When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washerman brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the schoolmaster, she will scream for no reason and call me dada.

Your baby wants to catch the moon. She is so funny; she calls Ganesh Ganush.

Mother, your baby is silly, she is so absurdly childish!

the little big man

I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am as old as my father is.

My teacher will come and say, ‘It is late, bring your slate and your books.’

I shall tell him, ‘Do you not know I am as big as father? And I must not have lessons any more.’

My master will wonder and say, ‘He can leave his books if he likes, for he is grown up.’

I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is thick.

My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, ‘You will get lost, my boy; let me carry you.’

I shall answer, ‘Can’t you see, uncle, I am as big as father. I must go to the fair alone.’

Uncle will say, ‘Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is grown up.’

Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.

Mother will say, ‘What are you about, naughty child?’

I shall tell her, ‘Mother, don’t you know, I am as big as father, and I must give silver to my nurse.’

Mother will say to herself, ‘He can give money to whom he likes, for he is grown up.’

In the holiday time in October father will come home and, thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town little shoes and small silken frocks.

I shall say, ‘Father, give them to my dada, for I am as big as you are.’

Father will think and say, ‘He can buy his own clothes if he likes, for he is grown up.’

twelve o’clock

Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my book all the morning.

You say it is only twelve o’clock. Suppose it isn’t any later; can’t you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve o’clock?

I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.

I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny black.

If twelve o’clock can come in the night, why can’t the night come when it is twelve o’clock?

authorship

You say that father writes a lot of books, but what he writes I don’t understand.

He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really make out what he meant?