Kong Posh

Sabudana: The White Pearl Saga

2026-10-15T17:37:00.000+01:00

Sabudana: The White Pearl Saga

*(How a 16-Kg Tin Can Became a Family Emergency) *

I remember my mother Soma announcing, with the gravity of a weather bulletin and the urgency of a stock-market crash: “Navratri’s are coming. Keep a good quantity of sabudana at home.”

Translation: the family was about to fast, and sabudana was not food. It was a strategic reserve. In our house, “good quantity” meant enough to survive a siege, a wedding, and at least two unexpected guests who would still expect kheer.

The moment those words left her mouth, I became a courier. My destination: Veshkak, the grocer, whose shop was a two-minute walk from home—though as a child, any errand involving sitting and waiting had the timeline of a minor epic. I would sit in his shop like a decorative parcel while he attended to other customers, weighed sugar, discussed politics, and possibly solved the mysteries of the universe. Finally, he would attend to me. From a 16-kg tin can, he would excavate the required quantity of sabudana, pack it, and hand it over as if entrusting me with diamonds.

We bought it on credit. The transaction continued monthly—a beautiful ancient system in which the grocer remembered everything, and I remembered only that I wanted to go home. His shop also sold herbs, which gave the whole place a mysterious, medicinal smell, as if any moment someone might ask for a cure for heartbreak or a stubborn landlord.

One day, I asked him, “Where does this sabudana come from?”

He smiled—the smile of a man who knew he was about to say something either deeply wise or deeply unbothered—and said, “Its plant lies below the soil, and there it makes pearls. That is sabudana.”

I laughed. I thought it was a big joke. Underground pearl factory? What next, potatoes wearing necklaces? Onions applying for passports?

Later, in college, I came to know the actual story. And, irritatingly, the grocer had been poetically close and factually far.

Sabudana is made from tapioca starch, which comes from the cassava root, also called tapioca root. In India, the pearls sold as sabudana are usually tapioca pearls, not true sago from the sago palm. So, the name “sago” is a bit of a family nickname that stuck.

Nutritionally, sabudana is mainly a high-energy, starchy food. It gives quick energy but has very little protein, fiber, vitamins, or minerals. This is why it is best eaten with peanuts, vegetables, curd, or milk rather than alone. Eating plain sabudana and expecting to become a champion athlete is like filling a car with only petrol and wondering why the seats are missing. You will move, yes. But you will not be nourished in a well-rounded way.

Cassava roots are usually harvested by hand after about 8–12 months, then processed quickly because they spoil within a few days. Cassava is not a patient vegetable. It does not wait for you to finish your tea. The exact processing depends on whether the goal is fresh cassava, flour, starch, or sabudana pearls.

To make sabudana, factories focus on extracting starch. The cassava roots are washed, peeled, and crushed or grated. The pulp is mixed with water, and the starch is separated from the fiber. The starch settles. It is dewatered, and is formed into tiny granules. Then the granules are roasted or heated and dried into round white pearls. Basically, cassava goes in looking like a rough root and comes out looking like tiny edible pearls that have no idea they used to be a root.

Sabudana is good for several things. Quick energy: its starch is easy to digest, which is why sabudana khichdi or kheer is common during fasting. Gentle on the stomach: plain, lightly cooked sabudana can be useful when someone needs a light meal. Gluten-free: it is suitable for people avoiding wheat or gluten. Weight gain: because it is calorie-dense, small portions can help underweight people add energy, especially when combined with nutritious foods.

But it is not a magic health pill. It is more like an emergency energy delivery system. During Navratras, it earns its fame because it fills the stomach, pleases the soul, and can be made into khichdi, kheer, vada, or whatever the family expert decides. My mother Soma knew this. Veshkak the grocer knew this, though he explained it like a folk tale. College taught me the rest.

And now, whenever I see those white, pearl-like sabudana, I think of that 16-kg tin, the monthly credit ledger, the herbs, the waiting, and the shopkeeper’s smile. He said the plant lies below the soil and makes pearls. It was not exactly botany. But honestly, for a child waiting in a grocery shop, it was close enough to magic.

From Oil to Bytes: The Story of Wipro

2026-10-11T20:52:00.000+01:00

From Oil to Bytes: The Story of Wipro

A Small Beginning in a Small Town

In 1945, in a quiet town called Amalner in Maharashtra, a man named Mohamed Hasham Premji started a small business. He made something simple but essential: cooking oil and vegetable ghee. He called his company **Western India Vegetable Products Limited**.

His brands had cheerful names like *Sunflower*, *Kisan*, and *Camel*. The sunflower, bright and sunny, became the symbol of his young company. Local people—farmers, teachers, and shopkeepers—were even offered shares in the business. Nobody knew then that this tiny oil company would one day become a giant in the world of technology.

---

A Young Man's Heavy Responsibility

In 1966, something sad happened. Mohamed Premji passed away suddenly. His son, **Azim Premji**, was only 21 years old. He was far away in the United States, studying engineering at Stanford University.

When he heard the news, he had a difficult choice to make. Should he continue his studies, or should he return home to take care of his family's business? He chose to come back to India.

Many people doubted him. "How can such a young boy run a company?" they whispered. But Azim Premji was determined. He rolled up his sleeves, learned every part of the business, and worked harder than anyone expected.

---

From Oil to Soap

Azim Premji was smart and saw opportunities everywhere. He knew that making cooking oil created leftover materials that could be used for something else. Soap is made from oils and fats through a simple chemical process called *saponification*.

Why waste anything when you can make something useful?

So Wipro started making **787 laundry soap**. It wasn't the most famous soap in India, but it was an important first step. The company was learning to do more with less. Soon, Wipro was making soaps, toiletries, lighting products, and even hydraulic cylinders!

In 1977, the company shortened its long name to something catchier: **Wipro**.

---

The Big Chance

The most important moment came in 1980. IBM, a huge American computer company, decided to leave India. Most people saw this as bad news. But Azim Premji saw something else—an **opportunity**.

"Computers are the future," he thought. "Why can't Wipro make them?"

And so, Wipro entered the world of information technology. At first, it made minicomputers. Then it moved into software. Slowly but steadily, the company that once made cooking oil began writing computer code and building technology systems for clients around the world.

---

A New Identity

But wait—did Wipro stop making soaps and oils? Not right away. For many years, the company did both: it made consumer products *and* built computers. It was like a person learning to play two instruments at once!

In 2013, the company made a big decision. It split into two parts:

- **Wipro Limited** would focus only on IT services, software, and technology.

- **Wipro Enterprises** would continue making consumer products like soaps and toiletries.

The old vegetable-oil business didn't disappear. It just moved into its own home, while Wipro Limited spread its wings and flew into the digital world.

---

From a Small Town to the World

By 2000, Wipro had grown so much that it listed its shares on the **New York Stock Exchange**. A small oil company from Amalner had become a global technology giant!

Today, Wipro helps companies all over the world with software, cloud computing, artificial intelligence, and digital transformation. But the heart of its story remains the same: a young man who believed in hard work, smart thinking, and never wasting an opportunity.

---

What We Can Learn

The story of Wipro teaches us something beautiful:

**A small seed, when watered with determination and vision, can grow into a mighty tree.**

From sunflower oil to computer software, Wipro's journey shows that change is not something to fear—it's something to embrace. And sometimes, the best ideas come from looking at what you already have and asking, "What else can this become?"

**The Moral: **

**Be like Wipro—never stop learning, never stop growing, and always see the opportunity hidden in every challenge. **

Ref:

[wipro][en.wikipedia][sciencedirect][en.wikipedia][grandviewresearch][scholarsarchive.byu][news24online][investopedia][youtube][linkedin][technologymagazine] [technologymagazine][technologymagazine][scribd][scribd][risevestors][investopedia][investopedia]

Kashmir and the Missing Clothes

2026-10-11T18:34:00.000+01:00

An imagined anecdote rather than a verified historical incident.

Kashmir and the Missing Clothes

The United Nations hall was buzzing with speeches, objections, and diplomatic expressions so carefully arranged that even a smile required international approval.

The subject was Kashmir.

In this imagined scene, Prime Minister P. V. Narasimha Rao had sent Atal Bihari Vajpayee to represent India. Vajpayee rose to speak, adjusted the microphone, and surveyed the gathering with the calm of a man who knew that a well-timed pause could accomplish more than three pages of argument.

“Before I address the issue,” he said, “permit me to tell a small story.”

A few delegates settled back gratefully. After hours of speeches, even the interpreters welcomed a change.

“Long, long ago,” Vajpayee began, “the sage Kashyap was walking through a thick forest in the beautiful land that, according to tradition, came to bear his name—Kashmir.

“After a long journey, he discovered a clear, inviting lake. He decided to bathe.”

Vajpayee paused.

“Being a practical sage, he first removed his clothes.”

A few smiles appeared.

“He folded them neatly, placed them on the bank, and entered the water. After a refreshing bath, he returned—only to discover that his clothes had disappeared.”

Another pause.

“Some Pakistanis had stolen them.”

The Pakistani representative sprang to his feet.

“Objection! This is absurd!”

Vajpayee looked at him with mild surprise.

“Which part?”

“The Pakistanis! Pakistan did not even exist in the time of Sage Kashyap. How could Pakistanis have stolen his clothes?”

Vajpayee allowed the words to settle. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

“Ah,” he said, “I am delighted that you have clarified the chronology.”

The representative hesitated. His objection had suddenly begun to feel less comfortable.

Vajpayee leaned towards the microphone.

“The point I wished to make has now been introduced by my distinguished colleague. We may proceed to his claim that Kashmir has always belonged to Pakistan.”

For a moment, the hall was silent. Then, in the story, laughter broke out, followed by applause.

The Pakistani representative sat down with the expression of a man who had rushed to rescue a missing wardrobe and accidentally opened a diplomatic trapdoor.

Vajpayee straightened his papers.

“Now,” he said, “having dealt with the missing clothes, let us address the matter at hand.”

The joke turns on a rhetorical trap, not a legal argument: a country’s founding date alone does not settle a territorial claim.

settle a territorial claim.

The Sparkly Necklace

2026-10-10T20:51:00.000+01:00

The Sparkly Necklace

Once upon a time, there lived a woman named Mathilde and her husband, Louis, in a small, cozy home.

Louis was kind and cheerful. He loved their warm soup, their little table, and the way Mathilde sang while she worked.

But Mathilde often looked out the window and sighed.

“I wish we had a big house,” she said. “I wish I had shiny dresses and beautiful jewels.”

