The Boy Who Loves Me

Posted on November 18, 2010

7


For those who know me, it will not be a surprise. I don’t like my name. EKTA. That is one of the reasons I chose to write under a different name. I live on the 2nd floor and he lives on the ground floor. The place where I park my scooter faces the back door of his house.

Every time I go to take out my scooter or park it, he comes to the door. No, he actually runs to the door. Sometimes without a shirt, sometimes without his shorts. Oh did I not mention he’s about two years old? Well, he is. He will look at me and smile. His eyes twinkle. It began only with curiously staring at each other to gradually progressing towards “Hi!”. These days there’s furious babbling in Tamil from his side. I just smile stupidly, my heart glowing.

In the last 7 months, I can probably count on my fingers the number of times he may have not come to the door. He is there unfailingly, devotedly. At first his ayah would come to the door and take him away. Slowly, I think she began to realise I don’t mind him calling out to me in Tamil. Last night, I came back super tired from the gym, he ran to the door and shouted excitedly, “Amma, amma!” His ayah was mortified, “Akka, not Amma” (or at least the equivalent of that in Tamil). I have to admit, I felt warm and fuzzy inside.

Today, he came to the door shouting excitedly and said, “Anjanakka”. I then realised he wanted to know my name and that’s why he called me Amma and now Anjanakka. I reached out for him through the jali. His skin was soft, smelled of Johnson & Johnson baby powder. I pointed towards myself and said, “Ekta”. He smiled. I said again, “My name is Ekta.” He looked earnestly into my eyes and whispered with tenderness, “Ekta”.

Needless to say, I kinda like my name for today.

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Posted in: love, spreading cheer