Family Traditions on Pitara Kids Network

The Spirit of Christmas

Wed, 09 Jan 2002 19:13:43 +0000

Tony counted the notes and coins. He had Rs. 163 in all.

He put the money in his pocket, the money he had saved from his part time job. Today was Christmas eve and he had some important shopping to do.

As he walked towards the market he thought of Christmas eve the previous year. How lovely everything had been. His father, Jacob Kurien, and he had decorated the Christmas tree. He had gone with his mum, Janet and dad to the church to attend the midnight mass.

The Best Storyteller in the World

Sat, 02 Jun 2001 22:15:57 +0000

Bajai," as we called grandmother, was the best storyteller in the world. Her tales of jewelled ladies and brave warriors, of civilisations that ended due to famine, floods, war or volcanic eruptions, filled our young lives with fantasy.

Nestling in the foothills of Mussoorie is a tiny village called Johri Gaun (Johri village) where we spent part of our summer and winter vacations every year. They were fun-filled days of sun-kissed air and raucous laughter, when we cousins met and had a great time. On our long walks we would nibble berries or catch colourful dragon flies, which we had nicknamed “helicopters”. I always collected red ones. If anyone caught a whirring red helicopter they would yell out for me and I would run and open my shoe box to put it in.

Heading For Trouble!

Wed, 08 May 2002 20:08:29 +0000

Dadaji (grandfather) comes visiting during summer holidays. And stays on till Diwali, which makes it half a year of fun. I’ll tell you why. First, he arrives with bundles of gifts. Stuff that no one ever brings me. Homemade laddoos bumpy from fingers that shaped them, sticks of sugarcane that smell of his fields, papads rolled out in his courtyard. I never know which is more fun, opening the bundles or wolfing the stuff down!

The Gift of Wonder

Fri, 22 Dec 2000 09:04:06 +0000

Eleven years ago, under the sequinned sky on a warm summer day, on the roof of his palatial home in the town of Vrindaban, my grandfather introduced me to wonder. As I lay on a mattress surrounded members of the family, my grandfather or “Nana” as I used to call him, asked me to look at the sky and try to spot the patterns and the constellations. “What does that look like?” he would ask, pointing to the Little Bear. “Um, a cart?” I would hesitantly venture. And he would chuckle and acknowledge what I had seen. He never denied my experiences. If it was a cart I said I had seen, as far as he was concerned, it was a cart.

Dress Relief

Mon, 03 Jul 2000 04:55:34 +0000

The doorbell rang. ‘Now darling remember all that I have told you,’ said Ma for the umpteenth time as she nervously opened the door. There stood Grandma in her white saree, as upright as ever with the perpetual stern look on her face. ‘Jeetiraho’ boomed her voice as Ma touched her feet. I followed her example and then helped Papa who was struggling with the suitcases, tins and sacks. Grandma always carried her kitchen with her, no mixer or microwave or for that matter even a gas stove would do for her.