Story 1 – The Day Daksh Spoke 👦🚲🦜

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From “Mukshi & Daksh: The Forest Road” Series

For a while now, I’ve been wanting to write stories for children—simple stories that are not only fun, but quietly carry lessons about kindness, honesty, and trusting yourself.

This is the beginning of that journey

🌿 “Mukshi & Daksh: The Forest Road” is a slow-growing series where a boy and his parrot wander through a long, never-ending forest road—meeting new friends, noticing small things, and learning gently along the way.

It’s not polished or perfect—but it’s me, and it’s honest.

This is the very first story in the series:

📖 The Day Daksh Spoke

🌅 The Ride Begins

One morning, 👦 Mukshi woke up early.
The sun had not come out yet. The sky was still dark and quiet.

He looked at the small green cage near the window.
Inside sat his parrot—Daksh.

Mukshi smiled.
“Shall we go for a ride today?” he asked.

🦜Daksh blinked twice.
That meant “yes.”  

👦☀️🏠🦜⋯ ⋯ ⋯

Amma gave Mukshi two idlis, one banana, and a small bottle of water.
“Don’t go too far,” she said, tying his shoelaces.

“Just near the big trees,” Mukshi said.
But in his heart, he wanted to ride a little more.

He put Daksh’s cage in the front basket of his bicycle.
“Let’s go!” he said, and started to pedal.

🚲🌲🌳 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

🌿 The Forest Changes

At first, the road looked normal.
Dusty, with coconut trees on both sides.
Birds flew above. A small squirrel ran across.

But after some time, the houses disappeared.
The trees became taller. The road became quiet.

Mukshi looked around. “Where are we now?” he asked softly.

🏝️ 🚵 🐿️⋯ ⋯ ⋯

🗣️ The Parrot Speaks

Suddenly, he heard a voice. “Stop.”

Mukshi pressed the brakes. “Ahhh! Who said that?” he looked around.

“Here,” the voice said again.

Mukshi looked at Daksh.  
Daksh looked back at him.

“Was that… you?” Mukshi asked.
Daksh blinked. “Yes,” he said.

“Whaaaat? You can talk?”
“Yes,” Daksh said again, calmly.

“This is a special place. In this forest, some things are different.”

🦜😆👦 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

🌱 A Tiny Thank You

Mukshi didn’t understand everything. But he was happy.

They kept riding slowly.

Soon, Daksh said, “Look. Over there.”

They saw a small ant.
She was stuck on a big leaf, turned upside down.

“She looks tired,” Daksh said.

Mukshi got down from his bicycle.
He bent down and gently helped the ant get off the leaf.

The ant walked away.
She didn’t talk, but she moved one tiny leg—like saying thank you.

🐜🐜🍂🍂 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

“That’s it?” Mukshi asked.

“Yes,” Daksh said. “Helping once is sometimes enough.“

🫶🫶 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

🕊️ Quiet Heroes

They didn’t see any lions.
No kings.
No flying birds with crowns.

Just a small ant.
And a parrot who spoke.

That was more than enough.

😊😊😊 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

At home, Amma asked, “So, what did you see?”

Mukshi smiled. “Just trees.”

He looked at Daksh.

Daksh blinked twice.
That meant:
“We’ll go again tomorrow.”

Daksh smiled, too. Even parrots like quiet heroes.

🏠😊🕊️🌿 ⋯ ⋯ ⋯

✨ One Small Moment

Some days feel normal. But one small moment can become a story.
And one small story can become the beginning of something big.

This is my 1st Kids Story of Series named “Mukshi & Daksh: The Forest Road” – A gentle journey through an endless forest, where small encounters spark big lessons.


📘 Story 18 – Mukshi and the Shaky Step

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🌤️ The Morning That Hesitated

The sun was up, but the sky was grey.
A little warm. A little unsure.
Like the weather wasn’t quite ready to begin.

Amma packed the bag.
“One banana. One water bottle. And no shaky legs,” she smiled.

Mukshi was tying his shoelace slowly.
Daksh sat on the windowsill, blinking once.

“That means yes?” Mukshi asked.
Daksh blinked again.
“That means yes… again,” Mukshi smiled.

🚲 The Forest Shortcut

Today, he took the narrow path.
The one behind the school wall.
It was shorter—but steeper.

He’d never tried it alone.

The ground dipped fast.
Loose stones. A tight curve.

Mukshi stopped at the top.
Daksh circled above, quiet.

He looked down. His legs felt… unsure.

🧗🏽 The Choice

He could go back.
Or… just one foot forward.
Slow. Careful. Stay steady.

He looked at Daksh.
“Not a big deal, right?”
Daksh tilted his head. Not blinking.

“I’m not scared,” Mukshi said.
Then paused.
“Well… maybe a little.”

