Story 4: Bindi Bai’s Missing Bindi

It was a bright Tuesday morning in Sabzi Nagar, and Bindi Bai was busy doing what she did best—being perfectly proper. Her green skin gleamed, her hair was tied in a neat braid, and her shiny red bindi sat perfectly in the middle of her forehead.

But just as she was about to step out for the weekly Haathi Bazaar, disaster struck.

“AIYYO!”

she shrieked so loudly that Mithu Mango almost fell off his tree.

“WHAT happened?” shouted Tamatar Tinku, rolling in dramatically as usual.

“My bindi… it’s GONE!”

“Check your elbow,” said Chiku Chacha, who had trouble seeing clearly without his carrot glasses.

“My forehead, Chikusaab, not my elbow!” she huffed. “This is a tragedy! How can Bindi Bai be Bindi Bai… without her bindi?”

Now this was a serious crisis in Sabzi Nagar.

Bhutta Bhaiyya offered a roasted corn kernel:

• “Put this instead! It’s round and golden!”

• “I'm not wearing breakfast on my forehead!” she snapped.

Mithu Mango flew down with a rose petal. “Try this it’s delicate, like you!”

Bindi Bai smiled, tried it on, but it wilted in the sun.

“Ugh! I look like a sad salad!”

Just then, Aloo Amma waddled by. “What’s all the fuss, re?”

“I’ve lost my bindi!” Bindi Bai wailed.

“Arrey! Use my trick. I use haldi and kumkum paste when I run out. Natural and desi!”

“Amma, you are a genius!” said Bindi Bai.

She rushed inside, mixed turmeric and kumkum, and applied it with great care. As she stepped out, all of Sabzi Nagar clapped.

“Wow, Bindi Bai! That’s the most radiant bindi we’ve ever seen!”

Tinku whistled. “If you lose it again, I’m framing your forehead as art!”

Bindi Bai chuckled, blushing just a little greener.

From that day on, she wore natural bindis in all shades—beetroot pink, haldi gold, even spinach green.

And the town learned that when life gives you lemons… make bindis!

Moral:

It’s not what’s missing that defines you, but how you shine without it!