I'm a Slave

I'm a slave. Technology is my master. But my master has left me alone, in shackles. I'm tethered to the remains of my phone and laptop, and can't help but cling to memories.

My phone, just an year old toddler, had never troubled me. It was a good baby. I was a careless guardian. While rushing up the 96 stairs to my classroom, I fell. A regular affair for me. But this time, I didn't get bruised at all. My phone's screen got the scars. All the doctors- small, unorganized retailers to big service centers- all suggested a surgery. Replace the entire LCD, they said.

I contained my grief, and continued using the phone, now for bare minimum phone calls. FYI, everything was working, the touch, the apps, the widgets, all ok. But looking at the broken screen shattered my heart into as many pieces.

Anyway, yesterday, after 2-3 hours of working on my laptop, and a 20 minute sleep, my laptop contracted a skin disease too. Its screen got a patch. Still an infant, I couldn't believe my laptop's bad luck. I lulled it to sleep and once again, tried to console myself. It's ok, tech babies are prone to mild hiccups, their life expectancy is short anyway. I believed time would nurse them back to health.

Meanwhile, all my friends tried to cheer me up. My roomie prepared coffee, my neighbors ordered pizza and engaged in gossip and I tried reading Wodehouse.

Today, the laptop repair guy said replace the LCD.

So I had two tech kids, both de-faced. I could sense myself welling up. Of-course proper medication- repair and warranty maintenance-would bring them back to life. Obviously, my life without them was simpler but still rocking. And there are so many more books on my shelf.... but with all my work data stored in these two babies' brains, I am a mere slave.

And this post was brought to you by my dear roommate's laptop, a generous loan.