A pair of big, eager black eyes looked in through the door that was left ajar by the countless, nameless children running in and out.

I recognised the little one, not yet three years old, and went to him. “Yes, baby? Do you want to come in and play?”
He nodded eagerly, though unsure of how I would react.

I opened the door wide and he came in, looking around, his eyes skimming over the scattered toys on the floor. I watched as he walked around the house, evidently searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” I asked gently.
“Oh, the car is broken, baby; if you ride it, you may fall.” A child who played with Munnu’s old ride-on car had fallen from it, so I had kept it away.

The little one looked blankly up at me, apparently not comprehending.
“Shall we look among the other toys and find something else?” I suggested.

“Mixer?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, the concrete-mixer? Sure, let’s find it,” said I, and we started rummaging Munnu’s toy basket.
The search for the Mixer was futile. I hated to disappoint the little one, again.

I asked, “Can I give you a little toy car?” I knew from his Mom about his craze for cars.
“No,” he said and continued his quest. I looked around for something to interest him.

After a while, he came to me and asked, “Small car?”
“Oh, sure,” I said, pleased that there was something I could give him.

He was about to leave the house with the little car I gave him, when he turned around suddenly and asked, “Whose house is this?”