Subramanian - Dear Mrs. Naidu

I guess youre wondering why Im writing you this letter.

Honestly, Mrs. Naidu, so am I.

Amma says Im not allowed to speak to strangers. You would think that also meant that I shouldnt write to them. But since this is a school assignment, she says its okay.

(Here is a tip, Mrs. Naidu: if you ever want adults to let you do something, just tell them it is a school assignment. They will one hundred percent agree to it every time.)

Maybe I should start from the beginning.

The beginning was last week.

Last week I started Class Six and I met our new teacher, Annie Miss, who is not like any teacher I have had before.

For example: Annie Miss says she doesnt think school should be about memorizing things and saying them back. She says memorizing things and saying them back makes you a parrot, not a person. She says she wants us to grow our brains and our hearts.

When she said that, I wanted to ask how growing our hearts will help us pass our exams and get into college and get a job and buy a house with a proper roof and maybe even a garden, which are all the reasons why I go to school. But I didnt.

You know how adults are, Mrs. Naidu. They dont like questions.

Even though it was only the first week of school, Miss gave us an assignment. (Miss says that now we are in sixth standard, it is time for us to be serious. Every teacher says this every year. But none of them ever gave us assignments during the first week of school, so Annie Miss might mean it.)

The assignment is to write letters to someone we would like to get to know better. She said that we could pick anyone, as long as we explain why.

As you have probably concluded, Mrs. Naidu, I picked you.

(This is the first time I have said written the word concluded. Its an English word that means figured out based on clues and evidence. I learned it by reading detective stories, even though our English Miss says they are useless rags. I think this proves I conclude that she is wrong.)

I understand if you find this confusing, Mrs. Naidu. After all, you and I dont have much in common. For one thing, I am alive and you are well, you are not.

(Im sorry if that was rude, but Ive never written to a dead deceased passed on historical person before, so I dont really know the polite way to say that you are dead it.)

Heres another difference between us. When you were twelve which is how old I am now you wrote a poem that was thousands of lines long. And it was in English.

I dont think I could write that many lines in any language. Definitely not in English.

Also, when you were twelve, you topped the Madras University matriculation exam.

I topped our Class Five exams, but I dont think I could top a college exam, even if I studied really, really hard.

You fought for Indias freedom and won.

Ive never fought for anything. If I did, Im not sure if I would win. Especially if I was fighting against the Britishers, who have lots of spies and detectives and things that I dont think we have in India.

You lived in a huge house with a lot of rooms and maids to do your housework.

My house has only one room, and Amma is a maid who does other peoples housework.

You had a lot of brothers and sisters and then you had a lot of kids.

I dont have any brothers and sisters. (I dont have kids either, but you probably know concluded that already, since Im only twelve.)

Here is why I decided to write to you: Im reading a book about your life. Vimala Madam gave it to me or, she gave it to Amma to give to me.

I havent read all of it yet its in English, but much more complicated English than the kind they use in detective stories, so its taking me some time. So far, Ive only read the part about your childhood. But that part makes me like you.