Nomygod! This was not happening! I woke up this morning fighting against my biological alarm, a little late. Sloppily, over an ignored tea and a random movie on TV, I moved on to lazily do the bed. C has left for a short stay with her favourite granny, D, last night. Two days of no Vitamin-C I had thought would do me good. Plus, I liked my privacy sometimes, not just for ignited sharing, but also for insanely silent solitude. As I pulled up the pillow, out came a hurriedly done white envelop, quite obviously one of mine, in uneven stripes of a thick headed black sketch pen. A box supposed to mean a square had the words "Zeebra Pos". Either she forgot the t, or she needs to work on her pronunciations too, along with her spellings. Another letter, another story:
"Mom, you are Deer Mommie. I am laytaa writing to you beccause you like laytaas. And becaause when you will be alone in the night please suwich on the good night you can read this laytaa which you did not write. I am going for holidae which you want to go with Chhuti. She is not my frend. But I will go if you will go too. Why is there another spelling of to? Not two, three. Momm when you will read this you will be thinking that I am here only but I have packed my new bag with old pencil box and when I come back we will play carrom, ok? I will practiss to put the pink in.
Mom what do you write in laytaas? I have nothing to write. So you can teach me when I am back from school and we will not do homewok and have fun. OK I will live you with a story. One day there is a smart girl called Niharika who loves her Mom and she has a dog called Tucks who chuz her hairbans. One day there is another girl who is little and liked by Mom. So Niharika goes to grany house and aks her who Mom loves more. Grany says, 'You!'
Granu is laaiaah. She loves Mom most. So I will not aks her. But this is only a story for you Mommie. Haha. You are my best fend. Don't be afred when I am not in hause. There is jiraaf and fone. I will miss you. So as gift I want laytaa from you and all my ansaahs. I will not have too many chips, pomiss! And one day I will write story like you. Write also another spelling. Right. OK. Bye, Chinks."
What does one do with such a treasure? I think she will grow up into a Mathematician. She has logic. And poetry. My day has been full, and now that there is the implosive silence I so desired, she has filled up this space. I think I must contemplate deep about beginning to write a series of stories for her, or may be record our exchanges. It is demanding -- this madness, this other worldliness.
I wish I could play around her wrong spellings. It is as difficult as it is to do her curls. Or be without her.
"Mom, you are Deer Mommie. I am laytaa writing to you beccause you like laytaas. And becaause when you will be alone in the night please suwich on the good night you can read this laytaa which you did not write. I am going for holidae which you want to go with Chhuti. She is not my frend. But I will go if you will go too. Why is there another spelling of to? Not two, three. Momm when you will read this you will be thinking that I am here only but I have packed my new bag with old pencil box and when I come back we will play carrom, ok? I will practiss to put the pink in.
Mom what do you write in laytaas? I have nothing to write. So you can teach me when I am back from school and we will not do homewok and have fun. OK I will live you with a story. One day there is a smart girl called Niharika who loves her Mom and she has a dog called Tucks who chuz her hairbans. One day there is another girl who is little and liked by Mom. So Niharika goes to grany house and aks her who Mom loves more. Grany says, 'You!'
Granu is laaiaah. She loves Mom most. So I will not aks her. But this is only a story for you Mommie. Haha. You are my best fend. Don't be afred when I am not in hause. There is jiraaf and fone. I will miss you. So as gift I want laytaa from you and all my ansaahs. I will not have too many chips, pomiss! And one day I will write story like you. Write also another spelling. Right. OK. Bye, Chinks."
What does one do with such a treasure? I think she will grow up into a Mathematician. She has logic. And poetry. My day has been full, and now that there is the implosive silence I so desired, she has filled up this space. I think I must contemplate deep about beginning to write a series of stories for her, or may be record our exchanges. It is demanding -- this madness, this other worldliness.
I wish I could play around her wrong spellings. It is as difficult as it is to do her curls. Or be without her.
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