraj High School of Balangir. Though I was an average student in the class, but happen to be an obedient and a loyal follower of my school teachers. By nature I used to be very shy and calm. One morning on reaching the school my batch mate Bhuska (literally means hefty) told me that a tractor over-loaded with sugar canes has turned upside down by the side of the road. My batch mates lured me to invade the place and to steal the sugarcanes that taste sweet when chewed. They instigated me to join them. They said together we shall invade the place that is located one kilometre away on the outskirts of the town. Previous night that tractor was overturned while ferrying the sweet canes to the sugar mill situated at Tora of the Bargarh district.

[Prithvi Raj High School, Balangir]

Bunking the first class of the day i.e. mathematics, I joined the league of my friends. We might be six or seven students who picked our respective cycles and headed for the site of the accident. On reaching the location we found the presence of few residents living near around. They were gathering the scattered sugar canes so as to carry their homes. We were informed the tractor driver and the helper were injured and admitted in the district hospital. And their left no one to guard it. Immediately we took possession of the trolley as if we are the guardians of it. We started picking the sugarcanes. Holding each of the cane on the either side we broke them with our knees. Seating there on the side of the trolley we started chewing the sugar canes. My hands and the mouth were strewn with the juice of the sugar cane. While we were chewing the sugar canes a couple of buffalos reached and started pulling the leafs of the sugar cane out of the trolley load.

My comrade Sukta (literally means a skeleton) asked me “Do you know where the sugar comes from ?” I told from the grocery store. He laughed at me saying “hebo sala budbak” (you stupid). He said apart from white sugar, the yellow jaggery is also made by extracting and fermenting the juice of the sugar cane. I immediately recalled the mound of yellow Indian sweetener that my mother uses while making a few of Oriya sweet dishes like Kakra, Manda Pitha or Arisha.

While chewing the sugar canes I shared with my friends the memories that were associated with this stuff. One summer noon I was caught red handed by my mother, while I was stealing this sweet stuff from the kitchen. When she was resting at the noon I invaded the kitchen. I placed a wooden stool and stood over it, my hands managed to reach the cupboard where my mother keeps the circular Amulspray box in which jaggery was stored. While I was opening the cap of it the box escaped from my hands and banged on the floor creating a noise. My mother woke up and rushed to the kitchen thinking it to be an invasion of a cat. I was yet struggling to open the cap when I got a thrash on my buttocks. I was shocked and turned back. My mother was standing there holding a broom in her hands. I left the place while crying. After a while she called me to the kitchen and gave a piece of jaggery to relish. She pacified for her action saying the punishment was given not for the jaggery, but for stealing it.

At the venue of the tractor accident we too gathered a bunch of sugar canes and tied them with the leafs of it and loaded on our cycles. Even tried to fill our rectangle school cloth bags with its pieces. In the mean while a friend spotted a jeep was approaching us. One of the batchmate Bhoku (literally means barking) raised the alarm, “It’s a police jeep, It’s a police jeep”. As if the culprits, out of fear we all fled from the place while carrying some sugar canes. It was noon hours and I straight away went to home for lunch. On reaching home my mother asked, “where have you been?”. While throwing the school bag on the sofa with a exhausted voice I lied “To the school”. She pointed her finger on the collar of my shirt and asked what these dark spots are. I lowered my head and narrated the story of the invasion in which I participated along with the friends. She said the stains of the sugarcane juice will never erase during its life time and as a punishment I have to manage with that shirt until the end of the academic year. At evening I took out the school bag to do the pending homework, but was disturbed as could not find my mathematics notebook. I thought I might have left it in the classroom. But I wondered where it went, as I did not entered the class room that day at all.

Next morning on reaching the school the peon came to the class. He asked me to summon on the Office of Head Master. I started shivering. He escorted me to the office of the head master. I was nervous since never before I was summoned like this. I guessed something terrible is going to happen. I went to his office to face the worst court martial ever. I entered his chamber and stood numb. He was evaluating the answer sheets of the just concluded half-yearly exams. He removed his thick black spectacles from his face and placed on the table. And he lifted a notebook and handed over to me. It was that missing mathematics note book, carrying my name in it. He asked if I was travelling in the sugarcane tractor that over turned two days back. I started shivering and sobbing. I was speechless. He said the police have recovered my note book at the spot of the accident and sent to the school. In the mean while the bell of the first class of the day rang. He alerted me saying “You may go to the class, but remember not to spill the beans while gathering the grains”.

kiranbima@gmail.com

WhatsApp # +918249314972

E.Kiran Mohan(The Blogger)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao(MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO: BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 10

Jan 27, 2013

Children Stories 9:26 PM

Chal bo, Chal Jhadama Buro [ଚାଲବୋ, ଚାଲ ଝାରମା ବୁରୋ]

It is the month of January. Like all other years me, my family and the two dogs are getting the stone pelting everyday even while at home. No it is no revenge from the neighbors, but from the children of the neighborhood. Every noon after returning home from school they gather in groups to target the ber (Zizyphus) tree that we got at the backyard, which bear the small, but the most delicious tropical fruits at the end of the winter.

