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Kids Zone

Many thanks to Shivani and Vaishnavi Gore
Daughters of Gynanesh and Bela Gore
for her Excellent poetry contribution
An alphabet poem

A is for Anusheh
Who loves to play a game,
B is for Bethany
Who loves to do the same,
C is for Clair,
Who loves to go to a fair,
D is for Donny,
Who likes to stare,
E is for Ellen
Who loves cats,
F is for Fred
Who likes to lie on mats,
G is for Gayathri
Who loves to eat a lolly,
H is for Holly
Who has a doll called Polly,
I is for Isabella
Who is so nice,
J is for Janki
Who likes to eat rice,
K is for Kriyesh
Whose microwave goes ping !
L is for Lucy
Who has a golden ring,
M is for Mark
Who made up a word which is tellp,
N is for Neha
Who loves to help,
O is for Olli
Who is so witty,
P is for Prima
Who is so pretty,
Q is for Quean
Who loves a guest,
R is for Rushil
Who is the best,
S is for Sonam
Who is my best friend,
T is for Tara
Who loves to mend,
U is for Unicorn
Who has horns,
V is for Vaishnavi
Who loves thorns,
W is for William
Who loves to play in the rain,
X is for X-ray
Who is such a pain,
Y is for Yemi
Who is so cute,
Z is for Zaib
Who wants a mute.

By Prima Pithia

My Favorite Colour.

Yellow is my favorite colour
Yellow like the sun
Buttercups are yellow
Yellow is fun.

Red is my favorite colour
Red like the sunset
Roses are red
Red is a colour that you will never forget.

Blue is my favorite colour
Blue like the sea
Bluebells are blue
Blueberry muffins are nice for tea.

Green is my favorite colour
Green like the grass
Plants are green
My go cart is green and it goes very fast.

Brown is my favorite colour
Brown like wood
Branches are brown
Brown is a colour that makes me feel good.

Table Manners

Don’t slurp your spaghetti,

Don’t nudge Betty,

Don’t talk with your mouthful,

Don’t feel doubtful.


Manners, Manners

Don’t forget Manners.


Don’t hassle your mother,

No shouting to one another,

No elbows on the table,

No spilling the maple syrup.


Manners, Manners

Don’t forget Manners.


No spilling over drinks,

No throwing food down sinks,

Don’t poke your mate,

Sit up straight.


By Prima Pithia

Children’s Short Story by Bindu Gor Morjaria Mr Naidoo’s Secret

Mr Naidoo was a rather short, balding non-descript sort of man that one walks by and never thinks twice about. He was not too dark and not too light, just brown. Not too fat and not too thin, just OK. His face was not handsome but neither was it ugly, just plain. He was not young but neither was he old, just middle aged. His appearance was not remarkable being neither smart or untidy. His job was neither too taxing for him or adventurous just kept him going. Indeed there are millions of Mr Naidoo’s in the world all doing their own thing keeping the wheels of commerce oiled.

He lived in a non descript bedsit in a non descript part of town. But this Mr Naidoo had a secret. Mr Naidoo had recently met quite accidentally in the park on a Sunday afternoon whilst out strolling, a stranger who had given him some seeds and advised him to plant them.

At first Mr Naidoo thought that the man was drunk, he did smell foul, and was of bedraggled appearance. But there was something about the stranger’s face that stopped Mr Naidoo from dismissing him as a lunatic. His eyes were the deepest brown he had ever seen and he seemed strangely familiar. But Mr Naidoo could not place him.

Plant them quickly my friend, water them daily. Don’t forget, plant them tonight! Riches beyond your wildest dreams, He had urged. Then whilst Mr Naidoo had been looking at the small dark seeds in the palm of his hand the strange man had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Mr Naidoo had pondered greatly about whether to plant the seeds or not and came to the conclusion that he should plant them, after all what harm could come from planting a few seeds. May he would have a little apple tree, or even an orange tree. He laughed at the strangers comment about riches beyond your wildest dreams! Who got rich by planting seeds? He asked himself.

