Zoya Writes....

Something new I’m trying….. Let me know what you think!

It’s so dark in here. I can’t breathe. I hear the demonic voices whispering: “Jassira, we’re coming!”.

The funny thing is that I almost corrected them saying: “it’s Jazz!”, but of course I didn’t because I didn’t want to freaking die.

You might be wondering who these voices were, so let’s go all the way back to the beginning, 2 weeks ago.

2 WEEKS AGO: GREENDALE SECONDARY SCHOOL

“Is it even legal to get that much homework?!?!”, groaned Kailee.
Meet Kailee, my best friend of 6 years. She is a sweet but fiercely protective girl who is FANTABULOUS  at tennis. Like Andy Murray level fantabulous. However school work is not her strong suit.

“I mean”, I started, until Kailee cut me off and huffed:”Don’t even! You know you’re easily the smartest girl in year 8!”.

I guess that’s true – I have an average of 95% in all my subjects and tests.

“Awwwww! You’re so sweet!” I gushed sarcastically. 

“Shut up!”, retorted Kailee.

We bickered like this for the remainder of the walk home. Kailee’s house is first, so I waved at her and 

trudged home. 

Now let me state these series of actions very carefully:
I took my keys from my bag and opened our beat up old door.

I walked into the hallway. I dropped my bag in the hallway, and proceeded to the kitchen.

And I then screamed.

AAAHHHHHHH!!!!

A nonsense poem I wrote for school recently. How interesting that something that reads so wrong can still work….!

I walked down the dirsy road
A dozen wewds by my side.
Glack and cloudy was the sky,
My only iluminie from the moon.

My armsictk clenched with sclore,
Around my killew sword
I was trumbling with my fear,
For many a tale was told:

A dozen kangets haunt the land,
With kliant dagger like teeth.
They live just under the soil,
Sloothering under our feet.

My old man once told me,
If you ever hear a bloomloom
RUN! RUN! RUN!
Better get out of there before they catch you up.

He said I have to smith them,
Ensure there are glero left.
So I went SLASH! SLASH! Right and left,
With my killew sword.

I walked down the dirsy road
A dozen wewds by my side.
Glack and cloudy was the sky,
My only iluminie from the moon.

So I submitted a short story I wrote for my English around historical fiction in May 2020. My year 6 English teacher Mr. Willis liked it so much and he entered it as a school entry for the prestigious Historical Association Fictional Story Writing Competition.
Time flew and when we reached September, guess what awesome news we received… that I was a winner of the prize! It was really nice to receive an award from our headteacher and get congratulated by so many people. I made my parents so proud!
The link to the list of awardees on the history.org.uk website can be found here. So proud to be among such talented story writers.

Here’s the story

The Independence Diary – by Tara Gandhi

19th July 1929
Dear Diary,
My name is Tara. I am 15 years old. And it’s scorching!!
This morning I woke up, again to the sound of screaming, bangs, and protests saying “Azadee!” – Independence. I live in Porbandar, India and we are fighting against the British to be an independent country. So I woke up, got out of bed and went downstairs to eat.
As I sat down with my parents, they told me to stop eating and listen. Then they told me straight out – I’m going to get an arranged marriage! But I said I wanted to fight for independence!
After what seemed like hours of arguing (as much as I dared) we came to a solution. I got 9 months to do “whatever nonsense I wanted” and then I had to get – ugh – married.
Tara

21st August 1929
Dear Diary,
So my grandfather is Mahatma Gandhi, the famous peace protester and he is my favourite person in the world. In my opinion, he is an inspiration to the world. I have done a few protests and even a hunger strike (but I got so many bowls of chaat to eat after that!)
I sit with my Nanaji (grandfather) a lot, just planning the next protests or maybe he’d tell me the stories about being a lawyer in Africa!
Sometimes I ask my friends to join in, and they do! But some don’t, as their parents believe that we need to fight fire with fire, in a hypothetical way i.e use violence against the British.
But my Nanaji thinks we should fight hypothetical fire with hypothetical water – which means not stoop down to the Britishers level.
Tara

