Day 141: We keep this love in a photograph

Things about VC that I never want to forget #18
VC gets full credit for really showing me what unconditional love looks like

There are times in my life, when smack right in between being surrounded by people, having so much activity going on, loving the highs and silently tiding through the lows, putting on a big smile on my face — I feel incredibly lonely.

Sometimes I’m lonely because of the beliefs I hold. The beliefs that are getting deeper, well-formed and articulate, with every experience I have. My opinion on the world. My socio-political stance. The resulting choices I make on an every day level — from choosing lesser plastic to taking a shared cab to feeling — are a reflection of the values I have and the beliefs they have birthed. And the thing with having my beliefs grow louder in my head is also realising which of your people have similar beliefs, and why. And feeling warm and fuzzy in that sense of togetherness and a shared conviction. It also means sometimes realising the beliefs of people on the polar opposite end of the spectrum, which is a far less happy-making feeling. And when it comes down to political views about our country today, add to it the feeling of being in the minority of people who feel deeply about many things the large majority couldn’t give a rat’s ass about and that despair and loneliness, a palpable helpless and worry that we’re all just fucked at the hands (and unthinking brains) of a bunch of low IQ savages rises very, very quickly to the surface.

This is the price I have to pay for having a firm set of my own beliefs.

Many time the loneliness is because the journey of self-awareness is by nature a very personal one. And not a lot of it makes for easy sharing or cheery conversation. Much of it is in fact best done silently, in private. That isolation invariably draws lines where none existed before. Lines separating me from people I once held close, between me and the places I love, things I indulged in. Lines that rein it in and draw me inward. None of this comes from a place of really wanting to be a touch-me-not in isolation, but simply that the full benefit of the journey is best experiences in private.

That too, is the price I have to pay for being so highly invested in my self-development.

Some days I become so acutely aware of how lonely and quiet it gets now that I am offline so much. Absolutely no social network, 10 hours off whatsapp every night, lesser and lesser time spent online during the day — my world and the world around seem to be constantly moving inwards and out in waves. The means to access and stay in touch with everything is fleeting. Some days I manage it better than others. But many days I don’t even really try.

Dealing with this strange kind of loneliness — suspended in a web of togetherness — is the price I pay for getting off the grid and seeking human interaction more than any other form of interaction.

There’s a lot of other ways in which this loneliness, the price I pay for being irrevocably committed to being my own person, rises to the surface. But, I have realised that every single time that I find myself cut away from the various groups and factions I dip in and out of, every time that I find myself despairing about being alone in the way I feel, the choices I make and the things I go on and on about (that often feels like nobody gets it), I have a place to come home to. And that sense of home and belonging, that instantly dispels the loneliness, giving me a safety and security, the space to be me in all my imperfection, is VC.

VC is my person. My home. My end-point, no matter how far or away I may stray.

This past weekend particularly, I realised that VC is the only person (aside from my parents — they deserve a salutation and a whole post to themselves) who really takes me as I am. A motley mess of still-developing beliefs, weird and inconsistent patterns, a constant work in progress, a far-from-perfect person.

VC loves me, just the way I am, at any point of time. He has loved me at my worst, as much as he has loved me at my best. He has loved me through the sweeping changes in between. He has loved me because of who I am, and he loves me despite it all. He loves. And he loves and he loves.

With VC, when I pay attention and allow the inner voices in my head to shut up, I always feel like I am enough, just the way I am. With all my unfinished business, the jagged edges, the yet-to-be-smoothed patches, the contradictions and the unexpected flare-ups.

This past weekend I realised that much of the progress I have made these past few years in getting closer to myself, knowing myself and being my own person, is because no matter what happens — how much I rock the boat, how far I wander, or how much I stir the hornet’s nest, I can always come home. To him.

It is a lot to be thankful for, this solid rock to fall back on. And it is such a powerful feeling to know, and really know in the way that I have felt it this past weekend, a good ten years into our marriage, that I am loved. And I am soooo enough. Just the way I am, inside and out. To understand suddenly what it means to never really be alone.

And so today, I just want to give thanks and really feel the gratitude I am, for the crazy-ass twist-and-turn life that brought us together, and the ways in which we have grown these last ten years. And for the place we are in today.

That is all.

Two years ago: Day 141: Malleswaram market things

For more Things About VC I Never Want To Forget, there’s more where this came from.

