A Nasreddin Hoca Tale
A short tale featuring Nasreddin Hoca, as coloured by me, age 10:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6VJGRcE-d6gZmcuRwrAeVU5ZZkB1gmqcCnkz0-m5eFAS6RaXghxCt9WD3qZGXpBsbYuyMUmfcfbB03XFcjVN7yJ-vSwmhukBr9uMnOqwhA33XGSeaa891fLw3UK_bu-HXJAFsQTCg1_5/s320/100_5209.jpg)
Translation:
One day, Hoca ran into a gossipy neighbour, who remarked, "There's a tray of baklava going by."
Hoca snapped, "what do I care?" (or "what's it to me?")
"But I think it's going to your house."
"Well then, what do you care?" (or "what's it to you?")
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6VJGRcE-d6gZmcuRwrAeVU5ZZkB1gmqcCnkz0-m5eFAS6RaXghxCt9WD3qZGXpBsbYuyMUmfcfbB03XFcjVN7yJ-vSwmhukBr9uMnOqwhA33XGSeaa891fLw3UK_bu-HXJAFsQTCg1_5/s320/100_5209.jpg)
Translation:
One day, Hoca ran into a gossipy neighbour, who remarked, "There's a tray of baklava going by."
Hoca snapped, "what do I care?" (or "what's it to me?")
"But I think it's going to your house."
"Well then, what do you care?" (or "what's it to you?")
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