7th September 1929
Dear Diary,
It’s so HOT! And also, slight traces of the influenza have started to come back! So we are sort of doing smaller protests, just to distance ourselves for a bit, and then we will start our movement again.
Also, I’m really worried about Nanaji. He got arrested in March, and last week the British officers started screaming at him for breaking up a fight. And even though that makes no sense, I don’t want him to get hurt – or – no, not that. But he is getting old, and frail. Should he even be fighting for peace anymore? These protests can get pretty physical.
Also, yesterday, I had to meet a suitor for marriage. It was TORTURE! He was the typical parent’s dream to-be-doctor, pretty rich but STILL asks for a huge dowry. I had to make chai and sit in silence, which is so not me!
I was speaking to Nanaji about this, and surprisingly he agrees! He says his wife (my Naani) did not have an arranged marriage with him. They ran off to Africa to get married, he says, and to study law.
Tara

25th December 1929
Dear Diary,
Today was a day for the history books! Because the Britishers were not rude, or mean, or calling us racist names! Nanaji says it’s because today is a day called Christmas! They decorated pine trees with colourful balls and string! And, I was getting ready to go to our protest when Nanaji said to me: “Aaj unki Diwali hai. Hum usey kharaab nahi karenge. Kal.” –
This is their Diwali. We will not ruin it for them. Tomorrow, OK?
And I realised he was right. If anyone ruined my holiday, I would be so annoyed!
It’s strange, I always thought of the Britishers as some inhumane aliens (the ones I’d seen anyway), but they had holidays as well. Their family time. But these soldiers couldn’t be with their families. That’s depressing.
Tara

18th January 1930
Dear Diary,
I CAN’T believe it! The soldiers literally rationed our salt! The salt that comes from OUR sea!! They don’t have the right to do that! Everyone was so upset. Even Mama, who doesn’t get involved in this independence fight, was LIVID. So me and Nanaji arranged for things like talks, fundraisers to get salt for our citizens and a big walk to Dandi to collect our own
salt. The walk is not so much to get salt, but to show the Britishers what we can do.
And to add to the fuss, a close family friend of ours, Amit Mehta, was shot last night. His funeral is next week. He was a close friend of my Papa’s, so he is devastated! And so am I. He was a really funny man, and I will miss him a lot. So, here is a message to him:
Namaste Amit uncle!
I am so sorry that you passed. You will be dearly missed. And I promise, I will get revenge for you!
Yours truly,
Tara

21st February 1930
Dear Diary,
I am actually really excited for this Salt march! Me and Nanaji have been quietly spreading the word to our friends (who are not in league with the British anyway) and they spread the words to their friends too. So far around 25,000 people are coming for it! And since the walk is going to be for 2 weeks, I pestered the chaat vendor to give us a ton of vada pav!
I am so excited for India to get its independence! Because ever since I was born, the Britishers have been telling me what to do. But when they leave, no – one (except my parents) will be able to boss me around anymore!!
Anyway, my parents made me meet another boy today. His name is Prasad Bhattacharya.
To be honest, he was okay! I talked him into it and he said he would be coming to the Dandi Satyagraha – salt march. And he loved to read, just like me!
.. Oh no. Do I like him?! No. No. No. But who cares. I have to focus on my country now.
Tara

15th March 1930
Dear Diary,
ITS TODAY!!! Wow! I can’t believe it! Nanaji and I prepped walking around the park to be ready for the walk, and we are going to hold heavy bags of our own food. I was really amazed at how many people are going to turn up! Over 20,000 aunties and uncles and teenagers joined together to fight for our country. I’m so proud. I hope it goes well! I have to go now. Wish us luck!
Tara

31st January 1948
Tara Gandhi Bhattacharya
Dear Diary,
It’s been 18 years since I have written in this diary. When I got married, I moved out of the house, and forgot about my diary. But I thought this would make me feel better. And everything has changed: I am married with 2 children, I now have a job in my charity, helping poor families. But one thing has affected me the most. My dear Nanaji is not with me
anymore.
Even though he said I am a good writer, words cannot express how depressed I am. He was shot… 3 times in his chest by Vinayak Godse. It happened yesterday. But he died happy.
His lifelong dream was accomplished – India got its independence last year. And let me tell you – he was ecstatic! He also saw all his grandchildren get married, and he was the life of the party at my wedding!
The westerners had another war, And Nanaji has had enough of fighting for a lifetime. I don’t know why, but these Britishers can’t seem to stop fighting with other countries. Just like I wrote a letter to Amit Uncle, I am writing one to my dear Nanaji:

Namaste Nanaji!
I cannot say how much I miss you, even though it’s only been a day since you flew to the heavens.
I hope you get reborn as a tiger, your favourite animal, and when I die, I will join you. I miss you so much Nanaji.
Love
Tara.