Yesterday noon these children expedite to the other side of the compound wall and started pelting pebbles, stones, rocks and even brickbats to pluck these sweet fruit. Soon Dany and Diana raised the alarm by barking. And my Amma assigned me to go and nab the children. I went to open the rear gate, but I was helpless. Because these children were clever enough to lock the door from outside. I was as helpless as these two dogs were. We were all locked inside our own fort. After a while Ladoo came running to the window and shouted, “Chachu Chachu…. those Oriya kids are stealing your buros”. I asked him to open the door and he unlocked it. But by the time I step outside, those kids were chu champat (fled) the place.

Ladoo the four years old Marwadi kid is the unofficial spy of mine. He reported it was the gang of Oriya kids of the other street. In the mean while Piyush, Ayush, Chotu and Vivek with a broken elbow gathered with us. They showed their concern for my safety and told not to worry and they will guard the back street. I was moved by their word of assurance. I asked them to wait for a while. I went inside the garden and gathered all the fallen fruits and distributed to these Marwadi kids for their solidarity. And these kids started shouting in a chorus, “Kiran Chachu Jindabad Jindabad, Kiran Chachu Jindabad Jindabad”. I was much pleased to get the laurels, even when my action had no political motive.

In this winter the asbestos roof of our abandoned store room has been completely destroyed due to the pelting of the brickbats and the rocks by the street kids. My father declared to execute the buro tree. My Amma expressed her resentment as every plant and the tree in the garden are being grown by her caring hands for the past ten years. Apart from Dany and Diana garden is her first love.

[Monkeys while invaded our residence complex to steal the buros on a winter noon]

I do believe it is not only my nephew Sreyanshu and niece Srestha, but every bird, monkey and the children of Barpali got the equal right to relish these delicious small fruits. Definitely it’s a nuisance, but we have to live life on this earth while giving space to others to grow. Its evening hours and play time for the street kids. I could hear one boy is shouting as :

“chal bo, chal jhadama buro” which means, lets go and pluck the berries.

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E.Kiran Mohan(The Blogger)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 17

Jun 6, 2012

Children Stories 10:21 PM

EXCAVATE THE CURIOSITY IN YOUR CHILD

[This article has been published by India's premier ladies magazine "The Women's Era" in its 1st May 2012 issue]

Every growing-up kid has got the curiosity to know about the unknown things. In fact it is the curiosity that helps a kid of a tender age to explore the knowledge. It is this knowledge, which in turn helps them to build-up life successfully. I got my nephew Sreyanshu. I have been watching him closely since his birth. This kid of six years old is perhaps the naughtiest kid on earth. Like any other kid, he is very demanding. All his wishes need to be fulfilled instantly; otherwise he creates a war-zone at home. Whenever he sees any new toy in the hand of another child, he would start nagging to buy it. The moment you buy it, he will go on displaying his price possession to one and all, at home and on the street. But before the day ends, he breaks it into pieces. Either he will remove the battery of the toy-car, or he will pull out the head-light or take-out the wheels. The following day he starts the jumble game. He will invent a never seen before toy, by amalgamating the broken parts.

He would always share with me his secret desires and wishes which go unfulfilled by his parents. Initially I used to buy a toy whenever returning from a trip. But one day when I discovered four cardboard boxes full of broken toys beneath his bed, I stopped buying anymore play things for him. As a consequence of which I lost the popularity in his life compare to his Karun Chachu, who often brings expensive imported toys while coming from New Delhi. He often asked me to buy one mati-kudda (earth-excavator) for him. But I was reluctant, as everything goes to the dustbin. I made him agree to my condition that, he will donate the broken toys to the poor kids on the street, who fails to buy toys. Finally Sreyanshu donated a trigger-less gun and a wheel-less car to Bibhuti a poor kid from the neighborhood.

[Sreyanshu]

Finally this June 4th (2010) evening he ran-down to me with excitement to inform that, there is an Monster like machine on the street. He saw this yellow coloured earth excavator for the first time in his life, as these machines are unseen in the middle of a small town. These are generally used in the construction of roads or in the open-pit mines. When we both went to check, found a mammoth machine leveling the ground for the upcoming Sital Sasthi Jatra (fair). He was jumping with the excitement to watch this monster like machine at work. He told me to buy this yellow coloured machine for him. I looked at his eyes to say regretfully, I don’t have Rs.30 lacs or so, to buy it.

He was disappointed, but kept on narrating about his wild imaginations of how powerful this machine is. We were watching the excavator from an elevated place near the road, when it neared us I waved my hands to the pilot to stop it. The dinosaur like machine halted, I took Sreyanshu near the machine. I asked the pilot to switch-off the machine by waving my hands as nothing was audible. I said “LIFT PLEASE”. The pilot of the vehicle was puzzled and at the same time got excited. He opened the doors to invite this kid. But Sreyanshu started getting nervous. I assured him not to fear, as I would be watching him from a distance. When the kid entered the cabin, the pilot shut the doors and started the engine. For 15 minutes or so he was in this monster like machine, to till and level the ground. Finally when the machine returned, Sreyanshu got down from the vehicle safely with the sparkling eyes. I asked Sreyanshu to say thanks to the pilot. And he did so.

While we were returning home this kid told me, “ Kiran Chachu don’t worry, when I have enough coins in my kiddy-bank I shall buy it on my own. And I shall give you a ride in it.”

This is how the elders should encourage kids to fulfill their hearts desires. I may not have bought a excavating toy for him, but I helped him to excavate the curiosity that was hidden within him. With money you might be able to buy toys, but could never buy knowledge or the happiness.