My mother lives with us and has called me Chinna for forty-five years. Last week our daughter, who has about fifteen words, added it to her list. I am now Chinna. Not Nanna. Chinna. My partner thinks this is the best thing that has happened all year. My mother is delighted. I have been demoted to the youngest member of the household by someone who still eats sand.
Still some months away from any words at all here, so I'm taking this as advance warning. My father has a name for me from school days that I'd very much rather she never hears.
One of our twins calls his brother by the name our cook uses for him. Now the whole building calls him that, the watchman included.
That is how it spreads. Our daughter's daycare teacher used a short form of her name in the first week, and now she won't answer to the full one at home.
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