Stories For Kids

  Mrs.Risbood dropped the spatula on the kitchen counter and scooted towards the garden. Something had hit the guava tree and doddered its leaves. Her breath rate accelerated as she hurried her steps towards the moss covered compound wall that stood besides a sewage  stream. As she peeped through the leafy network, she didn't spot a human as she thought she would. But what she saw was a green bee-eater that flapped its quills, doddered the leaves, took off and stood on the roof of the old little house that shone mauve and blush pink in the sunlight. It had sheltered Mrs. Risbood for years and had been her favourite place on the earth. It wasn't a delightful place to be in when her son had initially bought it. It lacked the colours of the nature and the pleasant homely feeling. So Mrs. Risbood decided to make it a place worth living. Every morning and evening, she'd swing the blade of the sickle against the base of the weeds and cut through their stems with a sawing action.

  Pawata Beans Bhaji Recipe  The foggy cold mornings with those tiny droplets on the grass, the warm and pleasant sunrises, the weaving of sweaters in the afternoons, lots of fresh vegetables and fruits, a whole lot of recipes that mother made, early evenings, and the coziness of the hand made quilts was what winters were all about. I remember my mother making pickles of carrots, chilies, and even the one with mixed veggies like cauliflower, peas, carrots, chilies etc. During the monsoon, my father sowed seeds of a variety of vegetables which he could reap in the winter. Amongst these, the Lima Beans climber was his favorite. A whole white crowd of white flowers would bloom, popping their heads up with tiny bees hovering around. When the legumes formed, we'd pluck them in handwoven bamboo baskets and pod them for cooking. Some legumes would dry on the plant and and later podded to obtain dried beans. These would then be soaked overnight, peeled and cooked with jaggery and tamarind.

 The sun was ready to slide below the horizon and cooler air had begun to blow. Alejandra felt a little better. She had spent her seventh birthday on a trip she was overjoyed to take. She had jumped with joy when she learnt they were migrating  and had told everyone in San Antonio Secortez about the new life she and her father were going to live. Within days, she would go from an impoverished life where she’d never owned a toy — to one where she hoped she’d learn to read and write, and, eventually, join her father in making money to send to their family back home. She opened her eyes. Her father stood talking to a handful of migrants about the next move.  “Just one last stretch on foot along the dirt road through high desert” one of the migrant said, “And we would all cross into the United States. End of a 2,000 mile journey.” One of them looked at Alejandra and handed a bottle of clean water to Francisco. "Drink this Alec" he whispered. "Just a couple of hours after dar

  Caravan Alejandra's hands trembled. She pulled out a scrapped polyethylene cruet and held it by the mouth. Francisco snatched it and threw it on the sand.  "Don't drink that...I beg of you." He shrieked. She looked at him. Anxiety and suffering shown clearly in his slanted eyes. She closed hers. Drops of fluid fell onto the hot sand on which she lay lifeless. Her body burned with the heat of the sand, her eyes with the acrid tears and her throat with the intense thirst. She hadn't had pure drinking water for days. Only infected fluids that made her sick.  She thought of her village and her home, and the good days she'd spent. In the darkness of her closed eyes, she pictured the splendid beauty of the Lake Atitlan and the turquoise waterfalls tucked away in the densely forested mountains of Alta Verapaz that offered clean water. Two years ago, she had travelled the land on horse backs with her father and family! They had forged for grueling hours and had foun