He took one step.
Then one more.

The bike didn’t slip.
The ground didn’t fall.
His hands shook, just a bit.
But his eyes stayed ahead.

🍃 The Quiet End

At the bottom, the path opened wide.
Flat road again. Trees swaying like they’d seen it before.

Mukshi stopped. Breathed.

Daksh landed gently on the handlebar.

“I did it,” Mukshi whispered.
Daksh blinked. That meant yes.

🏡 Back at Home

Amma looked at his shoes.
“Little dusty,” she said. “You tried the slope?”

Mukshi nodded.
“Just wanted to see if I could.”

Amma handed him a glass of water.
“Not all courage is loud,” she said.
“Some of it just puts one foot forward.”

Courage isn’t always big.
Sometimes it’s small.
Sometimes it’s just you,
and the road,
and a tiny step you weren’t sure you could take.
But you took it anyway.

How One Small Delay Becomes a Chain Reaction

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Let’s talk about that one morning. The one where it started with just… a late wake-up.

No drama. No thunder. Just… 15 minutes late.

You skip your usual coffee. Miss the schoolbook. Kids shuffle around confused.
The van waits. Grandpa gets held up.
You’re racing, but the rhythm is off.
Wife’s voice goes unheard. A page is missed. Someone else now waits because of you.

It wasn’t a disaster. It was just a delay.

But that delay echoed — not loudly, but widely.
One late breath caused a ripple in ten other lungs.

We often think big problems come from big mistakes.
But sometimes they start as an extra snooze tap.

This isn’t guilt. This is awareness.

👉 Your smallest actions? They’re gears in someone else’s day.
👉 Your presence (or pause) affects timing across people you may not even see.

In a world this interconnected, even not moving… moves something.

So what’s the takeaway?

  • Try to be the gear that turns smoothly.
  • Forgive the gear that didn’t — maybe it just needed oil today.
  • Accept that small doesn’t mean insignificant.

Even Pi starts with 3.1 — not infinity.
But it goes.

So do you.

Every Drop Doesn’t Have to Reach the Sea

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We often hear this:
“Every drop matters.”

And it does.

But here’s something I’ve started to feel over time —
Not every drop has to reach the sea to matter.

Some drops land quietly on a leaf, cooling it.
Some disappear into the soil, helping roots.
Some dry on your skin, a memory of effort.
Some join puddles, evaporate, rise again.
Some never go anywhere — and still, they were.

See, in life, we sometimes over-fixate on that final goal — the big “sea.”
As if the only thing that counts is the outcome.

But not everything you do has to end up in a showcase.
Not every kind act needs recognition.
Not every effort needs to turn into a promotion, a product, a “win.”
Not every conversation needs to change the world.

Sometimes, your tiny gesture is someone’s unexpected encouragement.
Your five-minute help fixes someone’s five-hour stress.
Your failed idea sparks someone else’s breakthrough.
Your unnoticed step builds the path someone else runs on.

And you?
You’re still the drop.
You still mattered.

We don’t always get to finish the story.
We don’t always get credit for the ripple we created.

But trust this:
If your intention was right —
you’ve already done more than enough.

Let the sea be the sea.
You just be the drop — wherever you land.

Punishment vs Understanding: A Parent’s Dilemma

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(Honest thoughts on raising kids with heart and clarity)

Parenting doesn’t come with perfect documentation — and certainly not with a bug-free implementation.
There’s no one-line method called raise_child(empathetic, confident).

Instead, it’s a constant try…catch.

“Sometimes, I punish him.”

Yes, I do.
Not out of anger, but instinct. Maybe tiredness. Maybe frustration.
And sometimes… because I truly didn’t know what else to do in the moment.

But here’s the part that matters:

After that, I sit with him. I ask why he did it.
I explain why it wasn’t okay.
I don’t just raise my voice. I lower myself to his level.

It’s not about control. It’s about connection.

Kids don’t listen to lectures. They observe humans.

If I mess up, I try to own it.
He watches that.
If I lose my temper, I circle back and talk about it.
He watches that too.

My kid is not a “good boy” just because he follows what I say.
I want him to question. To know why.
Not because I told him, but because he understood it.

So which is right? Punishment or understanding?

Let me be honest.
Both exist. But one should lead the other.

Punishment, when needed, must come from a place of clarity.
Not as a shortcut to obedience, but as a path to realization.
Understanding always follows — and sometimes, should even replace it altogether.

Because understanding creates awareness.
And awareness is the real discipline.

But hey, we’re human.

We slip.
Sometimes we punish before we pause.
Sometimes we shout before we understand.

But if you sit down later, look into those small eyes, and say:

“Appa also makes mistakes. Let’s both try again tomorrow.”
That child learns the most valuable lesson we can teach:
Grace.

