Waiting for a new Dawn

Waiting for a new dawn.....

A good start to the day begins with good mornings. Just saying it does not suffice. The events that happen in the morning sometimes tell how the day will go by.

That day as I got up, I switched on the TV and sat down to enjoy the hot ginger tea I had made for myself. The news channel was flashing the news of Sharad Yadav making sexist comments about the 'beauty' and the 'color' of women. It shocked me, needless to add, again. The journalists were digging into the story. I thought about where we were heading. I thought about the controversial documentary. I thought about the disrespect being given to women everyday in a society that boasted of its cultural heritage.

Then my mind pondered for a little while over the weekend prompt by blogadda - Goddess. I did not know what to say. I felt that even in the rupa of Goddess, what we worship is the beauty. Our idols are picture-perfect models bejeweled and bedecked by conservative notions of outward beauty. All idols that one keeps at home are usually models of shapeliness and refinement. Sadly, woman too is viewed accordingly. It is the body that is the focus of the eye. The soul vanishes somewhere.

We revere the goddesses for bringing wealth, knowledge and what not to us. We name our children after them. But then and how extremely unfortunate this is, we victimize the girls who go by those very names. Remember Laxmi who was acid-attacked?

We light candles and diyas in our homes so that we remain untouched by darkness and negativity, but we extinguish so many Jyotis of other houses. We are not even scared to enter schools and rape the motherly nun who imparts wisdom to little children. How perverted are we? 

Should we call ourselves worshipers? NO. We are the epitomes of a big deceitful society. We are cheats, hypocrites, sadists. 

Those who suffer do not expect God or Goddess to come for their help. Because when help was needed, not even a human being came. World has become god-less. World has become goddess-less. God-principle, the principle of goodness had died. 

All this was making me despair. Should I cry over this broken world? No. Should I have a new set of Goddesses created? Yes.

But what will they give? Mankind has eternal greed. 

Well then, these goddesses will give them the much required, need-of-the-hour knowledge of 'respect' to the other body, a schooling in the ideas of equality, irrespective of gender or strength or caste or status. 

Do these goddesses need to have a form? Do we really need a figure to worship? I was reminded of my grandpa who used to sing these beautiful lines...

अजब हैरान हूँ भगवन तुझे क्यूँकर रिझाऊं मैं 

भुजाएँ हैं ना  सीना है ना गर्दन है ना पेशानी 

तू है निर्लेप नारायण कहाँ चन्दन लगाऊं मैं

(I am puzzled O lord, How do I please you....
You have no arms, no chest, no forehead
You have no form, no shape, where do I apply sandalwood paste....)

As I thought how beautifully these lines depict that we do not need the form but should rather believe in the principle of the supreme power and presence of God, I realized that one needs to look beyond the appearance. 

Of course it is not possible for everyone to do so. So let us give form to our goddesses. They will be the ones who have the strength to question the wrongs, those who have the courage to stand against the offenses and the offenders. They will be the ones who teach you that being a victim does not turn you into a sinner. But turning a deaf ear, or a blind eye to crime does make you one. 

They will teach us how not to go astray. They will guide us that evil breeds in a society that ignores or denies its presence. They will teach us that God lives inside each of us. We need to recognize this, and let each one of us live with dignity. 

After all these musings, my mind was filled with hope, another feeling that never dies in the human heart. I hoped for a better future. Then, in an effort to educate my kids on the great women in history, I picked up the book  'भारत की वीरांगनाएँ ' and started reading it.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

This post was selected by blogadda as one of the WOW posts...
My first WOW badge....!!!