Day 172: Things about VC that I never want to forget #17

Things about VC that I never want to forget #17
He knows me better than I think he does

VC is constantly complaining that I know him a little too well for my own good. Complaining because he only realises this truism at moments where he is clearly at a disadvantage. When I have sniffed out his “surprise” plan even before it unfolded. When I predict his (very predictable) behaviour and caution him about a potential outcome and it, um, surprises him that I could guess. When he’s narrating a story about something that happened to him, and I finish the story off with what I think may be a possible ending, that turns out to be 100% accurate, and proceeds to steal his moment. And thunder. So yeah, he doesn’t like being that predictable. Always tells me I know him better than he knows me. But the truth is, it works both ways. he hasn’t registered it, but he knows me better than he is willing to realise.

Sunday morning, 10:30 am
Me to VC: It’s just 10:30, man are you drinking beer already?!
VC: Yeah, what’s time for to go with it?
Me: I’ll also drink, but later. Closer to lunch.
VC: Okay
Me: Such superb weather, perfect for a drink, no?
VC: …
Me: Gin is such a perfect drink for hot and cool weather.
Me: I think I will…*interrupted by VC*
VC: Here *hands me a glass of G&T*


-fifteen mins and one drink later-

Me: I LOVE gin VC, like really, really.
VC: Gym, aa? Ya I know.
Me: Gin, da! But gym, also. Yes.
VC: Yeah, that’s what I thought. You want a refill?

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Things about VC that I never want to forget #15

Things about VC that I never want to forget #15
Pulling off pink with style

One of my earliest memories of the husband, from back when we first met, is one of him walking into work in a pink buttoned-down shirt, crisp grey pants, and being met with a loud sighs and collective swooning on the part of all the men in the room. It was an edit-meet of sorts, if I remember right. A room full of people and immediately VC was at the receiving end of several taunting winks, eyebrows raised in part-mockery part-curiosity, and all the manly-men feeling insecure on the part of men at large, that good lord, here was a man, dressed in pink!


To this day, his wardrobe is incomplete without a couple of shirts in shades of pink/magenta. Most recently, he bought a rather bright pink, even by his standards. An almost cotton-candy coloured shirt and even my eyes popped a little when he returned from his annual office-clothes-shopping-jaunt and pulled it out of his shopping bag.


Earlier this year, we attended a wedding and I went to one of the functions in a bright-as-heck pink churidar and matching dupatta. I love hot pink, but I don’t usually go very matchy-matchy with any of my clothes. Along with the jewelry, shoes, a little make up, I had transformed into something very far from my usual self. VC looked at me with a look of surprise and shock, not saying much. But the face said it all — this was a definite departure from the norm as he knows it.


A few days ago I opened up a new pack of toothbrushes. It was one of those twin-packs meant for couples/families. Predictably, one toothbrush was blue, another magenta *eyeroll*. I really didn’t care which one I’d end up with, even though I hate being lumped with the pink option in anything because of this kind of forced stereotyping. I held the pack out to VC distractedly, while simultaneously going about some chores. He picked one rather thoughtlessly and went away.

A while later, when I decided to actually look, I saw that I was left with the blue one.

It took me right back to that day in the office, when he walked into the room in a pink shirt like he owned it. The same indifference. The same irreverence and thoughtlessness towards what the men in the room thought.


I don’t know if it is the sort of natural confidence that makes VC look like he can pull off almost any attire like he means it, or the fact that he can pull of most things that makes him confident. But what I remember distinctly from that day, is the nonchalance. The effortless dont-give-a-damn-what-any-of-you-think attitude that he carried.

I suspect it had little to do with the colour of his shirt.


This is part 15 of the series I like to call Things About VC I Never Want To Forget. And if you’re curious to see parts 1-14, there’s more where this came from.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #14

Things about VC that I never want to forget #14
VC is the strangest foodie I know

Back in the day when VC was trying to get to know me, rather than trying to get in my pants, we spent enormous amounts of time at various coffee shops talking a lot of rubbish. Some times when I think back, certain conversation pop back at me, and I wonder what in God’s name made me go ahead and stick around. Heh. Like the time he asked me my star-sign.

“Taurean,” I said.

“Oh, so you’re a foodie,” came his nonchalant response. So smooth. And unplanned. (Not.)


Apparently Linda Goodman told him so, he was not afraid to tell me.

And I remember thinking fuck, I’m with a boy who reads (and believes) Linda effing Goodman. Help.

Of course my shock was compounded by the fact that 1) back then, I was not half the foodie I am now 2) he didn’t know if I was really a foodie, so what was he trying to get at?! (the answer is obvious now, but I was playing hard to get then, remember?) 3) maybe he was just trying to put his cards out and check for compatibility. Because he is quite the foodie. Back then, it was defined as loves to go out and eat greasy, rich food. Today, he lives it in a more finetuned form. As in he loves a good meal, revels in trying new delicacies and enjoys experimenting in the kitchen.