So he had planted the seeds that night as instructed and watered and cared for the seeds. Within a day the seeds had sprouted and within a week an astonished Mr Naidoo had quite a little plant growing. He laughed to himself. He had never really thought that he had green fingers but now he thought he may even avail himself of a small garden plot nearby to grow his own vegetables.

Within two weeks the plant had grown into a bush and there were even tiny little buds on it. Mr Naidoo watered the plant daily and went to work. Then one night upon his return he saw that the buds had burst open and there were what seemed to be twenty pound notes growing out of the tree.

At first Mr Naidoo thought that someone had gotten into his little bedsit and played a cruel joke on him. But as he had pulled at one of the notes he could see that it was actually attached to the tree. Mr Naidoo nearly collapsed on his bed fanning himself franticly with the twenty pound note. What he had was a money tree.

The very next day he had gone out in his lunch break and bought himself a powerful microscope. He had examined the notes very very carefully and found them to be exact copies real notes. He couldnt believe his luck. He had laughed and laughed so hard that the man in the flat next door had thumped on the wall shouting for him to shut up!

Each day he looked lovingly at the tree, watering it before he went to work he would talk to it about what he would do with the money. And each night he would harvest the notes. Soon within a few weeks he had piles and piles of notes. A small fortune. Then a large fortune. He pondered about what to do, should he spend the money? Should he save it. What if the notes died and withered like flowers, after all they did grow like flowers. What if when he tried to spend the money he was caught by the police for passing counterfit money. He would spend a long time in jail. But he had checked very carefully the notes looked exactly alike right down to the watermark and the hologram. So he decided to brave it and spend his first twenty pound note.

He took it to the local supermarket and filled his basket with his usual weekly shopping. He didn’t want to draw attention by buying different things. He noticed that his hand trembled slightly as he passed the note to the checkout girl who was as usual chewing gum in a bored sort of way.

But to his delight she didn’t notice anything different even though she passed the note under the blue light thingy that should have spotted it, if it were different Nevertheless Mr Naidoo hurried out of the supermarket clutching he purchases. As he caught the bus home, he smiled to himself. Now he could have anything he wanted. The smile turned into a snort and then into a laugh. The other passengers stared at him as if he were mad, but he didn’t care. He was rich RICH! RICH!

Once he got home he made a list of all the things he could do with the money. Holidays that he had always dreamed of but couldn’t afford, a new house, new clothes, new everything. Then Mr Naidoo thought about what people would say when they saw him in the new clothes.

Look at Naidoo, what a fine figure of a man, what a lovely house he has, and what a beautiful car. Isnt’ he just so dashing. No longer would people walk by him as if he was nothing, a nobody, oh now he would be somebody.

But then darker thoughts entered his head what if they wanted to know where he had got the money from. After all he had not been promoted for the last ten years! They would want to come to see his new house and they would see his beautiful money tree. Then they would want his money. They would want his tree. His thoughts turned even darker, they would try and take the tree from him. His tree, his lovely tree which he had nurtured and grown from seed. He couldn’t let them do that! If he wasn’t going to have it then no one could.

In a fit of rage he took up the pruning scissors and cut the little tree right down to its roots. The tree immediately recoiled from the brutal attack and withered down to its roots leaving nothing behind but a few seeds. Mr Naidoo looked on with frightened horror at what he had done. The piles of notes he had counted and put aside suddenly withered away like flowers and became pot-purri.

Mr Naidoo was distraught. What had he done!

He didn’t come out of his bedsit for a whole month. And when he did his next door neighbour gasped at the bedraggled Mr Naidoo. He went to the park and sat beside a man who looked very much like he had done a few months ago, another Mr Naidoo. He passed the seeds on to him telling him exactly what the other stranger had said to him no more no less. And disappeared again into the crowd.

You may or may not see Mr Naidoo as he goes about his daily life, he really doesn’t stand out at all from the crowd, but if you look into his eyes they would tell a tale. Mr Naidoo has a secret.

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