It was always hard being a balloon. At first, I had the impression that we, the balloons, were the only existing thing in this world. I wish. When I was taken to the shop, though, odd fleshy little hands poked and prodded at me. Finally I was taken. A little human (girl, I presume?) and a bigger version of her (possibly the mother) took me to her home. When I got there in her stuffy car, the mother immediately used a friendly looking piece of tape to stick me on a wall. We had a little chat. He told me that when he was cut, he sort of rebirthed, as he was all one roll of tape. He was nice enough, but the door, carpet and window were all giving me hostile looks. Just then, some guests came. And let me tell you, it was TORTURE! They were all sticky and dirty and smelly. Also, how violent could they be?? I saw them physically abusing a pinata with sticks and felt horrified. Finally, the children left. Everybody was cleaning up as I drifted off to float, but the little girl came towards me with a sharp object. AHHH!  She pressed hard into my skin and I writhed in agony, when suddenly – POP! A fateful noise for a balloon…

The End…

Hi! Did you like that short story? Its one of my favourite ones. How was your week? Mine was terrific! I just went for a long bike ride around the Olympic stadium!
So, thanks so much for reading! 
xx Zoya xx
      🙂

Emma was supposed to be writing an adventure story, but she had no ideas! So, she snuck into the garden for inspiration. She had just discovered a bright turquoise berry that she wanted to eat (idk…). She popped it in her mouth and felt a strange swooshing sensation . Emma noticed that the uneven tufts of… grass!! were taller than her! She quickly realised that either she was getting smaller or the garden was growing rapidly! (She hoped it was the latter…) Suddenly, Emma heard a vociferous buzzing sound above her. She realised that this was an angry hornet! She was terrified of hornets even at her normal size, so she RAN for her life and hid in a clump of daffodils. Emma was so tired and she collapsed on the grass, panting. She listened carefully and heard two shrill voices – arguing? Emma looked up and saw caterpillars! They were arguing about who would be the best butterfly. “I’m going to have such colourful wings!”            

“Well I’m going to fly the highest!”

Emma wanted to stop the argument but didn’t want to be pulled into it either. So she tiptoed away – to fin d herself in a nest of… ANTS!! “AAAGGGHHH!!”, Emma screamed. She was beginning to hate this garden. But out of the blue, a large butterfly suddenly came and picked her up – out of the ants though …she was trying to stay positive. “Put me DOWN! Please!” Emma shouted. They flew for what felt like hours until the butterfly said: “goodbye, Emma” “What? What the – AHHHH!!!” The butterfly had dropped her! She screamed – And then Emma woke up. Phew! It was all a dream! Now Emma knew what to write!

The End

Hi! Did you like the story? Cool! (even if you didn’t).  Today I also baked a cake. I put strawberry whipped cream and Peanut butter. The cake was a bit rubbery though.  So thats it! I hope you enjoyed the story! Thanks for reading! xx Zoya xx       🙂

(first written on 15 April , 2020)

On a dull, cloudy Sunday, Pig was going to the park to play on the monkey bars (a pig on monkey bars… lol). But his sharp trotters got stuck on the thin bars and he squealed for help!
Meanwhile, Buffalo and Rhino were heading there too when they heard Pig.
“Lets go see whats up”, they agreed. And when they got there, they were in fact very mean to him!
“Hahaha! What a pig fat pig! No wonder he got stuck!”, they sneered.
Pig was fuming, but he was also crafty, so he schemed a revenge plan – still while trying to pry himself free!
He got out and introduced himself to the rude pair. They became fast friends, but he never forgot his plan…
He invited them to his house, a cave. Pig asked them what they really wanted to do in life.
“I want to go on a trampoline, and Buffalo wants to roll in a mud-pit.”, Rhino explained.
“Well perfect! I have those in the other room! Both of you, come at different times here tomorrow and I’ll show you!

