Ongul Diyus! cried Mamma

 “Ongul Diyus!” cried Mama

When Sham was in first class, he thought his big sister Lalita was the bravest person in the whole wide world.

Lalita went to Kathleshwar Girls’ High School in Zaindar Mohalla. One sunny day, she took Sham with her.

“Hold my hand tight,” she said.

Sham held it tightly—so tightly that Lalita giggled.

The school was only a five-minute walk from home, but to Sham it felt like a trip to a grand palace. A tall gate, busy classrooms, shiny shoes, and girls with long braids swinging like ropes.

“Oh, look at the little one!” said one girl.

“What rosy cheeks!” said another.

Someone patted Sham’s head. Someone gave him a tiny hug. And several girls offered him toffees.

“Thank you,” said Sham politely.

Soon his pockets were full: one red toffee, one green toffee, and one golden toffee that sparkled in the sun.

But Lalita bent down and whispered, “Do not eat them here. We will eat them at home.”

Sham nodded. He was a sensible boy.

Mostly.

The Very Sticky Toffee

Back home, Sham could not wait another minute.

He chose the golden toffee.

Crinkle, crinkle went the wrapper.

Pop! went the toffee into his mouth.

“Mmm,” said Sham.

Then—

“Cough! Cough! Hic!”

The soft, sticky toffee slipped the wrong way and stuck in his throat.

Sham’s eyes grew round.

He coughed again.

“Cough! Cough!”

“What happened?” called Auntie.

“Why is he coughing?” asked Uncle.

“A toffee!” cried Lalita. “A toffee is stuck!”

The room suddenly became very busy.

Chairs scraped. Feet hurried. Everyone talked at once.

Then Mama Soma’s voice rang out louder than all the others.

“Ongul diyus! Ongul diyus!”

Lalita blinked. “Ongul what?”

But Mama already knew what to do. She quickly helped Sham bend forward and carefully used her finger to help remove the sticky toffee.

Out came the toffee.

Plop!

Sham took a long, clear breath.

“Haaaaa!” he sighed.

Everyone sighed with him.

Then Sham began to cry—not because his throat hurt, but because his beautiful golden toffee was now sitting sadly on a little plate.

Papa Janki Explains

“Why did Mama say ‘Ongul diyus’?” Lalita asked.

Mama Soma smiled. “Onguju,” she said. “It means using a finger to help tickle the throat when someone must cough something out.”

Papa Janki, who always had a joke ready, lifted one finger.

“An ongul is also a finger-breadth,” he explained. “It is a very tiny old measure—about the width of one finger.”

Sham held up his finger.

“So, I am an ongul tall?”

Papa laughed. “No, no! You are many, many onguls tall.”

Auntie Jigri counted from Sham’s shoes to his head.

“One ongul, two onguls, three onguls…”

“Stop!” Sham squealed. “I will turn into a ruler!”

Everyone laughed.

Mama Soma hugged him close. “And now we have a new family rule.”

“No toffees without an adult nearby,” said Lalita.

“And no swallowing without chewing,” said Papa.

Sham nodded wisely.

From that day on, whenever he saw a shiny toffee wrapper, he remembered Mama’s loud, loving call:

“Ongul diyus!”

And he chewed very, very carefully.

Poetic stanzas about the author, Sham Misri, drawn from the little boy we meet in the story.

**The Boy Who Became a Storyteller**

A little boy with skin so fair, 

Held his sister's hand with care. 

Shy he was, yet full of wonder, 

At the world that pulled him under.

 

Curious heart and eager eyes, 

Tasting sweets in quick disguise— 

One soft toffee, round and sweet, 

Nearly stopped his tiny feet.

 

But a mother's finger, swift and sure, 

Curved to make his throat secure, 

Drew the danger out with skill— 

Saved his breath, and saved his will.

 

Then, his father, Janki, full of cheer, 

Turned the fright to laughter near. 

With a joke and wise old word, 

Lessons danced and wisdom stirred.

 

From that day, the child would see, 

Life is rich with memory. 

Every cough, and every cry, 

Holds a story by and by.

Now that boy, grown old and wise, 

Shares his past with twinkling eyes. 

Sham Misri, friend of pen and rhyme, 

Turns small moments into time.

Sham Misri, Seattle, Washington, USA