I remember the first story Mala wrote.
She had only just started walking and was still in diapers.
She brought me a piece of paper.
"Dad," she said. "I've written a picture."
I could see her excitement.
I looked at what she'd written. All I could see were sqiuggles and spidery lines.
"It's grandpa" she said, helpfully. "He has a toothache."