Louis wanted Mathilde to be happy. One day, he came home holding a special envelope.

“Mathilde!” he said. “We have been invited to a grand party!”

Mathilde opened the invitation. Her eyes grew wide.

“A grand party?” she said. “But I have nothing lovely to wear!”

Louis saved his money and bought her a pretty new dress. Still, Mathilde frowned.

“A dress is not enough,” she said. “I need something sparkly.”

So, Mathilde visited her friend, Madame Forestier.

“May I borrow a necklace for the party?” Mathilde asked.

Her friend smiled and opened a little jewelry box.

“Of course,” she said. “Choose one.”

Mathilde saw a necklace that glittered like tiny stars.

“Oh!” she gasped. “This one is perfect!”

At the party, Mathilde felt like a princess. People smiled at her. They admired her dress and her shining necklace. She danced and laughed all evening.

But when she got home, Mathilde touched her neck—and suddenly froze.

“The necklace is gone!” she cried.

Louis searched the streets. Mathilde searched for their pockets, their coats, and the floor of their little home.

But the necklace was nowhere.

Mathilde and Louis were afraid to tell Madame Forestier. Instead, they found a necklace that looked exactly the same. It cost almost all the money they had—and much more money that they had to borrow.

For many years, Mathilde and Louis worked very hard to pay back the money. They cleaned, carried, cooked, and saved every coin.

At last, they had paid everything back.

One day, Mathilde saw Madame Forestier walking down the street.

“I must tell you something,” Mathilde said sadly. “I lost your necklace long ago. We bought another one to replace it, and it took us many years to pay for it.”

Madame Forestier looked surprised.

“Oh, Mathilde!” she said gently. “That necklace was not made of real diamonds.”

Mathilde blinked.

“It was only a pretty costume necklace,” said Madame Forestier. “It was not worth very much at all.”

Mathilde stood quietly for a moment.

Then she understood an important lesson: beautiful things can be fun, but kindness, honesty, and being grateful for what we have are far more precious than anything that sparkles.

The lesson

It is good to enjoy pretty things, but we do not need them to be special. Telling the truth and appreciating the people and home we already have can save us from many troubles.

"The Necklace" is a short story written by Guy de Maupassant, first published in 1884. It's a tale about pride and the consequences of vanity.

Roly-Poly Adventure: The Amazing Life of Pill Bugs

2026-10-10T19:34:00.000+01:00

Roly-Poly Adventure: The Amazing Life of Pill Bugs

Have you ever lifted up a rock in your backyard and found a tiny, gray creature that rolled up into a little ball? That's a roly-poly! Some people call them pill bugs, potato bugs, or woodlice. Let's learn all about these cool little critters!

What Do Roly-Polies Look Like?

Roly-polies are tiny creatures that look like little armoured tanks. They have oval-shaped bodies that are flat on the bottom. Most of them are dark brown or black, but some can be gray too. They wear a hard shell on the outside of their body, just like a knight wears armor! This shell protects them and makes them look shiny.

These little guys have seven pairs of legs. That's fourteen legs total! Can you imagine having that many legs? Their legs are short and strong, perfect for digging through dirt and walking around.

On their heads, roly-polies have two antennae that help them feel things around them. They also have tiny eyes to see where they're going. Their mouths are made for chewing up their food.

Where Do Roly-Polies Live?

Roly-polies love dark, wet places. You can find them under rocks, logs, and piles of leaves. They like to hide in damp spots because they need moisture to stay healthy. If they get too dry, they can get sick!

These little creatures live all over the world. They can be found in forests, gardens, and grasslands. They especially love gardens because there's lots of yummy food there!

The Coolest Trick: Rolling Up!

The most amazing thing about roly-polies is their special trick. When they feel scared, they roll up into a tight little ball! This is called "conglobation." When they roll up, their hard shell protects their soft belly and all their legs.

Why do they do this? It helps keep them safe from birds, spiders, and other animals that might want to eat them. When a roly-poly is rolled up, it looks just like a tiny ball, and predators can't get to their soft parts. It's like having a built-in shield!

What Do Roly-Polies Eat?

Roly-polies are like tiny garbage collectors for nature. They eat old, dead plants and leaves that have fallen to the ground. They also eat rotting wood and other yucky stuff that plants don't need anymore.

When they eat this old plant material, something magical happens. Their bodies turn it into healthy food for the soil! This helps new plants grow big and strong. That's why gardeners love roly-polies so much. They're helpers in the garden!

Roly-Poly Families

When it's time to have babies, boy roly-polies do a special dance to impress girl roly-polies. After they get married (in roly-poly style!), the mommy roly-poly carries her eggs in a special pouch under her body.

The eggs stay in this pouch until they hatch. When the babies come out, they look just like tiny versions of their parents! Baby roly-polies are very small, but they grow bigger and bigger until they're all grown up.

Why Roly-Polies Are Important

Roly-polies might be small, but they do big jobs! They help keep nature clean by eating dead plants and turning them into healthy soil. This helps plants grow, which gives us food to eat and pretty flowers to look at.

They also dig little tunnels in the soil when they walk around. These tunnels help air and water get into the ground. This is good for plant roots because they need air and water to grow.

How to Be a Friend to Roly-Polies

If you want roly-polies to live in your garden, here are some nice things you can do:

First, leave some wet, shady spots in your yard. You can put down rocks, logs, or piles of leaves where they can hide. They love these cozy spots!

Second, don't use chemicals or bug sprays in your garden. These can hurt roly-polies and make them sick. Instead, let them do their job naturally.

Third, you can gently pick up roly-polies and move them to your garden if you find them somewhere else. But remember to be very gentle and always put them in a damp, dark spot where they'll be happy.

Fun Facts About Roly-Polies

Did you know that roly-polies are actually related to crabs and lobsters? It's true! They're crustaceans, just like the animals that live in the ocean. But instead of living in water, roly-polies live on land.

Roly-polies can drink water through their bottoms! They have special tubes on their backs that they use to breathe, kind of like gills. This is another way they're like their ocean cousins.

Some roly-polies can live for two to three years. That's a long time for such a tiny creature!

There are over 5,000 different kinds of roly-polies in the world. They come in many sizes, from tiny ones you can barely see to bigger ones that are several centimetres long.

Roly-Polies in Stories and Art

People have been telling stories about roly-polies for hundreds of years. In some old stories, roly-polies were said to bring good luck and money. People thought their habit of rolling into a ball meant they were good at protecting themselves, and this was a sign of being smart and strong.

Artists and writers love royal polies too. You might find them in paintings, in children's books, or in cartoons. Their funny shape and rolling trick make them fun characters in stories.

Remember to Be Kind

Roly-polies are tiny creatures, but they're important. They help our gardens grow and keep nature healthy. Next time you see one, say hello! Watch it for a while and see what it does. Maybe you'll see it roll up into a ball!

If you want to hold one, be very gentle. Let it walk on your hand for a moment, then put it back in a safe, damp spot. Roly-polies are our little friends, and we should always treat them with kindness.

So, the next time you're playing outside, keep an eye out for these amazing little creatures. They might be hiding under a rock or a log, waiting to show you their cool rolling trick. Roly-polies are truly wonderful wonders of nature!

Ref:

1. https://inheritedseeds.com/blogs/news/building-soil-naturally

2. Pandey, P., Agrahari, R. K., & Upadhyay, V. K. (2017). Bioindicators and their role in environmental monitoring. International Journal of Advanced Research, 5(8), 1340-1344.

3. Hopkin, S. P., & Read, H. J. (1992). The biology of woodlice. Oxford University Press.

4. Skilton, R. (2012). Woodlouse weather folklore and habitats. Sussex Wildlife Trust: Nature Reserve News, 14, 10-11.

5. Wilson, R. A. (2018). Rollie Pollies / Oniscidae in Literature. Children's Literature Association Quarterly, 43(4), 401-404.

6. Ng, A., & Anderson, A. (2015). Beneficial insects and their use in organic farming. Pest Management Science, 71(5), 643-655.

7. Koch, R. L., & Burkness, E. C. (2010). The role of beneficial insects in resurgent outbreaks of twospotted spider mite (Acari: Tetranychidae) on impatiens in greenhouses: current status and future prospects. Biological Control, 52(4), 227-235.

8. Frank, S. D., & Shrewsbury, P. M. (2004). Management of the woodlouse, Porcellio scaber (Isopoda: Oniscidea), in commercial nurseries with barrier repellents. Journal of Economic Entomology, 97(3), 843-847.

Raja Pratap Singh and His Three Questions: A Folklore

2026-10-10T04:16:00.000+01:00

Raja Pratap Singh and His Three Questions: A Folklore

Once there was a Raja—often called Raja Pratap Singh in retellings—who was proud of his intelligence. He believed no one in his kingdom could answer the difficult questions in his mind.

One day, wishing to test his subjects, he announced three impossible tasks:

Prepare food without using burning fire.
Surround the entire kingdom with one continuous thread.
Tell the Raja, openly and to his face, what his greatest weakness was.

Many learned men, merchants, and courtiers came before him. None could answer all three questions. Some were frightened of offending the Raja; others tried clever words but failed.

At last, people told the Raja about the wife of a poor potter. She was known not for wealth or education, but for sharp thought, courage, and common sense. The Raja summoned her to the palace.

First question: Food without fire

The Raja asked:

“Can you prepare food without burning fire?”

The potter’s wife replied that she could.

She used a clever fireless cooking method using quicklime (calcium oxide) and water: the heat comes from a chemical reaction, not from a flame. Quicklime reacts strongly with water to form slaked lime, releasing substantial heat.

When Raja Pratap Singh challenged the potter’s wife to prepare food without burning fire, she used two sets of earthen pots:

She placed the raw food—perhaps rice, lentils, vegetables, or grain with water—inside smaller, tightly closed earthen pots.
She set these sealed smaller pots inside larger pots.
Into the space around them, she put quicklime.
She then poured water onto the quicklime, carefully ensuring that the lime-water mixture could not enter the food pots.
The quicklime reacted with the water and gave off intense heat.
The heat passed through the clay and cooked the food inside the sealed pots.

Then she brought the cooked food to the Raja and said, in essence:

“Your Majesty asked me to cook without burning fire. I lit no wood, coal, or lamp. The food was cooked by the heat produced when lime met water.”

This is a very ingenious answer because it obeys the exact wording of the Raja’s challenge.

The potter’s wife asked for two large earthen pots, several smaller pots with close-fitting lids, raw food, quicklime, and water.

