When I was eleven, I decided to do eleven of everything. Eleven chews, eleven steps to the door, eleven Gayathri Mantras etc. It made me late to everything - Ma said it was tiresome. But my tummy would squeeze tight if I didn’t do it. They took me to a psychologist - she smelled like boiled lollies. The receptionist let me ding the bell eleven times; Ma tutted. The psychologist gave me toys, but I said I was eleven. So we talked - I said nothing was more important than eleven. Because Ma and Pa now talk in hushed whispers about me. They don’t scream at each other anymore, I said to her. What will you do when you are twelve, she asked me.
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