My Apple iPod

Ours was an arranged match, a blind alliance. She entered my life early last year and my heart skipped a few beats when i held her on my palm. She was glossy, shiny, black, small and super cute. For me, it was love at first sight. I knew I had to take care of her and educate her musically. She soon became my best friend, soul sister and confidante. She understood my anxieties and had a tune for all my moods.

And then I committed a terrible crime. I left her behind on a rushed holiday and for six months I missed her terribly. Waking up every morning for a jog, seemed like an ordeal without her. My soul was filled with a void. Nothing could replace her. I tried finding solace in my mobile phone's FM radio stations, but I began missing my iPod even more.

I was finally able to reunite with her three weeks ago and I apologized profusely to her tiny face for neglecting her. My life was complete again and then something happened. I tugged her USB cable out of my laptop while she was charging without hitting on the "Eject" option. Hours later I tried turning her on, but she remained motionless. I tried for fifteen heart-breaking minutes and nothing happened. She was dead and I was responsible.

I cried for a long time, wondering what to do. I had lost her again. I finally mustered enough courage to explain what happened to a tech junkie and he laughed on hearing me sob hysterically. He had the older version of my baby and apparently the same thing had happened to him as well. He asked me to keep two buttons pressed for six seconds and then i saw a faint appley smile light up her face.

I thanked the stars and the boy who saved my iPod's life. A special mention of the person who brought this tiny piece of eternal joy into my life, my big brother Swaroop Mohanlal or better known as Swaroo Schettan.

My Pink Niece

I've never held a new born baby in my hands, infact I'd never seen a new born baby in flesh and blood. So when I saw my fully pregnant sister, I was bouncing around like a bunny, excited to bits. Each time i touched her tummy, the tiny human being inside gave a kick sending goosebumps up my skin.

The whole family had flown down from different parts of the globe to welcome the next generation. The pressure was on the mommy to be. Each day we would go to the hospital and tell her, "Please make it happen today, I have a flight to catch on the 2nd or the 4th". Each time she saw me she would tell me her gastronomic desire for the next day and I would promptly bring it for her. I presume she imagined a big roshogulla walking into her hospital room, each time she saw me. She requested Pizzas and Burgers from a restaurant called 'Ambrosia' on New Years Eve and the very next day the baby was born. I'd like to secretly believe that she had that baby thanks to my Ambrosia trip.

On the hot sweaty afternoon of New Year's day, when the family and I were lolling around wondering whether to sleep or eat, we got a phone call from the hospital saying that the baby was born at 3.13pm. We finally got to see her at 4.30pm. She looked soo tiny, fragile and helpless that I was scared to even hold her. When I finally mustered up enough courage to take her in my arms, a single tear drop flowed down my cheek and then I understood the meaning of being a kunjamma.