Gary Monro’s blog

I’m in Boston visiting my new nephew, Yash. He’s beautiful and just 4 weeks old. He has been born into a wonderful family and will be dearly loved.

And he’s been born in a beautiful city too. Anybody who’s spent any time in Boston will know exactly what I mean.

Sometimes, say, when we’re on the Tube, and I want to tell my wife something but I don’t want anybody around me to know what I’ve said, I tell her in Hindi. (She’s from India before you get too puzzled).

Now my Hindi is poor to the point of being atrocious (although it’s probably better than yours) but I can usually get my point across. Can’t understand a word she says in reply but I can make my own point.

The thing is, I often forget that this language I’m speaking in isn’t actually the secret language between me and my beloved that I seem to think it is. I absent-mindedly assume nobody else understands it. Even in India I still have to stop myself saying, in Hindi, something that is intended for her ears only.

The day will come when I say something unflattering about somebody who is within earshot and they’ll understand exactly what I said. I’ll let you know what happened. If they allow me to continue living (I say some nasty things at times…)

I watched my daughter perform with a local drama group in their annual song and dance show this evening. It’s a good experience both for the audience and the performers: they get the experience of performing and of demonstrating the fruits of a year’s hard work. We get the opportunity to see what our children can do - and we get a fun evening to boot.

There are several things that distinguish such shows from their professional, West End counterparts.

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