Humayun lay in a coma. His father Babar stood beside his bed, sad and worried. The Chief Vizier and the nobles crowded behind him.
The school bell rang. Recess at last! We rushed out of the classroom. I took the ‘gulli ° out of my satchel before I ran out. Khushal took the ‘ clan da and followed me.
It was Bina who first got wind of what was happening. She happened to be passing the school kitchen where they cooked meals for the nuns and boarders.
Once again, father was transferred. This time to the sleepy town of Palai in Kerala. On arrival at Palai, we moved into a house, surrounded by banana trees, beds of tapioca, roses and chrysanthemums.
Flower Fables by Louisa May Alcott “Pondering shadows, colors, clouds Grass-buds, and caterpillar shrouds Boughs on which the wild bees settle, Tints that spot the violet’s petal.
Read and download Short Stories for Children The wind and the sun Once the Wind and the Sun had an argument. “I am stronger than you,” said the Wind. “No, you are not,” said the Sun.
The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells [1898] I The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.
Oscar Wilde. The Canterville Ghost I When Mr. Hiram B.
Mark Twain. The Awful German Language A little learning makes the whole world kin.
Father Rebello sat in his study, his vast bulk filling the roomy revolving chair. ‘Swish, swish’, went his pen as he wrote. Tick-tock went the clock on top of the bookshelf.
My father was posted in Patna. On the first Sunday there, my brother and I decided to do a little exploring on our bikes. It was still very early in the morning, and only a few people were about.
We were all very excited. This holiday was to be spent in Dindigul where Grandpa had decided to settle down, because the climate there was good for people with weak lungs.
“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. He’s a greedy glutton and I won’t take him to the party,” said Leeladidi* stamping her feet as she stormed out of the room.
Preparations had begun for our school annual day. Two plays were to be staged. The senior section was to enact ‘Merchant of Venice’ and the junior section, ‘The Story of Rama’.
Not that I didn’t like my Uncle Varun. I was just a bit cross with him. Vanmkaka* that’s what I call him, is my father’s youngest cousin.