Loved Mohammad Hanif's A Case of Exploding Mangoes so much that I had to stingily ration it out- just didn't want it to finish. Like all good things, it's come to an end now, sigh. Don't know why some crtics wittered on disapprovingly about the inclusion of Blind Zainab and the crow- the whole scenario is so charmingly ridiculous, anything goes.
And while on the subject of the ridiculous, entertained 5-year-old nephew Rohan today. He had the sniffles so I read out A.A. Milne's poem about Christopher Robin being down with sneezles and weazels. He enjoyed it so much that I had to read it out hundreds of times- have a sore throat now. But no sneezles, weazels or measles! Rohan discovered a wonderous thing: I read out A.A. Milne's dedication to his son, and he gasped with eyes as round as saucers, 'You mean he's not a fantasy person?' I assured him that Christopher Robin was as real as I was. I could see Rohan the cynic looking very puzzled. There was deep silence for 5 minutes- very rare. I was waiting for the next question: 'So are Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Rabbit and gang real too?' The question never came, though. I think the clever cat worked it out in his head!
People go on and on about how wonderful it is to be a mother, but I think it's even more fantastic to be an aunt- that way you get to do only fun, irresponsible things with kids- potty duty and punishments are the responsibilty of others!