CHAPTER 1: It happened to me.

As giant-size bugs and wasps peer into one window, colourful tiny butterflies flutter their wings on the other.

It is 6 pm on my Barbie watch, and homework ceases to make sense anymore.
"Let's play Colour-Colour or Crocodile-Crocodile," suggests Anu, with whom I have spent my summers and winters alike- making geometrically proportionate mountains and houses on Microsoft paint.

The year, 1997. Age, 7 years.

Simple pleasures and hopes are the locomotives of my being. Exaggeration, the lubricant.
"I can't come today. My head feels like a boiled potato and my feet, uncooked Utthapas," I say. Laziness generates a volcano of excuses.

I slam the room door, which has Barbie and Shahrukh share poster space.
While I impatiently pull out a few post cards from the drawer, I am extra careful with the recently opened pack of 48 oil pastels. There is a 'FRAGILE' sticker on it. Imaginary, of course.
I begin writing about how I saved the planet by planting three saplings in my garden last week. Turn my words into an illustration on the side, and carefully use my green crayon, ensuring there are no dents on its edge.
After writing and rewriting my story, and wasting several postcards, I fill in the address on the last one.

To,
Uncle Pai,
Tinkle,
Andheri Post Box No 356
Mumbai

And also make a mention of how Tinkle is the bestest magazine.

The next three days are spent in anticipation.
To see my name appear in the 'It Happened to Me' section of the coveted magazine.
Even appearing in 'Rolling Stone' wouldn't have helped me gather any moss.

However, Uncle Pai chose 'Anshul Dutta, Delhi' and 'Manju Krishnan, Chennai', over my story.
I fake a smile, and run to the bathroom to shed some tears while looking at my reflection in the mirror.
Soon, I flush my discontent with my stools.

Next week, there's a new postcard, and a new story.
"IT HAPPENED TO ME.
Reetika Subramanian, Mumbai"

My happiness brought down even Uncle Raichura's house from upstairs.