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Status - Husband working from home

I called my friend twice yesterday but she didn't answer. Today she called back cribbing, "He was working from home again. My life comes to a halt when he does that. I would love it if it was an 'off' day but working from home is such a pain." I smiled. I had been wishing that my husband be at home at least once since he had been super busy for more than a month, even on weekends. I would have stepped forward and embraced 'work from home'. But I could understand what my friend meant when she complained that her life stops when hubby is working from home. Something like this happens:

The phone is hijacked. 
The laptop is kidnapped.
TV shows only news or cricket or sci-fi or action film......Hubby asks you to sit and watch with him. You despise that show but you sit so hubby is happy. Maybe, just for a few minutes.....But oh shucks....you left the burner on and milk is boiling and is ready to spill over....You rush....Phew...just in time.....If only he had not asked you to sit.....
Kids are supposed to be muted or shoved in the bedroom with poor wifey who will entertain them there as long as the working hubby is on a conference-call. It is difficult because kids somehow sense it and manage to burst into explosive laughter or unmanageable fights resulting in subdued screams of STOP THAT NOISE....PAPA IS TALKING ON THE PHONE.....
The kitchen is always busy. Hubby is hungry or thirsty or wants green tea. He has just a few minutes to spare. You hurry trying to cook food faster than the stove. It is another story that when the food is ready to be served, he gets back to work or is busy on phone. Hunger and thirst go out the window. Things that are supposed to be served hot turn cold and vice versa. 
Wife who is not hungry all the time suddenly starts feeling the pangs of  hunger but she waits. She waits a little longer but then she fumes and starts eating. The moment she sits down, hubby comes and says, 'My plate...' AGHHHHHHHH......Wife gets up, serves food, sits and starts eating. 'Work status' looming large....
Kids want a printout just at the time Papa is working. Mama says that laptop is not free. A little tsunami happens. "Papa is always working on the laptop. And when I want to play games, you say that it's not good for eyes....HUH.....NOT FAIR....." That's my son....
The little one realizes that the fight is over the coveted laptop. She joins in and chimes...'gummy bear song.....papa.....gummy bear.....?' She holds Papa's hands and tries to stop him from doing his work which irks him and he shrugs. He has to give in this time.
Work from home starts much early in the morning and goes on even after the office working hours. Wife gets grumpy, hubby gets even grumpier. 'This is important. It has to be done today itself.' He says. 'But you don't do so much when you go to office. Then why at home, these long extended hours...? Wife asks. 'It is so difficult to work from home with all the noise, and distractions....and kids....Don't you understand....?' He goes on....Wife stomps her feet and grumbles..."HUH....NOT FAIR....."

So, yes I understand why my friend turns grouchy when her husband is home....oops....I mean when her husband is 'working from home'. And next time if your friend does not answer or return your all, you will know why. Happy Working from Home Friends.....

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My First Experience on the Writing Journey by Deb Hockenberry

A few days back, Deb gave me a chance to submit a guest post for her blog. Now she is honoring my blog by being a part of it. She narrates here her childhood adventure with 'writing. Those of you who are parents will enjoy this little bit from Deb's life when she was a child. We live in different times. But we all encourage our children's creativity and help them recognize and achieve their full potential. For Deb, things worked a little differently. Do you want to know what happened when she dared to 'write'? Well, read on. 

MY FIRST EXPERIENCE ON THE WRITING JOURNEY

By

Deb Hockenberry

http://www.debhockenberry.com

Hello, and thank you for having me to your blog, Sunaina. Today, I’d like to talk about one of my own experiences when I first became interested in writing and the importance of encouragement.

My parents started me on this journey we call writing. They always read and encouraged my siblings and me to read. Thus, started my love affair with books and my journey in writing for children. It really is a journey since it’s always changing. Back to my parents. They always encouraged us to follow our dreams. I always knew I had their support.

When, I was still in elementary school. I wanted to start a school newspaper for my elementary school. That was *ahem* quite some time ago!

Remember those toy typewriters that actually worked? Well, my sisters and I got a red one that year for Christmas. The thought of writing a newspaper for my elementary school popped into my head. The following March, I finally got the nerve to actually do it. One night after supper, I crept up to my bedroom to write my newspaper. It wasn’t going to be a big deal or anything.  I’d just have things that were happening in school, around the school yard, and things about teachers. I particularly remember writing how one of my schoolmates fell in a mud puddle (it rained buckets the night before) and she looked so silly. I also put in little tidbits about who was mad at who or who was being bullied. I typed up several copies of my “newspaper.”

