I have a strange little creature living in my house. It’s about four feet six inches, weighs about thirty-two kilos, and seems to occupy a lot of space. It also talks in a language I cannot understand. The other day, I was lazing in front of the TV, when in it strode, announcing, ‘AGJ’s the name, cricket’s my game! Sa cool, ain’t it, Mawm?’
I do dimly remember giving birth to a male child some ten or so years ago. He was perfect – aren’t all babies to their mothers? He got his first tooth at six months – a feat I boast of even now. He was eating by himself at one. But at two, people around me were shaking their heads at him, and saying, ‘Two? Why isn’t he talking then?’ I put up a brave front, but honestly, I was worried.
After weeks of silence, once in…
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