It is a diary of a nine-year-old. Rather, a random recollection of a young boy living in a metro city with his small family, of an elder brother, father, mother, and a grandmother. His age is that of exploring and of figuring out the world in his head. We have all been through this age; of which we carry many bittersweet memories of growing up. When our minds posed endless questions, and we were fascinated by the world and the adventure of discovering it. There was an unquenching curiosity to learn more and more about our surroundings, about things big and small and the people around us. Our young lad’s mind seeks beyond the barriers of linear logic. Like, if one is short-tempered, how short is short, and how do you measure how short? And if there are short-tempered men, what about the long-tempered ones? What if a man bit like a dog, do we chain him? Why do they only teach about wars in history? Why not the fun part; like the jokes of those times or about the biggest joker of all times? Do the gluttons have a hungry spirit in their tummy, devouring all they have eaten? Why do moms find good-looking women not so good looking and downright ugly if the dads call someone beautiful? Why is it so difficult to understand a girl, especially a smart one? Why do we kids have our ears pulled and not our nose? And if one ear gets pulled more often, wouldn’t it turn longer than the other? Why don’t the house-helps and servants get to eat the savories like the rest of us? Why can’t the boys use pink erasers? Why is it impossible for us to hear our snore? And so on and on. We all have experienced such nutty questions buzzing in our heads. Kuchh Atpati Kuchh Chatpati is an engaging odd and spicy recollections of a pre teen. It is an assortment of fifty-five pint-size stories that will take you on a journey to your past, to the days when the world was not so complicated and not so combative. When every little thing delighted us. And we lived in a small and complete world, where it was easy to find happiness and where we felt secure and cared for. I am tempted to call this small collection an urban version of ‘Malgudi Days’.