I didn’t sell my masterpiece since it was the first issue. I figured that as it gained in popularity, I could sell it for a nickel.

It seems that the girl who fell in the mud puddle didn’t like my newsletter one bit and took it to the office. I was told to go down to the principal’s office. Naturally, I was shaking in my shoes. Back then, being called to the principal’s office meant one thing: you were in trouble!

The principal really put the fear of writing into me that day. She yelled at me for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only two minutes. She wanted to know if my parents knew about this. I told her yes. She asked if I was selling them. I said no, which was the truth. Then, she talked about my having to go before the school board. This frightened me TO DEATH!

I have no idea if she called my mother. She probably did and both of my parents probably got quite a good laugh out of it! But, they never said anything about it to me. They always encouraged my siblings and I to develop our talents.

Needless to say, this experience frightened the urge to write out of me for quite a few years. When it came back, I started forming a talking animal story in my head and telling it to my siblings and the neighborhood children. I also made up little fairy tales and told them those too.

It really never dawned on me that I wanted to write stories for a couple of more years.

Every summer, my mother would suggest that my siblings and I visit the neighborhood public library. This was one of my favorite things to do, so Mom didn’t have to twist my arm! My wanting to write books dawned on me on the walk to the library. I know this sounds strange but it did. I decided to ask the librarian, who I knew from church, if there were books written that could tell me how to do this. The closer we got to the library, the faster those butterflies flew around in my stomach. Would Miss Austin, the librarian laugh at me? Would she tell people in church and they would scoff and laugh?

Finally, we arrived at the library. At first, I went into the children’s section of the library with my brother and sisters. Then, I told one of them I was going to talk to Miss Austin for a minute. I figured that talking to her in private would help. I didn’t want to take the chance of my brother and sisters laughing at me too! I walked up to her desk.

She asked if she could help me and my mouth went so dry I couldn’t speak. I did manage to gulp. Then, she asked me again and I told her what I wanted. She didn’t laugh. Instead she had the biggest smile on her face I ever saw! She told me to follow her and led me into the adult’s part of the library.  Back then, there was no way kids were allowed in the adult’s section. This was a big deal! She sat me down at a table by myself and asked me to wait there while she got the books I wanted. While she was looking at the bookshelves, I looked at the room. There were many adults sitting at tables like the one I was at reading. Some were looking questioningly at the kid in the room. I looked at all the huge books in that room. It was opposite from what the children’s library was like.

Finally, Miss Austin came back carrying an arm load of books about writing. She placed all of those books on my table. She said there were books there about writing for adults and children. Then she said I could stay as long as I wanted. I still remember some of those titles today. Writer’s Digest Market Book,  

The Writer’s Handbook, and Children’s Writer’s and Illustrator’s Markets.

I forget how long I was in there. It was long enough to make by brother and sister ask where I was, though. But I received a whole new shot of encouragement that day. I realized that this could be done and no-one would laugh.

I’m still on that journey today. Now, I have my siblings support as well. In fact, two of them have tried their hand at writing. But if it weren’t for the encouragement of my parents and that kindly librarian, I wouldn’t be writing today.

A Little bit on who Deb is and what she does....

Deb has always wanted to write for children. She loved making up stories and telling them to her younger brothers, sisters, and neighborhood friends. If no – one was around, she told them to her pets – and she still does!

Finally, she decided the time had come to write these stories down. But she knew that in order to do it properly, she needed to study. So, Deb took two courses in writing for children from the Institute of Children’s Literature. She also belongs to the ongoing children’s literature workshop called The CBI Clubhouse.

Deb was born in Pennsylvania. When she was in her early teens her family moved to Central Pennsylvania. She enjoys living there, there’s always something to see!

She likes watching the mountains wake up after a cold dreary winter. She enjoys watching the pale green leaf buds popping out on the trees and slowly changing into bright green leaves. She especially loves the fall when the trees change their colors. Then the mountains are dotted with the most colorful reds, yellows, and oranges you ever saw! When she’s not writing Deb enjoys reading and reviewing books, watching movies, television and doing crafts. You can learn more about Deb by visiting her website at http://www.debhockenberry.com.

