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Protect Goa's natural beauty Support Goa's first Tiger Reserve Sign the petition at: http://www.goanet.org/petition/petition.php --------------------------------------------------------------------------- OUR LOCAL ENID BLYTON With her latest book for children, Anita Pinto is back in action Pantaleao Fernandes "CHILDREN ARE MY PASSION. Writing nis my passion. So, I write for children," says Anita Pinto who's soon slated to release her book, *Espi Mai is Stuck Again*. Anita Pinto from Mapusa is also the author of *Tales from Golden Goa*. Speaking about her current book, she says, "They are just stories that can be read to children or that children can read themselves again and again... I hope," she quips. The book bundles a collection of nineteen pieces including four poems. They are all set in different villages of Goa and illustrated by lively cartoons. Keeping one's eyes and ears open is a good method of fishing for story ideas, feels Anita. "My inspiration comes from the colour, the sights, the smells and the flavour of Goa. I always pick up my ears when someone says, 'in Goa, in the olden days....' I find a story at the dentist's waiting room, at bus stops, the school corridors, on my walks in the evening, everywhere." As a child, Anita was surrounded by stories. "My father was a professor at the Bombay University. He read us fairy tales of distant lands from a very young age. My mother, who was a JJ School of Art graduate, made up stories for us. Once, she made up a story of a girl called Peggy, who refused to drink her milk. She got so weak that she could not blow the candle off on her birthday cake. All the children did it for her. We all learnt the importance of eating well and drinking milk. But... mainly her stories taught us to think 'out of the box'...," Anita reminisces. And then it was her turn to spin tales, "Like my mother, I made up stories. When we were young children, the entire neighbourhood collected at our house to play every evening. At vacation time, I would make up skits or little poems and we would enact them. I was very little then and cannot remember exactly what they were. I remember one was of a Mr Grumbler whose shoes got tighter every time he grumbled." The shift from making up stories to writing began when she became a mother. "I really began to *write* for my own children. I had created a character, a boy called Panduram. Through Panduram, I taught my sons many values. If they stoned a cat or dog, Panduram would do the same but the dog would talk to Panduram and tell him how he felt. If they fought with each other, there would be a story of Panduram, how he fought with his siblings and one day, one of them was lost in a market and how they all cried till the child was found. When I was having another baby, the first one was told about how Panduram helped his mother look after the baby, because the baby belonged to the whole family. Oh, Panduram was a great boon to me and I really felt that my children learnt more from him than from me." After her children, story telling spilled on to her nieces, then on to the neighbours' children. "If any child in the neighbourhood cannot study at home for whatever reason, my door is always open. Whatever their age, I have a drink, a snack and a story to goad them on." Anita prefers her stories to be visual more than descriptive. "I want to transport a child to the situation. I do that with sounds and dialogue. My joy in telling stories to children begins seeing seeing the expression on their faces. I change my voice, shout, make funny sounds, whisper or shoot from a gun and children jump or come close to me and cuddle up." [The Goa Times, The Times of India, Oct 20, 2011, Page 1] http://www.flickr.com/photos/fn-goa/6263117310/in/photostream * * * * * * * * * * The Rose Garden By Anita Pinto FRANCISCO was seven years old. He loved playing football with the big boys in the field next to his house at Fatorda. Fatorda had a large football stadium but next to it was a field where everyone played. Francisco went there every day. His sisters played Catch-Me-If-You-Can and cricket with their friends. One evening Francisco came back very tired and hot. He ran to the gurgulet for a glass of cool water. Then he washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror above the basin. "Look, Mum, I have zimmers on my face!" he shouted. Kanchan, his mum, came running "What? Where?" she asked. "Here on my face, can you see zimmers?" Francis asked. "You are only flushed from the heat, Francisco. What are zimmers anyway?" she asked. "I think they are red spots," said Francisco, confidently. "Who told you that, Francisco? Are you making up stories?" "No, Mum, I heard the doctor tell Dad that Avo had all zimmers. I know he has red spots on his hands from looking after his roses." "Oh, Francisco!" said Mum, laughing and crying at the same time. Francisco's sisters Toffee and Jujup came in. (Those were their pet names. Their real names were Ophelia and Julita.) "Francisco! Why have you made Mama cry?" Toffee demanded. "It's okay, my darlings," said Kanchan. "Your Avo has Alzheimer's, not all zimmers." "What's that?" asked all three together. "Is it like chicken pox?" asked Jujup, whose friend in school had had the chicken pox. "No, it is not. As some people grow old, some cells in their brain get old too and fade away. So they begin to forget. Every month they remember less and less. And some days they remember most things. But they forget names and places. They cannot be sent out alone." "Oh, poor, poor Avo," said Toffee with large tears rolling down her cheeks. "Will he forget the way home?" asked Francisco. "Yes, he may," said Mum. "That is why Mai has helped him start the rose garden. He is very good at looking after flowers and it keeps him happy." "Will Mai get Alzheimer's too?" asked Francisco. "Not everyone gets it," said Kanchan. "I don't think she will," chirped Jujup, "she remembers all my exam marks and Francisco's football scores and Toffee's piano pieces. She is very sharp." "Yes," laughed Kanchan, "just like you. Sharp as a pencil point!" "May we go to Socorro this Sunday to see Mai and Avo?" asked Francisco. "Yes, we will ask Dada to drive us all there," Kanchan promised. On the next Sunday, as promised, Kanchan and Jon drove the children to Socorro to see Jon's parents. Mai was waiting for them at the door. "Come, come," she said, "you must be hot and tired after the long drive. Shaila! Bring the lime juice from the fridge! Quickly!" "Yumm," said Toffee. "These must be lemons from your tree, Mai." "Here try this, chonne dos and baath. I knew you were coming, so Shaila and I made it yesterday," said Mai. But she got no response. "What's the matter?" she cried. "Why are the children so quiet? Are they sick, Kanchan? I think the sun has been too hot for them. Come, lie down on the bed, come, come...." "No, Mai, we are fine but we heard that Avo is sick with Alzheimer's," Francisco said. "What do you know about Alzheimer's?" asked Mai, surprised. "I told them, Ma," said Kanchan. "So they wanted to come and meet Pa." "Go, meet your Avo in the garden and tell me if he looks sick," Mai said. The children crept quietly outside. Their grandfather was smiling to himself and cutting the dead leaves. There were beautiful roses everywhere. Red and white and yellow and pink. The perfume swirled up with the breeze and the children smiled in delight. "Hi Avo!" they called. "Hi!" he said looking at them. For a moment he looked confused. But the children ran to him and hugged him. "Do you know who we are, Avo?" asked Jujup. "Shhh," said Francisco. "Yes, my darling, I know who you are and you are just like the roses in my garden, bright and lovely," Avo said and smiled. Francisco looked at Toffee and both of them sighed, while smiling too. "I don't think Avo will forget us ever!" Jujup whispered. Yes, they would always be "All Zimmers" in Avo's rose garden. -- gurgulet, gurguret or modko = clay water pot Avo = grandfather chonne dos = a Goan sweet baath = a kind of cake [Contact Anita Pinto at anitapinto....@gmail.com ]