Into the smaller pots she placed the uncooked food and sealed their mouths with clay. She set them carefully inside the larger pots. Around the inner vessels she placed lumps of quicklime. Then, before the watching courtiers, she poured water over the lime and quickly covered the outer pots.

No flame rose. No wood crackled. No smoke drifted through the palace courtyard. Yet, inside the closed pots, the food slowly cooked in the fierce hidden heat released by the lime and water.

When she opened the inner pots, the food was ready. She placed it before the Raja and bowed.

“Maharaj,” she said, “you commanded that food be prepared without a burning fire. I obeyed. I used no fire at all.”

The Raja tasted the food and found that he had been answered.

Second question: One thread around the kingdom

Next, the Raja ordered:

“Surround my entire kingdom with a single continuous thread.”

The woman did not bring an ordinary thread. She took clay—the material her husband used for his pots—and formed it into a long, unbroken coil or thread-like line.

Then she told the Raja:

“If Your Majesty truly wishes the kingdom to be encircled by one continuous thread, please have this clay thread placed all along its boundary.”

In some tellings, she asks the Raja to show her precisely where the kingdom begins and ends, and to have the boundary cleared first. This turns the impossible task back toward the Raja: only a ruler with clear boundaries, officials, roads, and resources could physically lay a thread around the realm.

Her answer is clever because it exposes the weakness of the command. A king may give grand orders, but carrying them out requires real knowledge, exact boundaries, labor, and cooperation.

Third question: Raja’s weakness

Finally, the Raja said:

“Tell me my weakness directly to my face.”

This was the most dangerous question. If she said the Raja was foolish or proud, he might punish her. If she praised him falsely, she would fail the test.

So the potter’s wife answered calmly:

“Your greatest weakness is that you are too proud to recognize wisdom when it comes from an ordinary person.”

Or, in another common form:

“Your weakness is pride. You think wisdom belongs only to kings, courtiers, and learned men. Yet you summoned a poor potter’s wife to answer questions none of them could answer.”

The Raja was silent. Her words were true.

A good ending has the Raja accept the truth, reward the woman and her husband, and learn to respect the intelligence of all his people. A harsher folk-tale ending sometimes has the ruler react angrily showing that the woman’s answer was correct.

Meaning of the Tale:

The three answers represent three kinds of wisdom:

1. Raja’s challenge: Cook without burning the fire

Potter’s wife’s answer: Use Quick Lime’s heat

What it teaches: Think beyond ordinary assumptions

2. Raja’s Challenge: Put one thread around the kingdom

Potter’s Wife’s answer: Make a continuous clay thread / require the boundaries to be marked.

What it teaches: Grand commands need practical reality

3. Raja’s challenge: Name the ruler’s weakness

Potter’s wife’s answer: His pride and inability to accept truth

What it teaches: Power should be humble enough to hear honest counsel

At its heart, the story says: wisdom is not determined by rank, wealth, gender, or education. A poor potter’s wife can see more clearly than a proud king because she has practical intelligence and the courage to speak truth. Folklore collections from South Asia include many related “three questions” tales, often featuring ordinary people who outwit or instruct a king

.[archive][wisdomlib]

[archive][scribd]

[en.wikipedia][gktoday]

Silky the Spider and the Story of the First Hello

2026-10-07T22:04:00.000+01:00

Silky the Spider and the Story of the First Hello

Part One: Silky's Busy Day

Once upon a time, in a quiet little garden by the sea, there lived a spider named Silky.

Silky had eight legs. Can you count them? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Four legs on one side and four legs on the other side.

Silky used her two front legs to feel things, just like you use your fingers to feel. Her front legs were extra long, so she could reach out and touch everything around her.

One warm evening, when the sun was going down, Silky got ready to build something wonderful.

"Time to make my web!" she said.

But first, Silky needed her special silk. Do you know where spider silk comes from? It comes from inside the spider's body! It starts as a liquid, like water, and when it comes out, it turns hard. Isn't that amazing?

Spider silk is very, very thin. Thinner than your hair! But it is super strong. It can hold 4,000 times what Silky weighs. That's like you lifting 4,000 of your friends!

Silky climbed up high. She found a good spot between two branches.

First, she made a long line. She pulled it tight and stuck it to a twig.

"Perfect!" said Silky.

Then she made more lines. She made a big frame, like a square. Then she made lines going this way and that way, like a wheel with spokes.

Next, Silky went round and round and round, from the middle to the outside. She made a beautiful spiral.

"Now for the sticky part!" said Silky.

She made one more spiral, but this time she used sticky silk. This silk would catch her dinner.

When she was all done, her web looked like a beautiful wheel with sparkly, sticky strings.

"Wait a minute," said Silky. "If my web is sticky, why don't I get stuck?"

Good question!

Silky is very smart. She runs on the dry strings. She stays away from the sticky ones. Also, her feet have oil on them, like when you put lotion on your hands. The oil keeps her from sticking.

So Silky can run all over her web without getting stuck. Whew!

Now Silky waited.

A little fly came buzzing by.

*Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.*

The fly did not see the web. It flew right into the sticky strings!

*Boing!*

The fly was stuck.

Silky felt the web wiggle. She ran over on her dry strings. Now she had dinner!

But Silky had to be careful. Bigger animals wanted to eat HER!

Sometimes a bird came. Sometimes a wasp came. Sometimes even a frog came!

When Silky got scared, she did something clever. She let go of her web and dropped down, down, down on a special silk string. It was like a lifeline!

She landed on the ground and ran away fast, fast, fast.

"Phew!" said Silky. "That was close!"

---

## Part Two: Silky Meets Some Children

One day, some children came to play in the garden.

They sat down near Silky's web.

"Look!" said one child. "A spider!"

"Don't touch it!" said another child. "Spiders are scary!"

Silky heard this and felt sad. She was not scared. She was just a little spider trying to live her life.

A kind child named Mia looked closely at Silky.

"She's not scary," said Mia. "She's beautiful. Look at her sparkly web!"

Silky felt happy. Someone understood her!

Mia asked, "What kind of creature is a spider?"

Her friend Tom said, "I think it's an insect?"

"No," said Mia. "Let's find out!"

---

## Part Three: All About Spiders

Spiders belong to a special family called **Arachnids** (say: ah-RACK-nids).

Arachnids are different from insects. Can you remember how?

**Insects have:**

- 6 legs

- 3 body parts

- Some have wings

**Spiders (Arachnids) have:**

- 8 legs

- 2 body parts

- No wings

So if you see a little creature with eight legs, it is NOT an insect. It is an arachnid!

**Other arachnid cousins include:**

- Scorpions

- Ticks

- Mites

They are all in the same family as spiders!

**Fun Facts:**

- There are more than 40,000 kinds of spiders in the world!

- Spiders live everywhere — even in very cold places and very hot places

- Most spiders are tiny, but some can be as big as your hand

- Spiders help us by eating bugs like mosquitoes and flies

So remember: eight legs means arachnid!

And Silky the Spider is proud to be one.

## Part Four: The Story of the First Hello

Mia looked out at the sea beyond the garden.

"Did you know," said Mia, "that long ago, a big ship came to this land?"

Tom asked, "What ship?"

"A ship called the *Endeavour*," said Mia. "It was Captain Cook's ship. Captain Cook was from England, a country far, far away across the sea. He was born in a little place called Marton in Yorkshire."

The children imagined a big, white ship with tall sails.

"On the ship were sailors who had traveled a very, very long way from their homes," said Mia. "They were tired and curious. They had heard stories about a great southern land, and now they were finally here."

"When the ship came close to the land, the sailors looked through their telescopes. On the beach, they saw people. These were the Aboriginal people, the First Peoples of Australia. They had lived on this land for thousands and thousands of years."

Tom asked, "What did they look like?"

"The sailors noticed something," said Mia. "The Aboriginal people were not wearing clothes like the sailors' heavy coats and trousers. It was a very hot, sunny day. The Aboriginal people were dressed for their country. They wore nothing at all, or perhaps just a little bit of decoration. To them, this was normal. It was comfortable. The sun was warm on their skin, and the cool water was nice for swimming."

"The Aboriginal people saw the big ship, too. They were quiet and watchful. Captain Cook wrote in his journal that they seemed 'very timid.' They didn't rush to the ship. They didn't shout or wave. They stayed on the shore, watching. They were careful. This was their home, and a giant, strange ship was in it."

Mia continued, "Now, the sailors had also been to a place called Hawaii. In Hawaii, the people were very curious! They swam out to the ship in big groups. The Hawaiian women even swam up to the sailors, smiling and wanting to trade. They were excited to meet new people."

"The Aboriginal people were different. They didn't see the ship and think, 'Wow! Let's go see!' They saw the ship and thought, 'What is that? We must be careful.' They were brave, but they were also cautious. They didn't know who these strangers were or what they wanted."

---

## Part Five: Two Different Worlds

Silky listened to the children's story from her web.

She thought about how the Aboriginal people felt when they saw the big ship. They were careful and watchful. Just like Silky was careful and watchful when big animals came near her web!

"Being careful is smart," said Mia. "The Aboriginal people were protecting their home."

"Many years later," said Mia, "some artists tried to paint pictures of the Aboriginal people. Some of these artists had never even met an Aboriginal person. They had only read stories. So, they painted them as if they were from ancient Rome or Greece, like statues in a museum. They gave them a style that wasn't their own. It wasn't honest."

"But other artists, who had actually been there, drew what they really saw. Their pictures, even if they weren't perfect, were more honest. They showed the real people, living in their own way."

Tom said, "So the first drawings were better?"

"Yes," said Mia. "They were honest. They showed the truth."

Silky thought about this. Her web was honest too. It showed exactly what she was — a clever spider who could make beautiful, strong silk.

## Part Six: The Same but Different

"The story of the first hello," said Mia, "is a story of two different worlds meeting. One world was full of curiosity and excitement. The other world was full of caution and watchfulness. Neither was right or wrong. They were just different."

Tom nodded. "Like spiders and insects. They are different, but both are important."

"And like Silky," said Mia. "She is different from us. She has eight legs and makes silk. But she is not scary. She is amazing."

Silky felt warm inside. The children understood her.

"And the Aboriginal people," said Mia, "are different from Captain Cook's sailors. But they are not scary either. They are the First Peoples of this land. They have wonderful stories and songs and art. They have been here for thousands and thousands of years."

"Different is not bad," said Tom. "Different is interesting."

"Yes," said Mia. "Just like the first simple drawings of a new land. They were honest. And honest is good."

## Part Seven: Silky's Gift

That night, Silky worked very hard.