The Hummingbird Flies Away

Sharing food, friendship and love...

We had dinner together yesterday. One more time we sat together, ate and cracked jokes. One more time before one of us flies away to pursue her career. All of us wanted to say something about the one who leaves but words failed us and a flood of feelings drowned us all. While returning home I thought of  a tree laden with fruits. When one fruit ripens, it falls down and leaves the tree to spread its sweetness somewhere else. The tree feels hurt. New fruits keep growing. But whenever a fruit falls, the tree feels bare.

The more I think of our group, the more it fascinates me. We have come from far and formed an unbreakable bond. I used to think that fast friends were made in schools or colleges. But it happened to me after that too. In fact, it happened after my motherhood. My thoughts kept me awake and my mind pondered on each one of them. I wish to celebrate these charming friends here. But I refrain from using their names. Rather I name them as I see them and you my reader may find one of your friend praised here. After all, we all make everlasting friends and then we dote on each other. So here's to those amigos:

Eat, laugh and be merry - Her life's mantra!

I begin with the Zany, the quipster of our gang. She was the first one to move away, breaking our hearts. The first time she told me, I was shocked into silence. I could not eat, I could not smile. I was angry at her for doing this to me. It has been so long but it seems we met yesterday. She never fails to make you laugh. She has the head-start in making friends. Jokes can never fall flat when she is around since she has the knack of bringing out humor in the drabbest situation. Her heart is like an open book. You read and read and read, and you laugh and laugh and laugh. You can spot her in hairbands often and somebody rightly termed her the hairband girl. She sometimes makes me imagine a female Laughing Buddha minus the rotundness. I wonder why she doesn't gain weight despite being a foodie. If you are cooking a sumptuous meal, or a spicy snack and you are gossiping without offering her anything, she gets fidgety, frowns, and says, 'Let us start eating.'

Playful Mom who always manages to make us laugh!

Next in line is our small wonder. She is the Juicy Lass. She carries with her an invisible bag of jokes. Her repertoire is always fresh and overflowing with double entendres. She somehow tries to keep her sanity intact as she juggles between her son who is a Ninja warrior and her daughter who is a delicate daffodil. I love her expressions when she looks at my son who is gaining height fast and wonders that soon he will be taller than her. She is an exciting combination of a mom and a naughty girl. Her 'fanda' about life is very clear. She is not the one who will dilly-dally over small things. She has a very practical approach to life and will be more than happy if you give her a good thought to think over. Given her practical nature, she surprises me when I see tears in her eyes as she sees a friend leaving. She wonders why this should happen. It would have been better if we never met, she feels. Well, especially for you my lass, I remember the words of the great poet Tennyson

It's better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all...

How in the world can we let go of the countless moments we have shared - in joy and in sorrow. We have been together, healing and humoring each other. So, today too, lets just go with the flow, just like you said to me one day.

Should I admire the mom more or the baby!

I move on to Prada. She is the fashion belle. She is the chic, stylish, upscale girl. She loves to have a good picture clicked of her. And she is lucky to have a patient husband. She is the one who has so many stories to share - about how she celebrated her birthday, her anniversary, her valentine day and so on. She is a perfectionist too. Her beautiful home testifies to this. When my unmindful husband visited her place, even he said to me , 'How do they keep the house so organised? She is your friend, how come you never asked her?' And I just smiled. Well, Prada can do anything and Prada can get anything done. And the list of her skills does not end here. Prada is a bewitching dancer and a superb artist. I still remember the day my daughter was born and she gave me a beautiful card on which had paper-quilled two pink feet, done by her own hands. I can just go on and on about her but I often want to ask her something - Given her drool-worthy wardrobe and shoe-collection, if she has to go somewhere for two days, how does she choose which ones to take and how heavy is her bag!

Yellow and green and beauty in between...!

