To spell a spelling

I set aside my coffee and Wodehouse and decided to brave her inquiry.“N.O.”, I squealed at high pitch, assuming that it was the everyday negative that was at the end of her probe.

“But that’s NO”

“Yeah, NO”

“I want to know about KNOW, amma!”

The tone was now a delicate juxtaposition of annoyance and accusation. Her gestures suggested that I climb over the wall for not understanding something so plain.

It took me a couple of breaths later to sort out the equation and realise that it was the word that was baffling her brains.

“Ah-a, you mean know’ as in knowing’!”

I cleared my throat and spelt out KNOW in the best traditions of an English teacher.

Aditi (incidentally that’s her name) pondered awhile as if to register what I had just said and caught my eye, this time almost accusingly.

“Ka ka ka,” she coughed up. “K says ka. Amma, I want to know the spelling of know’. It begins with N, na. N says na, right?”

So far, I had not fathomed the gravity of her quest. To put it simply, I had not realised that I had the unenviable task of having to explain to her that English was unphonetic and that one had to willingly suspend logic to master it. But how could I possibly put this across to a four year old? More so when she was well initiated into this noisy road to easy reading by her enterprising school teacher. The ga’s and fa’s that filled her waking moments (and mine too) would often take me back to may struggle with a more logical German in those unmusical Max Mueller Bhavan days. Returning to the moment of crisis, I geared myself up to the task ahead to the best of my ability. The N’ I patiently explained.

“You are right, K’ does say ka’. But sometimes K’ remains silent.”Pause.

I was not very sure of what was happening in her little brains. But I continued.

“Some words like know’ and knife’ are written with a K’ but when you say it, it’s with an N.”

“Why?”

Expected, but where do I go from here?

“There’s no why for it dear. That’s the way it is.”

The finality in my tone made me feel that I had almost done it. She drifted away asking me no more. I went back to my Wodehouse and now cold coffee. Minutes later she was back, this time with one of her books. She beamed as she opened to the first page. This Book Belongs to Aditi Kutty.’ She had meticulously blacked out the K’ from Kutty.

“What have you here now?” I asked unsuspectingly.

“You know amma, this K’ has decided to be silent for sometime.”

I have never been struck by lighting but if I ever were, I would probably feel as I felt now. Silence, someone long ago had said, is golden and I decided to be his disciple for now. And it was to be that way for precisely ten minutes. For my bundle of questions had stormed into the room with a ginger in hand and question in mouth.

“Amma, how do you spell ginger?”

I thought awhile, stiffened, put aside Wodehouse and uttered,” I think its time for Popeye.”