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November 13, 2014 | By

“…it just slips out that you are a greater expert at puddle-jumping than I…” Read this lovely children’s story by Ramendra Kumar about a boy who loved puddles, published on the occasion of Children’s Day.


You don’t step into puddles. You jump into them.

You must be wondering how a story can begin with a title puddle. Well, this is not about a single puddle, but about a boy who loved puddles.

Bunty was seven years old and studied in class two. He was a good student and an obedient boy. He did his homework, drank his milk and ate his carrots and beetroots without a fuss. That is to say he was almost an ideal child.

I use the word almost because he behaved in a perfect manner on most occasions except when he saw a puddle. Strange as it may sound it seemed to have an electric effect on him. From a shy, quiet boy he was transformed to a bundle of energy and enthusiasm. The moment he saw a puddle he would take three or four steps back, look longingly at the water and then charge. He would run full speed then jump high in the air and finally land bang in the middle of the puddle, splashing water all around, clapping his hands and shouting in glee.

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A couple of moments later he would quietly walk away as if nothing had happened. His shoes would be muddy, his legs would be splattered and his white school uniform would have dark, dirty brown patches. But he would march on oblivious to all this, a faint smile on his face.

“What is this Bunty? Again your clothes are in a mess. How many times I have warned you!” Rohini ma’am, his class teacher would shout.

“I am sorry ma’am. I stepped into a puddle and ….”

“Then why don’t you look where you are going? Any way this is my final warning. Next time if you come in this state I’ll mark you absent and send you home.”

Bunty would quietly listen to the lecture and go back to his seat.

Back home his ma would scream.

“Again! Again you have come back looking like a pig.”

“I stepped into a puddle, ma.”

“You don’t step into puddles. You jump into them. You think I don’t know you!”

“I can’t help it, ma.”

“What do you mean you can’t help it? I have never heard anything sillier!”

“Ma, whenever I see a puddle something happens inside me. I can’t control myself. I have to jump into it. ”

“Nonsense, I think you do it only to irritate me.”

“Believe me, ma. I have tried many a time to stop myself. I even tried avoiding the road where there is a puddle. But how many roads can I avoid. And whenever, wherever I see puddle I forget everything else. I have even got into trouble over this.”


“Once when I jumped into a puddle, the water and mud splattered on an old man. He was furious and chased me with his walking stick.”

“And yet you won’t step making an ass of yourself!”

“Please ma, I told you jumping in a puddle is something I can’t resist.”

“Bah! don’t give me that nonsense. I am warning you; next time you get your clothes dirty I’ll spank you.”


It had rained all night. The garden was bathed in rain drops.

It had rained all night. The garden was bathed in rain drops.

A couple of weeks later, on a Sunday morning, Bunty lazily opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his bed. He got up and drew the curtains of the bedroom window. It had rained all night. The garden was bathed in rain drops. Right in the middle of the lawn were two puddles.

Bunty wanted to get out of the bed, rush into the garden and jump into the puddles. But he hesitated. He knew his ma had been very serious when she had warned him last time. And he didn’t want to annoy her on a Sunday. This was the day when she made his favourite masala dosa followed by a yummy chocolate cake. As he stared longingly at the puddle he saw his mother step into the garden. She was wearing a nightie and carrying the newspaper. His father had gone for his morning jog.

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Bunty was about to call out to his mother when he stopped. She was staring at one of the puddles with a strange expression on her face. She then looked around. From where she was standing she couldn’t see Bunty.

As he watched she went back five or six steps and looked around once again. She then broke into a trot. She took seven eight steps, leapt into the air and landed bang in the middle of the puddle. Her feet, her ankles, her nightie were all splattered with mud, but her face was wreathed in smiles. She reminded Bunty of Guddi, their neighbour’s three year old daughter playing with her puppy.

“Wow! Ma! That was perfect. Even I couldn’t have achieved a better landing,” Bunty yelled clapping his hands.

Startled, his ma looked around and on seeing him turned red with embarrassment. Bunty ran into the garden and hugged her.

“You scoundrel, you were spying on me,” she looked at him with mock anger, her face changing from red to pink.

“Of course not, ma. But tell me didn’t it feel great?”

“Y…yes. It’s, its fun,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to make a mess of your clothes and shoes every day.”

“Oh! Come on, ma. Don’t be a spoil sport. And just imagine if papa comes to know about your fantastic jump into the….”

“You rascal, you are trying to blackmail me!”

“Of course not ma…but suppose when I am talking to him, it just slips out that you are a greater expert at puddle-jumping than I…”

“Okay, you young rascal, I got the message. But Bunty, no more jumping on the road. You’ll stick to your puddle-jumping in the garden. If it rains we’ll have natural puddles or else we can create artificial ones on Sundays and holidays.”

“Wow!” Bunty clapped his hands and gave his ma a big hug. “But ma, you’ll have to join me from time to time. It will be much more fun when we do it together.”

Ma looked at him with a twinkle in her eye, a soft smile on her lips. She grabbed his hand and pulling him forward, yelled, “What about now!”

“Yahoo!” Bunty shouted and mother and son landed bang in the middle of a wet and slushy puddle.

Ramendra Kumar (Ramen) is a children’s writer with 38 books to his name. He has won 34 awards in the competition for writers of children’s literature organised by Children’s Book Trust (CBT), over the years. He also dabbles in satire, poetry, fiction and travelogues. His writings have been translated into 15 Indian and 14 foreign languages and have also found a place in text books, as well as national and international anthologies. A much sought after inspirational speaker and story teller, Ramen has been invited to participate in several conferences and festivals. These include the IBBY Congress of Children’s Writers in Denmark (2008) & Greece (2018) and Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival (2019), apart from many literary events across the country. In the Congress held in Greece he was the only writer from India to be invited to chair two sessions. An Engineer and an MBA, Ramen is former General Manager & Chief of Communications, SAIL, Rourkela Steel Plant. He is the father of two children who are bonsai celebrities in their own right. While Ankita is a youth icon and a travel blogger with an Instagram following of 76K, Aniket creates cool Apps and designs covers for his Dad's books. His website is
All Posts of Ramendra Kumar

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Today’s Motivation

<div class=at-above-post addthis_tool data-url=></div>Time is not just the calculation of transitory phases in years, but also the assessment of ACTIONS-the effort we make in life's works; FEELINGS-our state of emotional being and ACHIEVEMENTS-our realisations in life, of life, about life. 

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Time is not just the calculation of transitory phases in years, but also the assessment of ACTIONS-the effort we make in life's works; FEELINGS-our state of emotional being and ACHIEVEMENTS-our realisations in life, of life, about life.