Everyone in my family calls me Mee-Mee. I am twelve years old. I like to run up and down the stairs of our building, and I can go all five flights without stopping. I like to feed pigeons, even though it’s against the law, and I like to read books from the Seward Park Library, which is eight blocks from here. This week, I borrowed A T


ree Grows in Brooklyn, a novel by Betty Smith. I am on page 92,


and it is sad and very exciting. I think you’re like me and don’t have a computer, since your name


was on the snail mail list. I could go to the library and send you an e-mail from my brother’s Yahoo, but the line is always long and you only get a half hour and I type very slow like a turtle. Kiku (that is what we call my brother, but his real name is Karan) has a computer, but he always keeps it with him in his backpack. Anyway, I am used to writing letters, because my grandmother doesn’t have a phone. And I am reading in my book about a girl named Francie who lived in 1912 when there were no computers. I have decided that I want to be like her.


I wonder what you look


like. I am short and skinny. This is a good thing for squeezing on the subway. But I would rather be like Kiku’s secret girlfriend, Ana Maria, who is so pretty she stops traffic. I do think my hair is nice. It is long and black like Ana Maria’s, but hers is curly and mine is straight.


I guess I should


tell you more about myself. I was born in India, in a town called Mussoorie, in the youngest


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