She spun a beautiful new web. It sparkled in the moonlight.

When the children came back the next morning, they saw something wonderful.

In the middle of the web, Silky had woven a special pattern. It looked like a tiny ship with tall sails!

"Look!" said Mia. "Silky made a ship!"

"She's telling the story too!" said Tom.

Silky sat in the middle of her web, proud of her work.

She had listened to the children's story. She had learned about Captain Cook and the Aboriginal people. She had learned about being careful and being curious.

And she had learned that being different is a wonderful thing.

The End

*Did you know?*

- Spiders have 8 legs and are called arachnids

- Spider silk is stronger than it looks

- Spiders don't get stuck in their own webs

- The Aboriginal people are the First Peoples of Australia

- Captain Cook came from England in a ship called the *Endeavour*

- Being different is a wonderful thing

---

*Questions to think about:*

- How many legs does a spider have?

- What is a spider's family called?

- Why were the Aboriginal people careful when they saw the ship?

- What makes you different and special?

Silky the Spider's Busy Day

2026-10-06T21:58:00.000+01:00

Silky the Spider's Busy Day

*A story for young children*

Once upon a time, in a quiet little garden, there lived a spider named Silky.

Silky had eight legs. Can you count them? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Four legs on one side and four legs on the other side.

Silky used her two front legs to feel things, just like you use your fingers to feel. Her front legs were extra-long, so she could reach out and touch everything around her.

---

One warm evening, when the sun was going down, Silky got ready to build something wonderful.

"Time to make my web!" she said.

Spider silk is very, very thin. Thinner than your hair! But it is super strong. It can hold 4,000 times what Silky weighs. That's like you are lifting 4,000 of your friends!

---

Silky climbed up high. She found a good spot between two branches.

First, she made a long line. She pulled it tight and stuck it to a twig.

"Perfect!" said Silky.

Then she made more lines. She made a big frame, like a square. Then she made lines going this way and that way, like a wheel with spokes.

Next, Silky went round and round and round, from the middle to the outside. She made a beautiful spiral.

"Now for the sticky part!" said Silky.

She made one more spiral, but this time she used sticky silk. This silk would catch her dinner.

When she was all done, her web looked like a beautiful wheel with sparkly, sticky strings.

---

"Wait a minute," said Silky. "If my web is sticky, why don't I get stuck?"

Good question!

Silky is very smart. She runs on the dry strings. She stays away from the sticky ones. Also, her feet have oil on them, like when you put lotion on your hands. The oil keeps her from sticking.

So Silky can run all over her web without getting stuck. Whew!

---

Now Silky waited.

A little fly came buzzing by.

*Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.*

The fly did not see the web. It flew right into the sticky strings!

*Boing! *

The fly was stuck.

Silky felt the web wiggle. She ran over on her dry strings. Now she had dinner!

---

But Silky had to be careful. Bigger animals wanted to eat HER!

Sometimes a bird came. Sometimes a wasp came. Sometimes even a frog came!

When Silky got scared, she did something clever. She let go of her web and dropped down, down, down on a special silk string. It was like a lifeline!

She landed on the ground and ran away fast, fast, fast.

"Phew!" said Silky. "That was close!"

---

When Silky wanted to rest, she made a special silk string called a dragline. Wherever she went, she left this string behind her.

If she fell, she could climb right back up the string.

It was like having a safety rope. Like when you hold onto a railing so you don't fall.

---

Silky lived a happy life in the garden.

Every day she found food. Every day she was careful of her enemies. And one day, she would make a special silk blanket to wrap up her little eggs.

The eggs would hatch into tiny baby spiders. And they would grow up and make their own webs, just like Silky.

So, the next time you see a spider web sparkling in the sun, remember Silky.

Remember how hard she worked. Remember how strong her silk is. And remember — spiders are amazing!

---

*Did you know? *

- Spiders have 8 legs

- Spider silk is stronger than it looks

- Spiders don't get stuck in their own webs

- Baby spiders are called spiderlings

…

All About Spiders!

Spiders belong to a special family called **Arachnids** (say: ah-RACK-nids).

Arachnids are different from insects. Can you remember how?

**Insects have: **

- 6 legs

- 3 body parts

- Some have wings

**Spiders (Arachnids) have: **

- 8 legs

- 2 body parts

- No wings

So, if you see a little creature with eight legs, it is NOT an insect. It is an arachnid!

---

**Other arachnid cousins include: **

- Scorpions

- Ticks

- Mites

They are all in the same family as spiders!

---

**Fun Facts: **

- There are more than 40,000 kinds of spiders in the world!

- Spiders live everywhere — even in very cold places and very hot places

- Most spiders are tiny, but some can be as big as your hand

- Spiders help us by eating bugs like mosquitoes and flies

---

So, remember: eight legs mean arachnid!

And Silky the Spider is proud to be one. 🕷️

**The End... for real this time!**

Karna and the Sky Musicians

2026-10-06T06:21:00.000+01:00

Karna and the Sky Musicians

In Hindu stories, the Gandharvas are magical musicians who live in the sky. They sing sweet songs, play beautiful music, and dance for the gods.

Karna was a brave and kind warrior in the Mahabharata. When he was a baby, he was left alone, but a loving charioteer and his wife found him and raised him as their son.

Karna was born with shining golden armour and special earrings. They were gifts from Surya, the Sun God. They helped protect him in battle.

Karna believed in being kind and helpful. He gave food, gifts, and help to people who needed it. Because he was generous and loyal, many people respected him.

The Gandharvas were known for music and joy. In stories, they remind us that music can make hearts feel peaceful and happy.

Karna’s story teaches us an important lesson:

Be kind.
Help others.
Be thankful for your friends.
And remember that every child is special.

Karna was not great because of his armour or earrings. He was great because he had a brave and giving heart.

[mahabharataonline][vedapath]

Hoba, the Giant Space Rock

2026-10-04T19:09:00.000+01:00

Hoba, the Giant Space Rock

Hoba is the biggest and heaviest meteorite ever found on Earth. It is a huge rock from outer space that landed in Namibia, a country in Africa.

But first, what is a meteorite?

A meteorite is a piece of rock or metal from space that travels through Earth’s sky and lands on the ground. Many space rocks burn up in the air as bright streaks of light called meteors. Hoba was strong and heavy enough to reach the ground.

A Very Heavy Visitor

Hoba is enormous. It is about as wide as a small room and shaped a little like a giant box.

It measures about:

2.7 metres long
2.7 metres wide
0.9 metres thick

Hoba is mostly made of iron, with some nickel and tiny bits of cobalt. It weighs more than 64 tons—that is heavier than many large elephants put together!

Soft Landing

Scientists think Hoba fell to Earth about 80,000 years ago. Usually, when a large space rock hits the ground, it makes a giant hole called a crater.

Hoba did not make a big crater.

Scientists think its flat, box-like shape helped slow it down as it travelled through the air. It was still moving very fast when it reached the ground, but it landed at an angle and did not dig a deep hole. Instead, it stayed almost exactly where it fell.

Found on a Farm

Hoba was discovered in 1920 by a farmer in Namibia. He was ploughing his field when he struck something hard and metallic. It was not an ordinary rock—it was a meteorite from space!

Hoba has never been moved. It still rests in the same place where it was found.

Protected for Everyone

When people first learned about Hoba, some took small pieces from it. This made the meteorite lighter and damaged it.

To protect Hoba, the government declared it a national monument in 1955. Later, a special visitor area was built around it. Today, visitors can see the giant space rock safely from seats arranged like a small outdoor theatre.

Hoba is an amazing reminder that pieces of outer space can sometimes come all the way down to Earth.

The Story of Kichaka

2026-10-04T04:57:00.000+01:00

The Story of Kichaka

Here is a story from the **Mahabharata**, in the **Virata Parva** (the part where the Pandavas hide for one year).

Once, the five Pandava brothers and Draupadi had to live secretly for one year. They stayed in the kingdom of **King Virata**. Draupadi pretended to be a maid for the queen.

**Kichaka** was the queen’s brother, so he was King Virata’s **brother-in-law**. He was also the army chief, and he was a big tyrant and a bully. He kept troubling Draupadi and would not stop even when she said “No!”

Draupadi told **Bhima**, her very strong husband. Bhima made a plan. Draupadi told Kichaka, “If you want to meet me, come to the dark dance hall at night.” Kichaka thought he would meet Draupadi. But it was **Bhima** waiting in the dark, covered up so Kichaka could not see properly. [Bhima did not really “become” Draupadi. He tricked Kichaka in the dark. And Kichaka was the brother of Queen Sudeshna, King Virata’s wife, so that is why he was Virata’s brother-in-law.]

When Kichaka came close, Bhima caught him and fought him. Bhima was much stronger, and Kichaka was defeated. In the original story, Kichaka is killed. Later, Kichaka’s brothers tried to hurt Draupadi, but Bhima protected her.

**Moral for kids: ** Don’t bully others. If someone troubles you, tell a trusted grown-up. And real strength is used to protect people, not to hurt them.

Life in the Roman Empire: A Long Time Ago

2026-10-03T04:32:00.000+01:00

Life in the Roman Empire: A Long Time Ago

Imagine a time long, long ago, when a huge and powerful group called the **Roman Empire** ruled over many lands. This was over 2,000 years ago! The Romans were amazing builders, great artists, and clever organisers. They built roads, bridges, and huge buildings that still stand today.

But life back then was very, very different from the life now. Some of the things they did would seem very strange and even unkind to us today. Let's learn about a few of them.

---

1. Gladiator Games

The Romans loved to watch a special kind of show called **gladiator games**. These were held in big stadiums, like sports arenas today.

Gladiators were fighters. They were often people who were captured in wars or who were enslaved. They would fight each other, sometimes with swords and shields, in front of huge crowds. The crowds would cheer and shout. These fights were very dangerous, and sometimes they were fights to the end.

**Why was this different?** Today, we play sports for fun and to see who is the best. In ancient Rome, these games were a form of entertainment where people's lives were in danger. We would never think of watching people fight like that today.

---

2. Slavery

A long time ago, the Roman economy—the way they got things done—relied on **slavery**. This meant that some people were owned by other people. They were not free. They had to work very hard, and they could be bought and sold like toys or furniture. Their owners could be very mean to them.

**Why was this different?** Today, we believe that everyone should be free and treated with kindness and respect. Slavery is against the law everywhere in the world now. It's important to remember that it was a very sad and unfair part of history.