Now comes the one who is breaking our heart this time - the Humming bird. I don't know why I call her so. Maybe because I read somewhere how strong the hummingbirds are despite their tiny stature. I have read that the hummingbird can take a non-stop journey of 500 miles which takes about 18-22 hours. My friend has the same tenacity, the same perseverance. And she keeps humming too. She is the chirpy chatter-box and complements well with our Juicy Lass cracking jokes. She is the one who can comprehend both the most obscure and the most obvious jests. When I think of her, I think of colors too. She reminds me of both spring and Fall when vibrant colors deck the nature and make the world so captivating. Be it bold pinks or vibrant yellows or spotless whites, she wears them all with unmatched confidence and cheer. No wonder Prada and Humming bird gel so well. Another feather to her cap - her art. It is something I lately discovered. I can picture her mastering her strokes as I gaze on the painting she gifted me that I have put on the wall. I marvel how interesting her persona is.

Best freinds and soul mates!

So much so for this tremendous group I have been a part of. That day when we went down the memory lane, I realized I had been absent so often. But I still remain a part of this group despite being well, so different. I had asked all of them to describe each one of us in one word. I put below the words and praises that each one has for the other

Zany - Prada calls you gregarious, Hummingbird finds you mirthful and Juicy Lass calls you candid.

Juicy Lass - Prada finds you naughty, Hummingbird thinks you are 'love guru' and Zany calls you 'extrovert, practical, one who gives best information and best practical advice and 'yaaron ka yaar'.

Prada - Zany finds you 'bold and full of confidence', one who wants everything perfect, one who will not make many friends but will give her 100% to those whom you befriend. Hummingbird calls you 'bosom buddy'. Juicy Lass finds you 'thoughtful and helpful'.

Hummingbird - Prada calls you her 'soul sister' and finds you 'convivial'. Zany feels you are 'impressive', 'determined' , one with 'bright positive vibes', and 'the best friend to be a friend with'. Juicy Lass thinks you are 'optimistic'.

As for me, you all called me 'altruistic' (Hummingbird), intellectual (Prada), strong-willed and tough(Zany)  and affectionate(Juicy Lass). 

Need I say more before the Hummingbird flies away.....

Another one!

And when all of us were together

Good Times!

The World will be Remade....

The world will be remade. And this is how:

Eve will not be the transgressor. If Adam slips, it will be because his feet have no suckers.

There would be no segregation of pink and blue colors. Sons would be able to play with dolls and they would not be scoffed at. If in certain tribes, boys were taken away from their mothers to be turned into ‘warriors’, then that practice will not be followed anywhere. Boys would remain with their mothers so that they can become sympathetic, affectionate and receptive. The world does not need warriors to sustain itself. It needs empathy, compassion and love.

Pandora will not be the harbinger of evils and sorrows. If Prometheus was the one who brought fire to Earth, Pandora will be the one who sustains that fire with her curiosity. Satiation is death. To keep exploring, to keep probing is life.  

There will be more Amelia Earharts, Harriet Tubmans, Mother Teresas, Marie Curies, Rosa Parkss, Kalpana Chawlas, Sania Mirzas, Mary Koms, Aung San Su Kis, and Malalas. There will be more of the other powerful women I have missed here.

Woman will not be the woe of man - not even in mythology.

Woman will be the wielder - in and out of the house.

Woman will still have the power to give birth. She will forever remain supreme in this regard. It will be she, and only she, who can create. She will imitate the Eternal Creator and man will not be able to surpass him in this.

The world remade would be a safe place for a woman. There will be no need for a chivalrous knight to protect her honor. No, not even the Greek Amazons will be needed. Good sense and wisdom will prevail.

Healthy competitions are a must for any society to progress. Static society is a dead society. But the world remade will be a world not of physical combats. Pen will be ‘mightier’ than sword. And right from the beginning of the beginning, woman will be the benefactress of knowledge. She will embody Saraswati, Isis, Minerva and Athena.

The world remade will be a world full of ‘phenomenal’ women, just as Maya Angelou said.

The world will be remade. And this is how....

