Dhruv

(Note: The following conversation was a mix of Marathi and Hindi, which has magically been converted to English in this blog post)

"What's your name kid?" I asked, whipping out my camera.
"Dhhuuvv..what's that?"
"It's a camera. What's your name again?"
"Dhuuv!" he said, louder this time.
"Dhruv?" I asked again.
"That's what I've been telling you! So that's a camera?"
"Yup!"
"Take my photo," he said, smiling shyly.

"Sure! Why don't you stand next to the window?"
"Is this good?" he asked, standing where I wanted him to, expressionless.
"You're a pro!" I exclaimed, taking several pictures.

"I like how the train goes over water. How does it do that?"
"Well, the train run on tracks, and there are tracks over the water too!"
"You're lying!" his mouth was opened wide.
"Nope! I never lie!" I grinned.

"Is that spit?" he ased, pointing at the silver paint on the window pane.
"No, that's paint. If it were spit, it would be wet. See?" I said, touching the bumpy silver coating.
"Hmm. But what if the paint is wet?" he asked.
"Well, it would stick to your fingers, and then you'd have to wash your hands with soap."
"I wouldn't like to touch wet paint."
"Me neither."

"My mother is calling me. My stop has come."
"Oh! Well it was nice talking to you kid!"
"Can you send me my photos?"
"Sure! But I'd need your address to do that."
"I can't give you my address."
"Why?"



"Because my mom has told me not to talk to strangers."