---

3. Babies Left Outside

In the early days of Rome, there was a practice called **exposure**. This was a very sad thing. If a family had a baby they did not want—perhaps because the baby was a girl (when they wanted a boy) or was sick—they might leave the baby outside. They believed that nature would take its course.

**Why was this different?** Today, all babies are precious and are taken care of. If a family needs help, there are places they can go. Leaving a baby alone outside is not okay and is against the law.

---

4. Parades for Winning Wars

The Romans had a strong army. When they won a big war, they would have a huge parade called a **triumph**. They would march through the city, showing off all the treasures they had taken and the important prisoners they had captured.

**Why was this different?** It's okay to be proud of your team or your country. But the Roman parades were all about celebrating beating other people. Today, we try to solve problems with talking and peace, not by showing off how we defeated others.

---

5. Public Executions

In ancient Rome, when someone broke a very serious law, they could be punished in a way that everyone could see. These **public executions** were often held in big arenas. The punishments were very cruel.

**Why was this different?** Today, we have courts and judges to decide on fair punishments. Punishments are not meant to be a show for everyone to watch. We believe in treating everyone humanely, even those who have done wrong.

---

6. Relationships Between Men and Boys

In Roman times, it was common for older men to have close relationships with teenage boys. These relationships were not like the friendships we have today.

**Why was this different?** Today, we know that relationships between adults and children should always be safe, fair, and appropriate. We have rules to protect children and make sure they are not taken advantage of.

---

7. Going to the Bathroom... Together!

The Romans loved to go to **public baths**. These were big, fancy places where people would go to wash, swim, and hang out with friends. It was a very social activity.

But here's the shocking part: when they used the toilet, they didn't have toilet paper! Instead, they used a shared sponge on a stick, called a **xylospongium**, to clean themselves. They would dip it in water and then pass it to the next person.

**Why was this different?** Yikes! That is definitely not very clean! Today, we know all about germs and how important it is to have our own, clean things. We would never share a bathroom tool like that!

---

The Roman Empire was a time of amazing achievements and very different ideas. Learning about the past helps us understand how the world has changed and why we do things the way we do today.

When One Grain Fed a Thousand: Krishna and the Akshayapatra

2026-09-30T20:26:00.000+01:00

When One Grain Fed a Thousand:

Krishna and the Akshayapatra

During the third age, the Dvapara Yuga, the Pandavas lived in the forest in exile. Life there was difficult. They often struggled to find enough food for themselves and the sages, guests, and travellers who came to visit.

Concerned for his family, Yudhishthira performed severe penance to please Lord Surya, the Sun God. Pleased by his devotion, Surya appeared before him and bestowed upon him a great sacred vessel called the Akshayapatra—the inexhaustible cauldron, a big pot.

Surya said, “This vessel will provide whatever food you desire. It will remain inexhaustible each day until Draupadi has eaten her meal. Once she has eaten, it will give no more food until the next day.”

With the Akshayapatra, the Pandavas were able to live peacefully in the forest. Each day, Draupadi ate only after everyone else had been fed.

One day, the fierce sage Durvasa arrived at the Pandavas’ dwelling with many disciples. Yudhishthira received them with great respect, offering them water, kind words, and a place to rest.

“Revered Sage,” said Yudhishthira, “please accept our kindness and welcome. We shall prepare a feast for you and all your disciples.”

Durvasa smiled. “Very well. Prepare the meal. We will return after bathing in the river.”

Then Durvasa and his many disciples walked to a nearby stream.

As soon as they had gone, Yudhishthira turned to Draupadi. “Please prepare food for our honoured guests.”

Draupadi’s face grew pale.

“My lord,” she said quietly, “I have already eaten. The Akshayapatra is empty.”

The Pandavas were filled with dread and terror. They knew Durvasa’s reputation. The sage was easily angered, and those who offended him could suffer terrible curses. How could they feed so many guests when not even a single grain of food remained?

At that moment, Lord Krishna appeared at their dwelling.

Yudhishthira rose in surprise. “Krishna! What brings you to this lonely forest?”

Krishna smiled mischievously. “I was simply wandering through the forest. But now I am very hungry. Draupadi, do you have anything to eat?”

Yudhishthira explained their difficulty. Krishna listened and then said, “Bring me the Akshayapatra.”

Draupadi brought the empty vessel to him. Krishna looked closely inside it and found one tiny grain of rice, along with a small piece of vegetable, still clinging to the side.

“There!” Krishna said. “This is enough.”

He ate the remaining morsel with great satisfaction and said, “May the hunger of all beings be satisfied.”

At that very moment, Durvasa and his disciples, who were bathing in the river, suddenly felt full. Their hunger vanished as though they had eaten a grand feast.

Durvasa touched his stomach in astonishment. “This is strange. I cannot eat even one more bite.”

His disciples agreed. “Master, neither can we. We feel as though we have eaten more than enough.”

Durvasa’s expression changed. He understood what had happened.

“Lord Krishna must be with the Pandavas,” he said. “He has accepted their offering, and by his power we have all been satisfied. If we return and refuse the meal they have prepared, Yudhishthira will feel dishonoured. And if we offend the Pandavas, who are beloved devotees of Lord Vishnu, we may bring great misfortune upon ourselves.”

The disciples were astonished.

“Master,” one of them said, “the whole world fears your anger and your curses. Why should you fear the devotees of Vishnu?”

Durvasa replied, “Because the Lord always protects those who surrender to him with a pure heart. The power of a devotee’s faith is greater than anger, pride, or worldly strength. We must leave quietly at once.”

So, Durvasa and his disciples departed from the forest without returning to the Pandavas’ hut.

Soon afterwards, the Pandavas wondered why their guests had not come back. Krishna smiled and said, “Do not worry. Your guests have already been fed.”

The Pandavas understood that Krishna had saved them once again. Draupadi bowed before him in gratitude, and Krishna reminded them that sincere faith, humility, and devotion are never abandoned by the Divine.

So, to conclude, I may say that though the Akshayapatra had seemed empty, the Pandavas learned that where faith and devotion remained, divine grace could make even a single grain enough to satisfy the world.

Quince apple (bum choont)

2026-09-30T02:50:00.000+01:00

Quince apple (bum-choont of Kashmir-a remembrance)

I remember Janki—my father—saying, “Tomorrow is my mother’s death anniversary. Let us prepare quince with the other dishes.” On the death anniversary of Kudmali, he would observe a fast, and quince would invariably find its way into the remembrance meal.

As children, we wondered why quince had to be cooked on such occasions. Why not a more familiar fruit? His answer was usually simple, though it often unfolded into one of his long, affectionate stories about quince—its fragrance, its healing qualities, its ancient associations, and its place in Kashmiri memory. He believed that Kashmiri Pandits had long understood the value of wholesome food and disciplined living. He had experience, an instinctive respect for science, and a gift for connecting tradition with reason.

The fruit of love

Quince has been associated with love, marriage, and fertility since antiquity. The ancient Greeks linked it with fertility and included it in wedding customs. It was offered as a wedding gift; in some accounts, a bride would take a bite of quince to sweeten her breath before entering the bridal chamber, and the bride and groom would share the fruit. Through such associations, quince came to be known as the fruit of love, marriage, and fertility.

Its scent itself seems made for celebration. A ripe quince can perfume a room with a fragrance suggestive of apple, pear, citrus, guava, and sometimes even pineapple. Leave one on a sunny windowsill, and it slowly gives its perfume to the kitchen: a delicate mingling of vanilla, citrus, and autumn fruit.

Quince grows on small trees and ripens in late autumn, generally around September and October. At first glance, it resembles an apple or a short-necked pear, yet that resemblance is misleading. It is knobbly, irregularly shaped, and, when picked early, may wear a soft grey fuzz. The finest ripe fruit is golden yellow, smooth-skinned, and richly fragrant.

A fruit transformed by fire

Unlike an apple or pear, quince is rarely inviting when raw. Most cultivated varieties are hard, sour, astringent, and difficult to eat without cooking. Yet therein lies its secret. Under heat, its pale, whitish-yellow flesh softens and transforms into a glowing rosy pink or deep red. What was once harsh becomes fragrant, tender, and delicious.

Its high pectin content makes quince especially suitable for jams, jellies, preserves, and chutneys. Its sharp, distinctive flavour also works beautifully in savoury cooking. In Kashmiri kitchens, quince may be prepared with lotus stem or brinjal, where its unusual sweetness and perfume acquire an entirely new character.

When simmered gently with sugar and a little water—or perhaps wine—it becomes delicate, sweet, and richly aromatic. Medieval cooks treasured quince and seasoned it with pepper, ginger, cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg. At great medieval feasts, quince jelly was served as a prized dessert. It is a fruit that requires patience: it does not give its sweetness immediately, but rewards whoever waits for its hidden richness.

Food and healing

Quince has long been valued not only as food but also in household healing traditions. It contains dietary fibre, antioxidants, vitamin C, and minerals including potassium, phosphorus, zinc, copper, and iron. Its tannins include catechin and epicatechin, and its high pectin content contributes to its usefulness in preserves.

In Kashmir, traditional physicians often recommended dried quince seeds—locally remembered as pits—for sore throats and coughs. When soaked in water, the seeds form a thick, soothing jelly-like liquid. Mixed with a little honey, it has been used as a gentle, alcohol-free home remedy, especially for children. The mucilage from the seeds has also been traditionally used to soothe minor irritation and has been applied externally for small burns and bruises.

The fruit and its juice have also been used in traditional remedies for digestive discomfort and as a gargle for tender throats, mouth ulcers, and gum irritation. Such traditional uses are part of folk practice and should not replace medical care, especially for persistent or serious illness.

An ancient traveller

The quince is an ancient fruit, known in Roman cookery and cultivated across the Mediterranean, Turkey, Central Asia, and parts of Southeast Asia. Its botanical name, Cydonia oblonga, is linked to Kydonia, an ancient city in Crete. The Greek name for quince, kydoni, preserves that connection.

Crete itself carries a magnificent history. It was the home of the Minoan civilisation, one of the earliest great civilisations of Europe, flourishing roughly between 2600 and 1150 BCE. From that old Mediterranean world came many of the myths surrounding quince.

Some traditions suggest that the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden may have been a quince rather than an apple. In Greek legend, Paris awarded a quince to Aphrodite, goddess of love, as the prize in the famous beauty contest involving Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena. That choice, legend says, helped set in motion the events leading to the Trojan War. Whether myth or history, quince has travelled through the imagination of many cultures as a fruit of beauty, desire, love, and destiny.