 “I am participating in the #TheWorldRemade activityat BlogAdda in association with India Today #Conclave15 “.

Laundry at Uncle Sam's

It struck me yesterday again. Nine years into marriage, nine years in US. Unwillingly I dragged myself to the laundry room with my toddler hanging on one side and a big pile of laundry on the other. Yet another day to drudge, I said to myself. As I entered the laundry room, I saw three more ladies, all Indians. I knew two of them. Each was busy sorting through her mountains of linens. Inadvertently I smiled. I decided to write on this whole experience and joked with one of my friend there. 'See, we are all washing ladies.'

A little bit about those who were there that day. One of them was an MBA. I myself hold an M.Phil and NET. The other two ladies seemed well-educated too. We all were house-wives here. In this land of opportunities, as they say, we were our own domestic helps. There is nothing wrong in doing one's own work. It just simply looked like a mismatch, an incongruity of some sort as each of us waited to take turns, asking at the same time if the machines were working fine. If they were not, it meant spending additional hours on the monotonous task. The machines had been installed for making our work easier. But out of the four washers, one was mostly in a non-working condition. Same with dryers. One of them would leave your clothes damp after one full hour of drying. Tell me I don't miss drying my clothes on a clothesline in India where the warmth of sun turned them crispy fresh and huggable.

I mused how in the past nine years, I have waited and waited as clothes mounted and stacked on each other till the day they would be washed. It was like a ritual you did every few days. It came with its own protocol. There had to be a regularity in the observance of this routine for if you missed it on the allotted day, it would hang around your neck much like Coleridge's albatross. You might land up in the laundry room on an overcrowded day and the trips would become endless with you sandwiched between your own bags. Multiply your woes if it was winter and snow had kissed the ground!

It was different in India. Washing clothes happened everyday or every alternate day. There was an option to wash with hands or use a washing machine. A washer man or a washer woman was always handy. But drying was almost always in the open. The sky would look down at the colorful porch or backyard. Sun was mostly smiling, aiding the drying process. When the weather turned rainy or stormy, I remember my mom running outside to collect the clothes. As I grew up, I enjoyed helping her in this. I can still feel the raindrops trickling down, tickling my face as I rush to remove clothes from the clothesline. Pegs would scatter here and there. How colorful they were too. I remember fiddling with them until they snapped and I would spend a few minutes putting them back together only to break them apart again. It had its own joy.

Pegs in India were the colors of rainbow!

But a journey across the globe, the passage from a developing to a developed country changed it all. Nine years back, I had dreams of becoming a successful professional. But with marriage came the tag 'dependent'. And it was there to stay. When you land up with no work authorization, you often wonder what next. You join the herd of other well-qualified Indian ladies who have remained at home while hubbies go out to chase their dreams. You do the dishes, cook food, clean the toilets, mop the floor, clean the carpet and wash the clothes.

I folded my clothes the moment I brought them back home. (Sometimes I don't get the chance to do that as there are kids and other household chores.) I have seen some people do it there, in the laundry room itself. Some do it so slowly that they almost kill you with their 'speed'. Some take the clothes out from the machine one by one. One cloth after another, as each one is straightened out and carefully put in the basket in order to avoid extra ironing.(Those who are from India will again remember the washer woman who used to take their clothes for ironing and would return in the evening with the carefully organized bundle.) They drown themselves so much in the soporific task at hand that they overlook the fact that somebody is waiting behind them. They are hard to awaken until they are nudged verbally. 'Excuse me. Are you going to use the machine again?' The 'speed' quickens and you become the genie of the washer/dryer for the next hour or so.

Although it seems impolite, but it is something you cannot avoid. Everything is public. Your clothes, your style of washing, the choice of your laundry bags and baskets. Some people surprise you with their aesthetic gear while others just carry the clothes in big Hefty bags. Each according to his/her taste or convenience. Some leave you scorning and sneering because they wash their sports shoes in the machines too. Yikes! I am never going to use this machine again,  you hear yourself cribbing!

