Ted: You’re not… Moby, are you?
Not Moby: Who?
Ted: The recording artist, Moby.
Not Moby: Oh, no.
Ted: Then why, when we said “Hey, Moby” did you come over here?
Not Moby: Oh, I thought you said Tony.
Ted: So your name’s Tony?
Not Moby: No.

I am like Not Moby where my mother is concerned. She calls me anything she feels like calling me at that moment-ranging from cute to downright bizarre-and I respond.It’s no obligation.I just answer,quite unaware of what she has called me,just somehow understanding that it’s me she’s looking for and nobody else.Like an hour back she’s called me ‘Jhuntu’ which is supposedly sweet(yes,you can argue that no self-respecting woman in her twenties should allow people to call her Jhuntu,but I don’t care.I liked it :)).And 5 minutes back,I became ‘Babuli’ for her.which is equally endearing.But when she called me ‘Ghotaipotai’ a week ago in front of visitors-elderly distinguished quiet prim-and-propah women at that-it was ..err….okay.The visitors thankfully did not arch an eyebrow at this so I gathered they must have people like me who’re equally victimised at home.

I like these name.There may a time in near future when there’ll be no one to call me ‘Ghontai’ or ‘ Babumoni'(which is a really weird name,considering ‘Babu’ is a common nickname for boys and ‘Moni’ for girls.like what is she driving at??).People would refer to me as ‘Ms Shreyasi So-and-So’ and I’ll know it’s me they meant.For now,let me revel/cringe in these references and be cluelessly docile as Not Moby 🙂


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