My father often spoke of sweeter quince varieties—fruit so juicy and mild that it could be eaten like an apple—found in distant places such as Central Asia and Latin America. For years, those stories sounded almost legendary. Then, at a fruit growers’ festival in Los Angeles, I saw one for myself: a fruit with the unmistakable perfume and flavour of quince, yet sweet, juicy, and almost apple-like in its immediate appeal. For anyone who loves quince, such a discovery feels like a revelation.

A tree for remembrance

Quince is not always easy to find. Perhaps that is why I planted two quince trees about eight years ago. They have now begun to bear bumper fruit. I planted them with a small but enduring hope: that as long as my wife and I live in Washington, we will not be deprived of preparing the favourite dishes of our departed parents and loved ones.

Perhaps, many years from now, someone will stand near those trees and say, “Our grandfather planted these fifty years ago.” They may even complain, with affectionate impatience, “What use are these hard quinces?” Yet they may not know that every fruit carries a story—of Janki, of Kudmali, of a fast observed with devotion, of a Kashmiri home, of autumn kitchens, and of remembrance.

For quince is not merely a hard fruit that softens in the cooking pot. It is a fruit of patience, transformation, love, and memory—the Fruit of Love.

The Banyan Seed Story of Shvetaketu

2026-09-27T20:22:48.775+01:00

The Banyan Seed

Story of Shvetaketu

[Uddalaka=father; Shvetaketu =son]

This ancient teaching comes from the Chhandogya Upanishad. It is connected with the sacred phrase Tat Tvam Asi— “That Thou Art,” or “You are That.”

Shvetaketu was a young man who had spent many years studying sacred texts. When he returned home, he was proud of all that he had learned. His father, the sage Uddalaka Āruṇi, loved him deeply, but he saw that his son still had much to understand.

One day, Uddalaka said, “My son, bring me a fruit from that great banyan tree.”

Shvetaketu brought fruit to his father.

“Break it open,” Uddalaka said.

Shvetaketu opened the fruit and looked inside.

“What do you see?” his father asked.

“Many tiny seeds,” replied Shvetaketu.

“Take one of those seeds,” said Uddalaka. “Now break it open.”

Shvetaketu carefully broke a tiny seed between his fingers.

“What do you see inside?” his father asked.

Shvetaketu looked closely and said, “I see nothing at all.”

Then his father spoke gently:

“My son, from that subtle essence, which you cannot see, this great banyan tree has grown. Within the tiny seed is a power too delicate for the eyes to behold. From it come the roots, the vast trunk, the spreading branches, the leaves, the fruit, and many more seeds.”

Shvetaketu listened quietly.

His father continued, “Do not think that what you cannot see is nothing. The most important realities are often hidden. They are silent, subtle, and beyond the reach of the eyes.”

The banyan tree stood before them—strong, wide, and full of life. Yet it had begun in something so small that it seemed empty.

Uddalaka then gave his son the deeper teaching:

“Just as this great tree comes from an unseen essence, so all life arises from an invisible Reality. That Reality lives in all things—in the tree, in the earth, in every creature, and within you.”

Then he said the words that Shvetaketu would never forget:

“Tat Tvam Asi—That Thou Art.”

Shvetaketu understood that wisdom is not merely learning words or memorizing teachings. True wisdom is seeing the hidden unity of life: that behind every form, every person, and every living thing is one subtle and eternal essence.

Ref:

[theearthstoriescollection]

[en.yogveda]

[academic.oup][theearthstoriescollection]

Transmigration of soul

2026-09-26T22:09:00.000+01:00

Legend

Lal Ded’s Birth: An Old Legend

Transmigration of Soul

Some people believe that inside every person is a tiny, invisible light. It is called the **soul**. The soul is the part of you that loves and learns. They believe that when the body dies, the soul can go into a new body. This is called **being born again**.

**Now the story: **

Long ago in Kashmir, there was a woman. She had a little baby boy. A wise and holy man named Siddha Shrikanth came to bless the baby. To bless means to wish good things for someone.

The woman asked him, “Do you know what this baby is to me?”

The holy man said, “He is your son.”

The woman said, “Yes, now he is my son. But one day, you will understand more.”

Then the woman died. Before she died, she said, “I will be born again in a new body. Come and find me. Then I will explain.”

The holy man looked for her. In the old story, he found her as a young horse. Then as a little puppy. Then in other bodies too. Each time, he asked the same question:

**What did you mean? What is this baby to you? **

Each time, she said, “Not yet. One day you will know.”

At last, he was tired. He stopped looking. He went away to pray and think quietly.

Many years later, a little girl named Lal Ded was born. She grew up and married a young man. Siddha Shrikanth came to bless the wedding.

Then Lal Ded said softly, “Remember the baby? That baby’s soul is now in my husband’s life. In my old life, I was his mother. In this life, I am his wife.”

Then the holy man understood.

**Two souls are important in this story: **

1. The woman. Later, she was born again as **Lal Ded**.

2. The baby boy. Later, he was born again as **Lal Ded’s husband**.

So, in the old life, they were **mother and son**.

In the new life, they were **wife and husband**.

Some people believe the soul travels and is born again. The story also teaches that some big questions take a long time to understand. Being serene and wise often comes with patience.

Anti-incumbency

2026-09-26T05:26:00.000+01:00

Anti-incumbency

Anti-incumbency is public dissatisfaction with the people or party currently in power—the incumbents. It often shows up when voters decide to vote them out, not necessarily because they strongly support an opponent, but because they want change.

I give a simple example:

If a government has been in office for several years and people feel unhappy about unemployment, prices, corruption, poor services, or unfulfilled promises, voters may choose another party in the next election. That public mood against the ruling government is called anti-incumbency.

It is sometimes expressed informally as: “It is time to throw the current leaders out.”

I have been watching TV shows where a senior political leader confidently says that the current government is winning; the real question is not merely about electoral numbers; it is about the people’s verdict on governance. In politics, a government that has been in power for a long period is often expected to face anti-incumbency—public dissatisfaction or a desire to vote against those already holding office. Yet, if the government continues to receive public support and emerges victorious, it suggests that voters have looked beyond the usual call for change. They may have judged the government by its performance, its development work, the welfare it has delivered, and the opportunities it has created for ordinary citizens.

The disgruntled and frustrated leader keeps asking: why is the government not losing simply because it has been in office for a long time? Why has anti-incumbency not turned the tide against it? Yet, somewhere deep in his heart, he knows the answer. The government’s work has earned the trust, confidence, and gratitude of the people.

Apparently, he raises the cry of “anti-incumbency” not because he truly believes it, but because he wants to impress and energise his supporters. He repeats the phrase—anti-incumbency, anti-incumbency—as though repetition alone can create public anger. But the people do not live by political catchphrases. They judge what they can see and experience: development, public facilities, welfare, roads, bridges, hospitals, schools, and opportunities for their children.

A government does not win merely because it has remained in office; it wins when people feel that it has remained with them. And when trust is stronger than frustration, and visible work speaks louder than opposition rhetoric, anti-incumbency loses its force.

For the common citizen, development is not a slogan. It is the road that allows a farmer to reach a market, the bridge that keeps a village connected during the rains, the medical college that brings treatment closer to a family in distress, and the ITI that gives a young person a practical skill and the dignity of earning a livelihood. When governance reaches people in this concrete and visible form, gratitude can be stronger than mere political fatigue.

Anti-incumbency should not be treated as an automatic law of politics. A government does not lose public confidence merely because it has been in power for many years. If people can see and experience real change in their daily lives—if the poor receive support, villages and cities are connected by good roads and bridges, young people gain access to IIMs, ITIs, universities and medical colleges, and ordinary families find better hospitals, education, transport, electricity, water, and employment opportunities—then people have every reason to stand by that government.

A mature voter does not vote only for change; a mature voter also recognises sincere work. Change for its own sake is not always progress. Replacing a government that has built institutions, expanded opportunity, strengthened infrastructure, and worked for those who were long neglected may interrupt the very development people have begun to benefit from. Continuity can be as valuable as change when that continuity carries development, stability, and public welfare forward.

To include, I may say that a government that serves the people well does not fear anti-incumbency; it earns the people’s trust, gratitude, and renewed mandate. Developmental work can override anti-incumbency when people see genuine improvement in their everyday lives. Voters do not judge a government only by how long it has been in power; they also judge whether their villages, towns, and families have progressed. When roads, bridges, electricity, clean water, schools, hospitals, and public transport improve, development becomes a living reality rather than an election promise.

Thokur Kuth

2026-09-24T21:39:46.985+01:00

Thokur Kuth

In every Kashmiri Pandit home, there was a Thokur Kuth—the sacred prayer room where the family’s deities resided and where daily worship, rituals, and whispered hopes found their place. It was more than a room. It was the spiritual heart of the house: a quiet sanctuary where generations gathered, where bells rang at dawn, where incense rose toward the ceiling, and where faith seemed to live in the very walls.

At Misri Nivas, in Dadi Kadal Tanki Pora, we too had a large Thokur Kuth. It stood on the third floor of our ancestral home, slightly apart from the ordinary movements and sounds of the household. Rectangular in shape, it was about ten feet long and seven feet wide, enclosed on three sides, with an entrance so open that it seemed to invite everyone in. Yet, whenever one stepped inside, the space carried its own solemnity. Children lowered their voices. Elders removed their shoes. Even the sunlight appeared softer there.

Against one wall stood an open wooden almirah, about three feet wide and five feet high, with several shelves. On those shelves rested all the sacred articles needed for pooja: a small hand-held brass bell, a large conch shell, a long musical fork called Chumta, a drum, and other ritual objects, each with its own place and purpose.

At the center was a large Shiva Linga, placed in a broad trough. Every day, it was worshipped with water, flowers, sandalwood paste, and devotion. Around it were large framed pictures of the gods—Lord Shiva and Parvati, Ram, Sita and Lakshman, Lord Krishna and Radha—as well as images of saints and holy figures who had watched over our family for years. To my young eyes, they were not merely pictures. They were quiet presences: familiar, watchful, and somehow alive.

My eldest uncle, Pandit Sri Kanth—whom we lovingly called Bobji—performed the daily pooja. Each morning, after his ablutions, after washing and preparing himself, he would enter the Thokur Kuth and remain there for hours. The household would go on around him: people talking, utensils clattering, children running through the corridors. But from the third floor came another rhythm—the ringing of the bell, the low murmur of mantras, and, at intervals, the deep, lingering sound of the conch.

Three times the conch would be blown.