Parenting isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.

There’s no algorithm for raising a child with heart.
But there’s always space for small updates.
Some patches take time to apply. Some fixes run deep.

But never forget —
Kids don’t grow on commands.
They grow when they feel safe, seen, and supported.

And that… takes understanding.
Even when we start with punishment.

If this resonates, pass it on. Not as advice. But as reflection.

We’re all building our versions of parenthood.
Brick by brick. Word by word.
Mistake by mistake.
With love at the core.

– LekshmanaIn

The Shoulder Legacy

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Some mornings, I carry my son on my shoulder to his van.
He doesn’t ask why — it’s just part of our rhythm.
But in the evening, when his grandfather picks him up, he walks back home on his own.

No complaints. No “Appa carried me, you should too.”

I watched that. And something inside me paused.

Maybe — just maybe —
He already knows.

That his grandfather once carried me on those same roads.
That those shoulders once bore the weight of a boy with dreams, doubts, and school bags twice his size.
That those shoulders carried the legacy, not just the load.

So now, my son walks beside him.
Like saying: “You’ve carried enough. Now, I’ll walk.”

That moment didn’t need words.
It was a quiet relay — one generation handing over strength,
the next carrying respect,
and a child learning both.

Why share this?

Because in the rush of routines and responsibilities,
we sometimes forget —
What we carry matters.
But what we choose not to — also tells a story.

And every small act, even a walk home,
can reflect a lifetime of love,
and the invisible strength passed down without speeches.

This is my note to the future:
Respect is not just taught — it’s felt.
Legacy isn’t built — it’s lived.

📖 Story 17 – Mukshi and the Man with the Rope

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Mukshi and the Man with the Rope

🏡 Banana. Water. No Hurry.

“Banana. Water. No hurry today,” Amma said, tying Mukshi’s bag.

She was peeling drumsticks slowly. One by one. Her eyes were soft today. Not sleepy. Just soft.

Mukshi tied his shoes slowly.

Daksh blinked from the window.

That meant: “Time to go.”

🚲 A Quiet Ride

The forest road felt slow.
Not sleepy. Just thinking.

The trees didn’t wave. The birds didn’t call.

Only the sound of tires on dust.

Then Mukshi heard something new—
A voice. Steady. Talking to no one.

🥥 The Man with the Rope

He was wrapping a long brown rope around his arm.

A coconut tree stood behind him, tall and patient.

“You climb trees?” Mukshi asked.

The man nodded. “But not for fun. For work.”

He held the rope up.

“This helps me go up. And come down without breaking something I still need.”
(He tapped his leg.)

Mukshi smiled.

🧑🏽‍🌾 The Climb

He tied the rope, hugged the tree, and rose like he belonged there.

A coconut fell. It rolled toward Mukshi.

“Too old to drink,” the man called. “But full of oil.”

Then a green leaf floated down.

Mukshi caught it.

“Why a leaf?” he asked.

“Because most people miss the small things.”

🧒🏽 Back on the Path

Mukshi tied the leaf to his bag string.

“Will he be there next time?” he asked Daksh.

Daksh blinked once.

“That means maybe,” Mukshi smiled.

Then softer:
“Some people feel like trees.
You only notice them when they move.”

🏡 Home Again

Amma was still in the kitchen, stirring something slowly.

“Your bag’s heavier,” she said.

“Only a leaf,” Mukshi replied.

“But your eyes are wider.”

“I saw a man float up a tree,” Mukshi added.
“Like that beetle from last month. The green one.”

Amma smiled. “Your Appa once climbed like that.”

Mukshi paused. “What happened?”

“He started watching the trees instead,” Amma said.
“Some people do.”

Not all learning comes from questions.
Sometimes it comes from watching…
and catching the leaf someone chose to drop.

📖 Story 16 – Mukshi and the Stuck Goat

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Mukshi and the Stuck Goat

☀️ The Pause Before the Ride

Amma was peeling small onions.
Her eyes were wet, but not from crying.

Mukshi tied his shoelaces.
Daksh blinked from the roof’s edge.

“That means yes?”
Daksh blinked again.
“That means yes… again,” Mukshi smiled.

Amma handed the bag.
“Banana. No shortcuts through the thorny slope.”

🚲 A Goat in a Tangle

They rode past the sleeping dog rock.
Past the swing tree.

Then a sound.

“Baa-aa.”

Mukshi stopped.

A small goat was standing between two trees.
Its rope was caught under a thick root.

It tried to move forward.
But the rope pulled it back.

“Stuck,” Mukshi said.

Daksh landed on the handlebar.
He blinked once.

🧠 A Better Way

“I’ll pull it free,” Mukshi said.

He stepped forward.
Grabbed the rope. Tugged a little.

The goat pulled too.
But nothing happened.

