Couch Potato

The title could’ve been ‘My 4 years with Her’. Like every final decision I make, it was changed at the last moment.

I don’t know where(how) I’d be if it were not her.

She was there every night with me on bed.

She soothed me with the voice of my favourite singers when I was in deep trouble.

Even a game of minesweeper was interesting with her when I was in boredom.

She got me the world’s best rated movies in a 14 inch screen.

It’s not just addiction.

Yes, my friends have guessed right. MY LAPTOP. She’s just adorable. She made my life happen. She knows what I need and gives me instantly. She was a good and quiet listener of my laments. Most of the nights these 4 years, my day ended (Of course, sleep starts after minutes of the next day started) with her in front of me. Sometimes, I leave her to dry dozing off.

She taught me to excel in Office. She knows my strategy of making assignments and presentations. She made my resume look the way I wanted it to. She holds crack versions of highly priz(c)ed possessions. She completes me. She grew up with me teaching besides learning things, developing besides training skills. 

She could make a movie out of pics; she could bring my relatives on video chat; She could make my life easier without wires and mouses around. She earned me prestige.

She showed me how to read books without buying one. Turned me into a plagiarist at times. Chat with my forgotten friends. 

And after all, it was she who showed me to publish my thoughts to You.

Whenever she gave trouble, I abused her. I was so irritated when she hung up just like that. It was like I couldn't survive without her working at that moment. I used her to get my desires done and was getting used to. 

Salvation lies within !

Yet, she knows the darkest of my secrets. She keeps me logged on to my worst fears: the social networks. Stores passwords of each and every site I sign up for. Makes me pour out my feelings in words. Even before my closest of friends, she knew the love I had for my girl. Unlike the conventional writers’ dustbins, my Recycle Bin gets filled with drafts of incomplete tweets and blog posts. She knows the site I visit to watch porn. She knows my fear and weakness. She's already known too much of me. And You of Her. She's my secret-keeper.

Soon, I will leave her. For sure. I'll set up to meet friends instead of sitting around this piece of dumb machine and giving likes to my friends' self adoring profile pics. I'll visit beach and theatre with them so that I refresh myself off my routine. And My Dear Laptop, I will remember you once in a week or month. Just so I can pay my bills. 

Now she plays:

“Iravil naduvil battery thaan theerum”