Its sound would rise through Misri Nivas, pass into the narrow lanes of Dadi Kadal, and seem to travel beyond the rooftops. Across from our house stood the Ganesha temple, where the evening aarti and prayers were also performed. Yet, somehow, Bobji’s pooja never clashed with the temple aarti. The two sounds—his ancient conch and the temple bells—seemed to know each other. They belonged to the same sky, the same faith, the same old Kashmir.

The conch was unusually large. Its surface had become worn and dull with time, its whiteness softened by the touch of many hands. Bobji often told us that it was an ancestral Shankh, handed down from his grandfather to his father, and then entrusted to him. It had belonged to the family for generations.

“This Shankh is very special,” he would say.

Naturally, I wanted to know why.

“What is so special about it, Bobji?” I once asked.

He looked at me with a small smile and said, “Come to the Thokur Kuth. I will show you.”

One Sunday, I followed him upstairs. I remember standing before him with the reverence a child reserved for elders and sacred things.

“Yes, Bobji,” I said softly.

“Sit,” he told me.

He lifted the old conch with both hands and placed it carefully before me.

“Look closely,” he said. “This is not an ordinary Shankh. It has been with our family for generations. It has passed from the eldest head of the family to the next descendant.’

Then he ran his index finger gently over a faint, wavy marking on its surface.

“See this?” he asked. “What does it look like?”

I peered at it with all the seriousness I could gather.

“It looks like a zero,” I said.

Bobji shook his head.

“No. It is not zero. It is ‘O.’”

Then he moved his finger to another pale marking on the shell.

“And what do you see here?”

I studied it again.

“It looks like a ‘W,’” I replied.

“Oh no,” he said, almost amused by my ignorance. “It is ‘M.’ You must learn to read the marks carefully.”

He placed his finger first on the O and then on the M.

“Together,” he said, “they make OM.”

Then, in his patient, gentle way, he explained the sacred sound to me. Om—or Aum—was not merely a word. It was the sound of existence itself.

“A,” he told me, “is life.”

“U” was birth.

“M” was death.

I did not fully understand the depth of his explanation then. I was too young to understand how life, birth, and death could be contained within one sound, or how a weathered conch could carry the memory of generations. But I understood that Bobji believed in it completely. And because he believed, the Shankh seemed to hold a mystery far greater than its size.

Years later, that mystical conch was lost.

And soon after, we too were scattered.

The old house at Misri Nivas, the Thokur Kuth on the third floor, the Shiva Linga, the brass bell, the pictures of the gods, Bobji’s long morning prayers, and the sound of the ancient Shankh—everything belongs now to memory. Yet memory, like prayer, has its own way of keeping what the world has taken away.

Whenever I think of that Thokur Kuth, I do not remember it only as a room. I remember it as the soul of our home. I remember the fragrance of incense, the soft glow of the oil lamp, the sound of the bell, and Bobji’s finger tracing the letters of Om on the old conch.

That Shankh may be gone, but its sound still echoes somewhere within me—like a call from a lost home, a lost childhood, and a Kashmir that continues to live in the prayers of its people.

Echoes from the Thokur Kuth

In Misri Nivas, on the quiet third floor,
Our Thokur Kuth held more than gods—
It held the breath of ancestors,
And the soft, unbroken pulse of home.

The brass bell trembled in Bobji’s hand,
The lamp bent low before Shiva’s grace;
Then the old Shankh filled the morning air,
Its sacred voice travelling through every lane.

Upon its weathered shell, he showed me, Om—
Not merely a mark, but life’s secret song:
“A” for life, “U” for birth, “M” for death—
A universe folded into one ancient sound.

The Shankh was lost, and we were scattered,
Like autumn leaves from our cherished tree;
Yet somewhere within my remembering heart,
Its call still rises—bringing Kashmir back to me.

O Seeker of Truth-a poem

2026-09-23T17:54:29.306+01:00

O Seeker of Truth-

O Seeker of Truth, to gain pure awareness,
Free your mind from thoughts, from all weariness.
A realm will dawn where conflicts cease,
The soul aglow in radiant peace.

With purity shining, wise and all-seeing,
It knows the depths of each living being.
To endless calm, the path is shown,
By mastering senses, self-awareness grown.

In moments of light, enlightenment springs,
The Almighty’s grace, such joy it brings.
Blessed by Shiva, I soared with speed,
Through galaxies vast, to fulfill my need.

To the realm where the Lord resides on high,
In the company of saints beyond the sky.
He placed me aboard a celestial boat,
To heavenly joys, I set afloat.

Across the grandeur of heavens wide,
With ecstasy and grace as my guide.
I saw great souls, in shimmering light,
Particles of wisdom, glowing bright.

They blessed me with nectar from divine bowls,
Filling my being, enriching my soul.
My body shone with a glorious glow,
Spiritual kindness began to flow.

In blissful wonder, I danced with delight,
As saints beheld my spirit’s flight.
In heavenly gardens, joy was mine,
Between Godhood and grace, I intertwine.

Oh, joy unending, I’ve reached my release,
My soul liberated, bathed in peace.
A guiding star, steady and bright,
I shine for others, a beacon of light.

The chains are broken, my essence soars,
A star of my clan, I illuminate shores.
With body intact, I’ve achieved my aim,
Eternal freedom, in the Shiva’s name.

In spirituality, Lal of Kashmir shines bright,

Sham, the Shiv Bhakta, walks in her light.

A Tribute to Lal Ded of Kashmir on her 705th birth anniversary

2026-09-21T18:40:00.000+01:00

A Tribute to Lal Ded of Kashmir on her 705th birth anniversary

Namaskar to all respected guests, brothers, sisters, and friends assembled anywhere and everywhere.

I am Sham Misri from Seattle, Washington, USA. Here is my respectful poem in praise of Mata Lalleshwari on her 705th birth anniversary. It may be read with devotion:

#LV-S-2019

Ode to Lal's Blooming Lotus

(A Tribute to Lal Ded)

2.1 O Lal, you shed all earthly ties,

Desire, anger, greed, and lies.

Your lotus bloomed, so pure, so bright,

A beacon of wisdom, bathed in light.

Through deep devotion, your soul is refined,

O Lal, you shed the chains of pride,

Kam, Krod, Lob, Moh—left behind.

Your thoughts like lotus, fresh and fair,

Were born of meditations deep and rare.

‘O Lal! With each step you walked, your truth aligned.

The mountain of spirit, you claimed its height,

With Gyan’s nectar, you gained your sight.

Your guru’s blessing, a sacred guide,

Cleared all doubts you held inside.

2.2 ‘O Lal,’ your faith was fierce, untamed,

A disciple’s heart, in duty, framed.

Though trials tested your resolve,

Through patience, all doubts dissolved.

Irritated, frustrated, yet you stayed,

Until the lotus of wisdom displayed.

‘O Lal, ‘Through steadfast practice, you walked the line,
Each step is a prayer, each breath divine.
In silence, you meditated long,
Your spirit is strong, your will so strong.
When you emerged, the mountain tall,
Of spiritual wealth, you shared with all.
Your knowledge vast, like sacred streams,
An 'Amrit' flowing from your dreams.

‘O Lal,’ Through nights and days, you chased your art,

With meditation’s fire, you lit your heart.

The charms and spells you cast aside,

For truth alone, became your guide.

O Lal, your power soared above,
A beacon bright, a flame of love.
Your lotus bloomed, your light did shine,
Through your Tap and meditation, divine.
From Sid, your guru, wisdom flowed,
Abundant knowledge, in you it showed.
A disciple pure, a soul so clear,
You banished doubt, you banished fear.

2.3 O Lal, your journey took great strife,
Through night and day, through struggle’s life.
Frustration sometimes clouded your way,
Yet you persisted, come what may.
Kam, Krod, Lob, Moh, Ahankar, all fell,
In the bloom of your lotus, all was well.

O Lal, your lotus bloomed with grace,
In meditation, you found your place.
Your yoga, your tap, they worked such charms,
Bringing miracles from the stillest arms.

O Lal, your yoga worked divine,

In love for Shiva, your soul aligned.

Your lotus bloomed in celestial grace,

A masterpiece -of time and space.

And now, in love’s ecstatic glow,

With Sham’s rhythm, you flow.

The lotus petals, Shiva’s boon,

Forever blooming, beneath the moon.

2.4 Your Journey’s tale, a timeless song,

Where virtue triumphs over wrong.

O Lal, your lotus blooms so high,

A living beacon that will never die.

‘O Lal,’ your lotus has truly bloomed,
Through Tap's fire, where the light was groomed.
Your yoga’s power worked wonders profound,
In your heart, divine rhythms resound.

The lotus petals, pure and divine,
Adorn Shiv's altar, in sacred design.
But these I gather, not from within,
At market stalls, where trade begins.

When will my lotus bloom? I humbly implore,
Yearning to join where your blessings pour.

Yet petals of the lotus, Sham seeks with care,
From the market’s stall, Sham buys and share.

Lal Leela: OM

2026-09-20T19:45:00.000+01:00

#LV-S-2018

Lal’s Life-Biography [Poetic]

Lal Leela: OM

Lal chanted "OM" with each breath she took,

A sacred sound, her soul it shook.

In her heart, its melody grew,

In every pulse, its power flew.[2]

Engraved in her heart, its essence grew,

In its sacred rhythm, her spirit flew.[2]

With- devotion, she shaped its tone,
In every struggle, she found it grown.[2]

Focused and true, she embraced its grace,
From ignorance's ashes, she found her place.[2]

Your amulets and charms, you sought in quest,
To gain the wisdom, to reach the crest.[2]

Days and nights, and months you spent,
In silence deep, your soul's intent.

Through introspection, you found the key,
A world of knowledge, vast and free.

In the ecstasy of love, Sham swayed,
Where dance of devotion with the cosmos played.

Lal Ded Feeling Lost

2026-09-18T03:20:00.000+01:00

Lal Ded, a saint poetess from Kashmir, Feeling Lost

I had a wooden bow

And only grass for an arrow.

I wanted to build a grand palace,

But I did not know how.

In a busy market,

I left my little shop open.

I searched outside for holy answers,

But my heart still felt unsure.

Lal Ded says:
“When we feel confused,
we need a wise guide—
and we must also listen
to the good, quiet voice inside us.”

Congratulating PM Modi Ji

2026-09-17T22:59:00.000+01:00

9-17-2026

Birthday satire poem

A Chai Cup, a Pill, and a Puffa

On the 76th birthday of Prime Minister Narendra Modi

With birthday greetings from Sham Misri

Part-I [From Vadnagar]

From Vadnagar’s lanes, where kettles sang
And railway whistles rose and rang,
A young boy served the steaming chai,
Who knew he’d one day make the headlines fly?

