I am my Dad, who ran the last kilometre of my first half-marathon with me,
just to see me cross the finish line.
I am my Mum, who makes sure I’m wearing fresh socks,
but loves me even when I'm not, which is almost all the time.

I am my Ammachy, who taught me -with modest success- to speak up,
and my Appacha, who taught me the magical properties of silence.

I am Johnycha, who signed the first cheque for my university degree,
Mathewcha, who got two speeding tickets to drive me there,
and Maavan, who drove 200 miles to bring me back
(after another bout of flying fever).

I am Sushil, who has become used to giving up half his room,
with- what he must by now consider- alarming regularity (liberties, bruv).
And also Santosh, to whom I didn't repay the favour,
leaving him to curl up instead on the floor of my cold flat,
wearing two layers of clothes and a hoodie.

I am my brother Vijay, who called me achacha maybe once,
my little sister Sujaya, who called me it five times,
(and has long since swapped it for more colourful terms of endearment)
and also Hannah and Rachel,
who call me it whenever their Dad is in the room.

I am Gisamama, who has my specific medicational needs covered,
Anniemama, whose knowledge of Mumbai Marathi comes in handy,
and Liz, who will (hopefully) service my lifetime dental plan.

I am Maavi, who still considers me young enough to buy presents for (hint, hint)
and Shantamama, who gamely endured me every summer for many years,
when my brother and I would descend on Karikattoor,
and then proceed to soak the chicken feed in kerosene,
and break her hanging flower pots
(while making sure to fling the incriminating evidence into the nearby field).

I am Bobbycha, who made the first cricket bat I ever owned,
and Jobycha, who meticulously painted and varnished it.
I am Babuchayan, who repaired everything I broke or tore,
(but couldn't do much about the flowerpots).

I am Anil, who drove a white toy police car across Ammachy's lawn,
and Sunil, who drove a slightly more imaginary one in Pune,
(mainly by carrying around a large rubber washer and making engine sounds).

I am every single individual separately, and all of them together, all at once.

I am who I am because of everyone.