Daksh blinked again.
Mukshi paused.

He looked again.
Then walked behind the goat.
Untied the rope from the tree.
And let the goat walk backwards, out of the root loop.
It worked.

The goat blinked.
Shook its ears.
And walked away, quiet and proud.

🏡 The Onion and the Pause

Amma was still peeling.
The bowl was half full.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Helped someone,” Mukshi replied.
“A goat.”

She looked at him sideways.
“Did you lift it?”

“No,” Mukshi said.
“I just looked better. Then found a way.”

Amma nodded.

“Last week you gave away your banana,” she said.
“This week you gave your time.”

Then she smiled.

“You used your head before your hands.”
Daksh blinked once from the window.

“That means yes,” Mukshi said.
“And that still means yes.”

Being smart isn’t always about knowing more.
Sometimes it means…
just stopping to look again.

📖 Story 15 – Mukshi and the Honest Pocket

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☀️ The Drop and the Thought

Amma was stitching something by the window.
A needle in her mouth.
She was mending an old cloth. Maybe a memory.

Mukshi tied his shoelaces slowly.

Daksh blinked from the shelf.
“That means yes?” Mukshi asked.
Daksh blinked again.
“That means yes… again,” Mukshi smiled.

Amma handed the bag.
“One banana. And tell the truth, if something asks.”

🚲 The Forest Sounds Funny Today

They passed the usual turn.
Past the broken gate and the leaning tree.

Somewhere near the big anthill, Mukshi heard it.

Bounce. Roll. Tap.

A small, red bouncy ball—rolling in the dust.

He stopped. Picked it up.

Daksh tilted.

“Not mine,” Mukshi said.
“But it’s nice.”

🧒 A Stranger With Small Steps

From behind the bushes, a smaller boy appeared.
Shirt half tucked. Hair sideways.

“My ball!” he said.

Mukshi looked at it in his palm.

“I didn’t take it,” he said.
“I just saw it. I picked it up.”

The boy nodded.
“Okay.”
He took the ball, looked at it like it was still moving.
Then gave a small smile.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
And walked back the way he came.

🚲 The Ride Felt Different

No breeze. No big talks.

Just Daksh, flying slow.
And Mukshi, thinking quiet.

“I felt like keeping it,” he thought.
“But I gave it back.
I told the truth.”

And somehow,
the road didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

🏡 The Needle and the Pause

Amma was still stitching.

“You saw something today?” she asked.

Mukshi nodded.
“A ball.”

“Did you take it?”

“I felt like keeping it,” he said.
“But I gave it back.
I told him the truth.”

Amma didn’t ask more.
She stitched two more loops. Then said:

“Some things stay lighter if you carry them honest.”

Daksh blinked once from the window.

“That means yes,” Mukshi said.
“And that still means yes.”

Telling the truth doesn’t always sparkle.
But it keeps your pockets light,
And your road a little easier to ride.

📖 Story 14 – Mukshi and the Bottle in the Wind

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Mukshi and the Bottle in the Wind

☀️ One Sock, One Breeze

Amma was drying socks on the line.
One flew off.

Mukshi caught it mid-air and held it like a treasure.

Daksh blinked twice from the gate.

“That means yes?”
Daksh blinked again.

“That still means yes.”

Amma handed the bag.
“One banana. Bottle’s full. Nothing extra.”

🚲 A Crinkle by the Fence

They rode past the well.
Past the dog-shaped rock.
Near the old fence—something shimmered.

A plastic bottle.
Rolling slightly. Stuck between roots.

Mukshi stopped.

“Someone left this.”

Daksh tilted.

“Not ours,” Mukshi said.
“But it’s on our road.”

🫙 The Pick-Up and the Plan

He picked it up gently—like it might be scared.
The bottle was scratched. Empty. Light.

“I could throw it far,” Mukshi said.
Daksh blinked once. That meant: “Why?”

Mukshi looked at it again.

“Maybe if I carry it,” he said,
“it won’t get left again.”

Then he tied it to the back of the cycle with a string.
“We’ll carry it. At least for now.”

🏞️ The Long Road Talks

The forest rustled.
Daksh flew quiet loops.
Mukshi pedaled.

They didn’t talk much.
The bottle bumped behind like a soft drum.

Not heavy.
Just there.

🏡 Amma and the Sock

Back home, Amma was watering the neem tree.

“You tied something new?” she asked.

Mukshi showed the bottle.

“It wasn’t ours,” he said.
“But I didn’t want it to be no one’s.”

She nodded.
“Some things… only get better if someone cares.”

Daksh landed on the handlebar. Blinked once.

“That means yes,” Mukshi said.
“And that still means yes.”

Not everything we carry is ours.
But the road is.
And what we leave behind… shows who we are.