No dynasty’s gate, no silver spoon,
No English accent in a drawing room;
Just tea, hard work, a dream held tight,
And a habit of turning talk into light.

He debated boldly, swam with cheer,
Played kings and heroes without fear;
Then toward the Himalayas he went one day,
To ask the silent peaks the way.

From ashram paths to public ground,
He found a louder calling sound;
From Gujarat’s charge to Delhi’s throne,
He made the vastest stage his own.

At seventy-six, the birthday bells
Ring louder than political decibels;
For while some leaders count their years,
He counts new projects, goals, and cheers.

Part-II [Dimagi Naxal]

At Red Fort, where the tricolour flies,
He sent one phrase into the skies;
The nation paused, the anchors yelled,
And every panellist’s heartbeat swelled.

“Dimagi Naxal!”—the words took flight,
And studios booked debates that night;
Some clapped with joy, some frowned with pain,
Some searched the phrase again and again.

“Is it me?” cried one intellectual face,
While scrolling fast in digital space;
“Is it him?” asked another with dread,
As prime-time thunder shook the head.

Part-III [Homoeopathy Pill]

Then at SRCC, with comic skill,
He called that phrase a homoeopathy pill;
A little dose, a gentle bite—
Yet critics coughed the whole long night.

“No substance there!” some loudly said,
“But why has everyone lost sleep instead?”
The pill was small, the reaction grand—
A self-diagnosis across the land!

Part-IV [Naraz Puffa]

Then came the Naraz Puffa, round and sore,
With spectacles, outrage, and much more;
He puffed at breakfast, puffed at tea,
And puffed at every TV screen he’d see.

His WhatsApp group had admins galore—
One thousand twenty-four, perhaps more;
Their daily prayer, both sharp and rough:
“Why is this chai-wallah doing so much stuff?”

One elder Puffa rose to say,
“Our old privilege is slipping away!
Words must come from elite salons—
Not railway stalls or humble lawns.”

A younger Puffa, meek but wise,
Looked through his foggy, worried eyes:
“But sir, he is Prime Minister now.”
The elder puffed: “That is the problem—how?”

Part-V [At BRICS]

Then Bharat Mandapam opened wide,
And world leaders came from every side;
At BRICS, in Delhi, India stood
With handshakes, dialogue, and global good.

Brazil and Russia, China too,
South Africa and partners new;
They came to speak of trade and peace,
Of innovation, growth, and global ease.

The New Delhi Declaration took its place,
With cooperation written face to face;
Resilience, sustainability, innovation’s flame—
And India chaired the global game.

The Naraz Puffas watched in fright:
“Why are global leaders here tonight?
Why is Bharat in the centre seat?
Why does this diplomacy look so neat?”

Xi and Putin, presidents near,
A summit full of global gear;
And there stood Modi, calm and bright,
Turning a meeting into India’s spotlight.

Part-VI [Modi at 76]

At seventy-six, on September’s day,
The greetings came from far away;
For a son of Vadnagar, born in 1950,
Still sets the nation’s clock safely.

Then memory opens February’s door,
When I met Modi ji—not once before;
A warm handshake, steady and bright,
With a calm, smiling face and eyes of light.

No camera crew, no breaking-news cry,
No panel shouting, “Explain this, why?”
Just one firm clasp—yet I must confess,
My hand felt charged with political excess!

His smile was calm—serene and bright,
It made a nervous author feel quite light;
I thought, “This is no ordinary chai—
It is courage and energy passing by!”

Even now that handshake stays in mind,
A memory warm, enduring, and kind;
Its wave still travels through palm and pen—
Perhaps that is why I am writing again.

The Naraz Puffas, on hearing this tale,
Turned pale, then puffed beyond the scale:
“A handshake too? This will not do!
Now Sham Misri will write a poem or two!”

But I replied, with a writer’s grin,
“When warmth and goodwill travel within,
Let Puffas protest, let pundits sigh—
I shall still raise my cup of chai.”

So, raise a cup—not only tea—
For service, strength, and energy;
For phrases that make the pundits cough,
And Naraz Puffas puff and scoff.

May health and purpose light your way,
May Bharat rise in every day;
From Sham Misri comes this birthday cheer:
“Modi ji, may your vision shine year after year!”

Part-VII [Yed Vaer]

And now, before the banquet ends,
Before the Puffas call their friends,
One final Kashmiri cry we hear—
A grievance, comic, loud, and clear:

“Yed vaer!”

“Why was no non-vegetarian dish served here?” [2]

The Puffas sighed, their faces tough—
“Global leadership is fine enough…
But without a proper feast, we say—
What kind of birthday is this, anyway?”

With warmest wishes, Modi ji, may your purpose ever shine,

Sham Misri salutes your journey, strength, and vision divine.

The Merchant and the Silly Thief

2026-09-16T20:07:00.000+01:00

The Merchant and the Silly Thief

Long ago in India, a merchant—a man who sells things—went far away to work. He worked hard and saved five hundred rupees. “Time to go home!” he said.

A thief saw him. The thief’s eyes went pop! “Five hundred rupees!” he whispered. “I will follow him.”

The thief ran up. “Hello, sir! Where are you going?”

“Home,” said the merchant.

“Wow! Me too!” said the thief. “Can I walk with you?”

“Sure,” said the merchant. “Come along.”

They walked and walked. At a little hotel, the merchant went to eat dinner. The thief searched for the room. Search, search, search! Pockets? No. Bed? No. Pillow? No. Sock? Only toes. Not one penny!

“He is tricking me,” thought the thief. “He has no money at all!”

The next day, the thief asked, “Sir, how many rupeess do you have?”

“Five hundred,” said the merchant.

At the next little hotel, the merchant went to dinner. The thief searched and searched. Under the pillow. Under the sheet. Behind the door. Inside a shoe. Nothing! Not one penny!

“He is tricking me again!” thought the thief.

At last, they came home. The merchant opened his purse and took out five rupees.

“Here,” he said. “These are for you.”

“No, thank you,” said the thief. “I don’t want one rupee. But may I ask one question?”

“Yes,” said the merchant.

“I am a thief,” said the thief. “You are safe at home now. I won’t steal from you. I was after your five hundred rupeess. You showed me you have it. But please tell me: where did you hide it when you went to dinner?”

The merchant smiled. “I put it under your pillow.”

The thief’s mouth felt open. “Under MY pillow?!”

“Yes,” said the merchant. “Every time. Before dinner, I tiptoed over and slipped it under your pillow.”

The thief groaned. “I searched your pillow! I never searched for my own pillow! I am a very silly thief!”

“Very silly,” said the merchant. “But very polite.”

“Thank you,” said the thief. “I will go home and search my own pillow. Goodbye!”

And that is like people looking for God outside. They run here. They run there. They look under every pillow—except the right one. God is not lost far away. God is very close, inside your heart.

The Four Blind People and the Elephant

2026-09-15T22:04:00.000+01:00

The Four Blind People and the Elephant

Once upon a time, four blind people were sitting beside a road. They had heard people talking about a large animal called an elephant, but none of them had ever met one.

“I wonder what an elephant is like,” said the first person.

“I would like to know too,” said the second.

Just then, a kind man came along with his elephant.

“Would you like to touch the elephant?” he asked.

“Yes, please!” said the four friends.

The kind man led them close to the elephant. Each person reached out and touched a different part.

The first person touched the elephant’s leg.

“Ah!” he said. “An elephant is like a big tree trunk.”

The second person touched the elephant’s trunk.

“No,” he said. “An elephant is like a long, thick snake.”

The third person touched the elephant’s tusk.

“You are both wrong,” he said. “An elephant is hard and smooth like a pointed stick.”

The fourth person touched the elephant’s ear.

“No, no!” she said. “An elephant is like a huge leaf.”

Soon, the four friends began to argue.

“An elephant is like a tree trunk!” said the first.

“It is like a snake!” said the second.

“It is like a pointed stick!” said the third.

“It is like a giant leaf!” said the fourth.

The kind man listened for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “You are all partly right. Each of you touched one part of the elephant. But none of you touched the whole elephant.”

The four friends became quiet. They understood that each person had learned a small part of the truth.

Moral

Sometimes people argue because each person sees or knows only one small part of a bigger truth. We should listen to others, learn more, and try to understand the whole picture before saying that we are completely right.

Kong Posh

Sabudana: The White Pearl Saga

From Oil to Bytes: The Story of Wipro

From Oil to Bytes: The Story of Wipro

Kashmir and the Missing Clothes

Kashmir and the Missing Clothes

The Sparkly Necklace

Roly-Poly Adventure: The Amazing Life of Pill Bugs

Roly-Poly Adventure: The Amazing Life of Pill Bugs

Raja Pratap Singh and His Three Questions: A Folklore

Raja Pratap Singh and His Three Questions: A Folklore

Silky the Spider and the Story of the First Hello

Part One: Silky's Busy Day

## Part Two: Silky Meets Some Children

## Part Three: All About Spiders

## Part Five: Two Different Worlds

Silky the Spider's Busy Day

Silky the Spider's Busy Day

All About Spiders!

Karna and the Sky Musicians

Hoba, the Giant Space Rock

The Story of **Kichaka**

The Story of **Kichaka**

Life in the Roman Empire: A Long Time Ago

When One Grain Fed a Thousand: Krishna and the Akshayapatra

When One Grain Fed a Thousand:

Krishna and the Akshayapatra

Quince apple (bum choont)

Quince apple (bum-choont of Kashmir-a remembrance)

The Banyan Seed Story of Shvetaketu

The Banyan Seed

Story of Shvetaketu

Transmigration of soul

Transmigration of Soul

Anti-incumbency

Anti-incumbency

Thokur Kuth

Thokur Kuth

Echoes from the Thokur Kuth

O Seeker of Truth-a poem

A Tribute to Lal Ded of Kashmir on her 705th birth anniversary

Ode to Lal's Blooming Lotus

Lal Leela: OM

#LV-S-2018

Lal Ded Feeling Lost

Congratulating PM Modi Ji

Part-I [From Vadnagar]

Part-II [Dimagi Naxal]

Part-III [Homoeopathy Pill]

Part-IV [Naraz Puffa]

Part-V [At BRICS]

Part-VI [Modi at 76]

Part-VII [Yed Vaer]

The Merchant and the Silly Thief

**The Merchant and the Silly Thief**

The Four Blind People and the Elephant

The Story of Kichaka

The Story of Kichaka

The Merchant and the Silly Thief