The child I'm thinking of is my nephew Bilal, who's six and lives with my sister's family in Karachi. I live just two streets away, so I see him several times a week, and he treats my flat like his second home.
His questions come non-stop, and they range from sensible to completely unexpected. Some are scientific, like why the sea is salty but rain isn't, or how planes stay up when they're so heavy. Some are about people: why our neighbour walks with a stick, or why grown-ups drink tea when it's hot outside. And some are just wonderfully strange. Last week, while I was cooking, he asked me whether fish know they're wet. I still don't have a good answer to that one.
He also has a habit of asking "why" after every answer, so a simple question can turn into a ten-minute conversation that ends with me admitting I don't know.
How do I feel about it? Mostly I love it, although I'll admit there are moments, usually after a long day at the office, when I'd prefer a bit of silence. But I've noticed that his questions make me think. As adults, we stop wondering about everyday things because we assume we understand them. When Bilal asks me how the fridge keeps things cold, I realise I've no idea. So now, instead of making something up, I say, "Let's find out," and we look it up together. It's become one of our favourite activities. I think his curiosity is something precious, and I really hope school doesn't train it out of him.