So they did. Rhino went first. He was so excited – but with surprising strength, Pig locked him in the cave! Rhino screamed and screamed until Buffalo heard him. They realized Pig played them and went to find him.
They again found Pig in the park.
“Oh hi! Where were you? Enjoyed the things?”, he blatantly lied.
Buffalo and Rhino were so disgusted that they threw Pig far away in anger!

The End…

Hi! Happy (late – sorry!) Easter! So I actually wrote that story in 2018! I have a whole folder of these old stories and drawings, so I’ll edit them and post, like this one. So for Easter my Dad planned a Easter hunt for my brother and me. It was SUPERCALIFRAJILISTICEXPIALIDOTIOUS!!!  We got a small bag of sweets every time we solved a clue! It was the best! So thanks for reading! xx Zoya xx       🙂

(first written on 13 April 2020)

Good Morning!
Now, today I won’t be sharing a short story. Instead, just some news and a few recipes!
Yesterday (25 . 4 . 2020) Me and my mama went to a food giveaway for the homeless and poor of Japan. And it was so fun! We packaged tomatoes and bread and eggs, and it was super FUN! It felt really good when we saw happy faces leave with a bag full of food!
I’ve been doing so much cooking in quarantine! I’ve made vegan cookies, fish pie and tofu and noodles, and so much more! My parents always say I cook with feeling. but idk that means.
So If any readers or anyone could send me some recipes, that would be SUPERB!
There is this really funny trend called a “trikini”: bikini with a matching mask! :):)! I think I’ll get one of these for my cousins wedding gift!
Sorry if this was quite a short blog.
Well, thanks for reading!
xx Zoya xx 🙂
(written on 26 April 2020)

About last week for school we had to write a story about a girl who became a doll. Here it is:

My name is Mila Zaitsev, and this is the story of how I was turned into a doll. It was a long time ago – almost 20 years back, in a tiny Russian village named Volchansk.

I was 10 years old. Unlike other girls, I was a curious person and unlike other girls, I had no friends. Apart from my doll, Lia. I loved her –  until the incident. So here is how I was transformed into the hideous creature I am today.

Snow! It was an everyday thing in Russia, but to this day I still get excited about it. So I leaped out of bed and sped out of the house as fast as a leopard. I headed to the town hall, my favourite place to play. I caught sight of a large blackboard, like the one at school. I decided to play there with Lia. As my feet crunched in the snow I heard the girls from school – Selena, Anna and Galina – squealing in delight as they sledded down the high mountains. I wished they were my friends. But they think I’m a loser – even said it right to my face.  Anyway, the blackboard started creaking as I pulled out Lia from my pocket. And it opened! Like a door! I was curious. So I walked inside…

I cautiously stepped inside, filled with anxiety, only to find a supposedly empty room!! As I looked closer, I saw tiny glinting eyes – but they were friendly… what?            

‘’Hello? Who’s there?’’. And they replied: ‘’Dolls. From the world. Salutations! What is your name?’’I told them my name and asked why they were even here? Apparently they were captured and imprisoned by the Toymaker (that’s his name…). I spent some time there and it was so fun! They are like the friends I never had! I kept going there, and every time I noticed something new about the dolls. I learnt about different cultures all around the world, places I’d never even heard of. But one day they warned me that the Toymaker was coming back to Volchansk, so I couldn’t come again.

But as I heard those girls laughing, something snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore! I was tired of being a lonely child. These dolls were my only friends, and I was going to make the most of it.

So that night, I just went to the room to meet them and honestly not feel lonely! And that was my biggest mistake EVER. And the moment I walked in, I knew something was wrong. So I said: Hello? And a hand clamped over my mouth. the Toymaker…

I tried to scream, but I couldn’t even breath!  “You will be punished”, and with no other words he clicked his fingers and I passed out. Next thing I knew, I was behind a glass shelf and heard my mother’s voice. She looked like a doll… All my family did. Not the same size, but the same design. OH MY GOODNESS. I was a Matryoshka doll…

I had so much more to to see and do. Instead, I was now just stuck in a dusty wooden shelf behind glass in Volchansk. Its my fault. I had to pay the price for greed. To fill that empty hole where friendship should’ve been. But, no…

Did you like that? If you do, thanks! If you don’t, please comment and tell me why. I’d love some feedback. I drew that picture as well! Good, or nah?

So, that’s it! Thanks for reading!
xx Zoya xx
(First written on 8 April 2020, Tokyo)