One morning, I was relishing in a pack of Parle-G biscuits from India, paired with tea for breakfast when Anyoso curiously approached me, drawn to the intermittent crunching sound.
“What is that thing you are munching on?” She asked, her inquisitive gaze fixated on the packet of biscuits.
“Oh, this? This is a biscuit. I usually have it with tea in the morning.” I replied, offering her a piece.
“I love biscuits. May I have one as well?” She inquired.
“Absolutely! Here you are.” I said, extending my arm towards her.
However, as soon as she took a bite of the Parle-G biscuit, she vehemently rejected my notion of a biscuit, exclaiming that it was not one. “Of course, it is! See, it’s written here,” I pointed to the label.
“Parle-G – Gluco Biscuits” it read.
Yet, she remained utterly confused, determined to show me what a real biscuit looked like. Retrieving a packet from her shelf, she handed me a mini-burger-shaped confectionery, which left me puzzled.
“Is this a biscuit or is that a biscuit?” I asked, feeling perplexed. “Then what do you call this?” I inquired further.
She took another bite of the Parle-G for confirmation before confidently asserting,
“This is a cookie!”
As it turned out, it was a classic case of the British versus American English dialects. If the American Revolution war was not enough, here was another one, this time in the confines of my apartment, for the language.
