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Nine-year-old Venkat was taking a nap. Naughty little Pragya took a couple of sketch pens and drew a colourful moustache on Venkat’s face. When Venkat went down to play, his friends saw the moustache and laughed. “Hello, Venkat Uncle. I’m glad you could make it at last”, Vidya said with a giggle.
Eight-year-old Venkat got out of bed very, very slowly. Thursdays were a long sequence of his least favourite things. At the end of the day, his father said, “Well, Venkat, I’m so glad you told me. Now that we know what the problem is, we can try to fix it. Do you have any ideas?”
Eight-year-old Venkat looked out of the window at a large mango tree full of fruit. He sighed and tightly closed his eyes. “Just the one tree,” he prayed with full faith. “If you just give me access to just that mango tree for just this summer, Hanumanji, I won’t complain about the lockdown at all.”