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The Aunt Granny.

My father’s aunt, the aunt granny, used to come to our house frequently. Now she is very old and cannot come. We go and see her sometimes. When she used to come, she would tell us many things about her life, her achievement, her household, even about my father. She could notice any small changes we had made which was not there earlier. We love her. We go and ask gifts from her maybe chocolates or chips or lozenges or whatever maybe.

She would bring sometimes and sometimes tell stories.She challenged us, that we should read long hours and we should not fall asleep. Now one day, all three of us brothers and sisters were determined to hear a good story from her. It should be long and we will not fall asleep.

She agreed and that story went like that “Once I was young and I loved riding horses. Your granduncle would help me in that. I felt like a queen, but he would say, it was only a horse not a carriage.”

We asked grand Anny-“Did you like ice cream also?” Then she told-“Yes, but I only made them, I broke them on my frying pan and the poach will be simply superb.”

Then Robin asked her-“What next you will put Anny?” She will say “Some onion, herb and black pepper.” We all laughed and giggled. She opened her eyes and told us that whatever she had cooked no one could cook it forever. You must ask your father. All liked my recipes.”

Greta told-“O! Anny if you place an ice cream on a frying pan and the poach comes out with all the ingredients which you told, no recipe can second it. I will definitely eat it with orange peels. What about that?”

Anny told-“Orange peels I like the most. I will make a face scrub and keep it in the fridge as a spread on the bread.”

We all again giggled and laughed. She had fallen asleep and murmuring many more recipes like that.

Adios!

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My Mother’s Purse.

My mother’s purse is my friend. Since when the old notes such as the currencies of 5s, 10s, 100s, coins and the three folding umbrella are in her purse she doesn’t know. She will get all the changes in it and it has thousand bills, house keys, small towels, wipes, comb, water bottle, prayer book and whatnot.

All my small needs come from this. She will not change her purse. Day by day it became heavy like a stone which she carries on her shoulder.

Most important is that she has a bad frozen shoulder. Though repaired, it gives her a lot of pain.

Still the purse will not change. If I ask her,when we are out, that, “let me carry it Ma for sometime”, she doesn’t agree. So happened what, we went to the market and I was not well. She wanted oranges and apples for me to buy.

You know nowadays plastics are banned and in a paper bag, the fruit seller gave us the oranges and apples, but it could not carry all the fruits. Two apples were left out. Ma told no problem, I am keeping these two apples in my purse. As soon as she had put the apples in the purse, the strap came out. We felt awkward. Both of us. Mummy and me felt sad. Holding the purse like a small baby, adored in mother’s arm we went to the cobbler. The cobbler was busy mending someone other’s shoes.

My mother told him the problem and he took the heavy purse from my mother’s hand. That time I could read her mind. That she was apprehensive, that purse with all its content was in someone else’s hand. The cobbler stitched the strap properly and he kept the purse on the footpath, it caught dust. My mother asked him to wipe the purse out of that dust and you will not believe, that from his personal bag he took a neat and clean white towel. Like my mother cares for the purse, he cleaned it with all care.

He understood Ma’s feelings and has a good heart and strong character and was very calm and composed. We paid him twenty bucks and Ma was overjoyed. She told me that honesty and culture does not only belong to those who are in better condition. She was very happy and grateful that her old purse was taken care by the great cobbler’s own neat towel. She told me as soon as you reach home, you must write a post on it. So I have done.

Adios!

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I Am.

My leaves are blue,

My petals are green,

My stem is red,

And do you know that my flowers are unseen,

Do you know how young I am?

The same is myself,

The leaves are my wishes.

My flowers are my genes,

The air passes around and it whispers “you are fair”.

I don’t like to be fair.

I like to blow that air, which doesn’t say I am beautiful,

You will see me very soon, very soon, very soon.

Adios!