Laundry rooms, apart from doing the washing, serve another purpose as well. You are a nanny, you advertise yourself there. You are moving and need to sell everything...even your used but in-good-condition toaster, you put an ad there. You want to start a hobby class, pin a poster of information on the board in the laundry room. I myself have 'sold' my sofa and other stuff through this simple and inexpensive medium when I shifted. You want to learn guitar or take piano lessons at an affordable price, what do you do? Yes you guessed it right - Go to the laundry room!

Laundry at Uncle Sam's misses the sun though. No basking in the brightest star's warmth here. Even sun rays don't permeate the room as it lies in the basement. But it remains a predominant part of your life, much like the sun. Just as the days become gloomy without Mr. Sun smiling, the countenance becomes murky with your clothes piling and you itch for a trip to you know where!

My friends who have laundry machines in their apartments or those who are home-owners often complain about the tediousness of the affair. I cannot restrain my smile thinking about how banal it would be for me if it were not for my kids. My six year old hops like a monkey because he wants to charge the card and start the humming of the machine. And my 20-month daughter chants....Yaundly Yoom!


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How the Sulky Town became happy.....

In a far far away land, there was a place called Sulky Town. It is a strange name for a place but so was it called. And do you know why it got this name? Well, because the people living there did not know how to laugh. They were always frowning and pouting and sulking and brooding.

It was only those few little children in the town who knew how to smile. But they were tired of the big folks. They would often wonder what was with these sullen faces. No matter what they did, big people would never smile.

One day, the children decided to call a fairy for help. They had overheard their elders talking about a fairy who was naughty and mischievous and who always created menace wherever she went. She had a strange name too. One of the town man said, " Her name is Giggle Fairy. Ever heard of such a name? I wonder what it means!" All the other elders agreed with this town man. Since nobody in the town had ever laughed, the meaning of giggle remained a mystery too!

"I heard that the Giggle Fairy visits the park every night. And since we are always fast asleep at that time, I wonder how we will meet her and ask her for help." the children of the town thought.

Of all the happiest and chirpiest of kids, there was a pair that stood out. That pair was of two brothers Max and Martin. They were twins. They loved to smile, they loved to joke and they loved to just monkey around the town. So they came up with a plan. They would go to bed early tonight. Max was going to stay awake for the first few hours after which he would wake up Martin. Then Martin would let Max catnap and then both of them would scurry out of their house and wake up their friends. The friends decided to keep their windows open for them that night.

Things went on as they had planned and the flock of merry urchins reached the park. Giggle Fairy arrived on time. Oh what a lovely fairy she was with dimples on her cheeks and with jingles on her lips. The kids squealed at her sight. The little ones did not waste a second and narrated their tale of woe. Giggle Fairy rolled her eyes and gazed at the sky, just wondering at the discovery of such grumpy beings. She whispered something to the kids and disappeared. The kids faces brightened and they went home.

The next morning, kids were late in getting up. They had stayed awake for so long after all. So when they got up, they came out of their houses. There was a lot of hurly-burly in the air. The commotion outside was being caused by something over their heads. All the elders stared at a bunch of somethings that was floating through the sky. It was colorful, and light and it drifted smoothly in the air. The elders mused what it was. They started chasing it. It hovered over a tree here and glided past a tree there. Many tried to grab it but it slipped past their fingers. It became a hunt, a race. The fastest racer ran, the swiftest climber jumped but the thing kept flying beyond them all until it finally became entangled in a branch. 

Nobody had realized it but the whole town was there, watching, holding their breath. The boldest, strongest man of the town came forward.

" I can get it", he bragged.

Hearts beat faster, pulses throbbed quicker and with a silence that was deafening, the mighty man pulled the thing down. He touched it here, and poked it there. Swelling with pride, he gave it another thrust when.....with a bang and a boom, the thing popped flat. The burst was followed by another explosion....an explosion of laughter. The silent onlookers just cracked up. The startled robust man could not resist too. All the pride was gone. He laughed till his belly hurt. The others laughed till their eyes were wet. The children yelled 'Giggle Fairy' and the sulky town became jolly, jovial and joyful forever.


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