MAY BE, SHE WILL FIND OUT

I first met Neetu a few years back. She was a neighbour. I remembered her as a sweet talking kid, rather a favourite of my wife. Recently, she came to our office with her dad. Dad was busy, so she was rather at a loose end. So was I. So I invited her upto my cabin. She said, she woiuld come as soon as she finished the coffee that had been ordered for her.

Returning to my cabin, I had almost forgotten about her. When she came in, she had a smile and an expectancy on the face as is proper for a girl out on her first date. We talked about the old days. Did she remenber our neighbours ? She did, except only us. she was however prepared to accept my assertion that we too were her neighbours. Establishment og friendly relations was not at all difficult. Very soon, she was cosy in my lap, chatting gaily and laughing a lot.

" What do you do in office ? " was a question that stumped me. I do not know how they do it but most children including my own, find out soon that all this talk about working hard in the office is actually a lot of humbug. So everytime that they ask this question, I am wary. " I read, sometimes I write and talk to people ' was my guarded answer. " Humphhh... " was her sole response which could have a variety of meanings. In the present case, it meant, " Well, you are a bit of alright. After all, you did not act superior and say I wouldn't understand. "

" Can you cook ? " I asked her.
" Well, I can make tea ".
" What about Rice or Chapatti ? "
" No "
" How did you learn making tea ? "
" Well, there was this Didi living next door to us and her mother was busy, so Didi let me make tea in her house. That was when I was young. I was only seven then. "
"How old are you now ? "
" I am eight ", making it sound like eighteen.

" Can you roast a papad ? "
" I have never done it but it is fairly easy. You buy a pair of tongs similar to the ones you use for picking up ice cubes and use them " , displaying her power of observation.
" Would you roast a papad for me when I come to your place ? ".
She nodded assent and our next date was made.

While this tete - a - tete was in progress, some people came into the next room and a rather loud discussion ensued among them. We had, therefore, to make our dialogue in some other form. Picking up a sheet from the desk calendar that she had carefully dusted earlier with her handkerchief, I made a doodle of a girl in pigtails and captioned it Neetu. I passed it on to her. In reply, she started to make one of me but did not succeed, so she gave it up. Picking up one more sheet, I wrote, Neetu is a naughty girl. She wrote back. No, I am not a naughty girl. Thank you.

After trading a few more insults, she came up with what she thought was an ultimate insult. She wrote, " You are my ontie ". I returned the paper merely correcting her spelling to Auntie. Disappointment and disbelief were writ large on her face. She was still unable to decide whether I was really feminine enough to accept her insult or whether the poisoned dart had made no dent in my armour when her father walked in to fetch her. May be, she will find out if and when she roasts that papad for me.