Food — whether we’re eating it, talking about it or wishing for it — is one of the big loves we share together. Despite the stark, fundamental differences in our tastes, we manage to get wide-eyed with wonder about trying out a creepy sounding new thing, or get equally excited about scoping out a hole in the wall in a new place we’re visiting, or find the same amount of joy in a Sunday spent cooking. Even as he curls his nose away from dal every time I make it, and doesn’t believe in eating some curd every day (like I do, of course!) we manage to see eye to eye on some, if not all, things.

So yes, he is quite the foodie, but sometimes I just think he is a misguided foodie. He likes to think his tastes are totally normal. He likes to think they’re a little refined, for my liking, but entirely acceptable in his mind. I just think his tastes are random, don’t follow a pattern and are downright over-the-top.

You ask the man a simple question, “Rice or rotis for lunch?” and it’s perfectly normal to have him respond with a request for smoked salmon or something equally outrageous and totally not available in my kitchen on a random Monday morning.


He loves the Kannadiga rasam/saaru I make, but loathes a simple dal. Even though the difference is just the addition of rasam powder and tamarind. He loves paneer in gravy form, but scramble it in a burjee and he wont touch it with a bargepole. How does that work? I don’t know how, but you get the drift.

He is mighty grateful for the fact that the wife he married five years ago, who claimed she couldn’t even boil a pot of water, now willingly cooks and delivers him hot lunch day after day, a habit he is quite happy to have cultivated. He claims it makes him feel healthy to eat home-cooked food, and since what goes in the box is up to me, he has come to expect a fair share of salad, sabji, some baked goodies and all those things my mommy told me were good for me, that VC grew up without ever tasting — like a daily dose of curd, random raw veggies, sprouts every now and then, South Indian tiffin masquerading as a meal, etc.

Predictably, a hot lunch delivered at the office attracts more eyeballs than VC anticipated. With most people longing for home-cooked meals, its hard to dig in to a box of piping hot ghar ka khana, even if the box isn’t yours. So many weeks of sharing, and feeling slightly less than full at the end of it, he came up to me one evening with a very sincere request.

“Can you make something that tastes really sexy, but that looks like shit so people wont dig in every time I open my box?”

Yes, with that delectable visual image of a brief to work with, I quickly dashed into the kitchen, rustled up something super fast, and emerged with a delicious meal for my husband to enjoy all by himself.

I’m lying. I couldn’t do it. He probably got nothing for lunch that day.

The other strange thing about VC is his fixed ideas about tastes and food. He has a strong aversion to overpowering spices and aromatics. For someone who loves (and I lean lurrrrves!) Asian food, I couldn’t wrap my head around his hatred for ginger and garlic. I tried not telling him how much of it is probably in his Thai curry, lest he give it up altogether.


You know Murphy’s law about the thing you hate most always ending up in your plate? VC is always the one to get the lone pod of cardamom, the single clove or cinnamon stick that I try and discretely disguise in my pulao or biryani. It’s like the damn spices seek him out!

So recently, when he was cooking me some fried fish and was grating away happily with a little piece of ginger, and making the marinade smell insanely yummy, I raised my eyebrows and asked, “Wow VC, you do know that’s ginger, right?”

To which he sheepishly responded, with a hint of a grin, “I think you should sit down for this one.”

But before the look of worry to sweep over my face completely, he finished his sentence, “I am beginning to really like the flavour of ginger.”

He was right, I should have sat down for that one, because the surprise mixed with joy was too much to handle. Because it meant there was yet another thing I didn’t need to sneak in and hide in my cooking anymore.

When there’s usual non-fancy grub VC has a small appetite. I end up eating more than him on most days. He doesn’t do seconds unless it’s something super-duper awesome he has to give in to gluttony. I have always admired his restraint when it comes to rice. He always stops at one helping, while I go back for seconds and then a wee third to mop up with curd. Then I realised he just didnt care too much for rice. But there is the odd time he can turn into a belter, and I am usually equally amazed at the demonic levels of gluttony that suddenly get unlocked. So amazed that I worry when I see him walking around post-meal, with a troubled look on his face, unable to hold his belly up.

One such time, he decided to give up and rushed off to lie down in order to feel better. He couldn’t bear waiting five-ten whole minutes for the food to slide down his gullet and low enough into his digestive tract to feel like it had settled. I rushed in to tell him not to lie flat so soon after eating, and a pained VC begged, ” But I’m SO full. Too full to stand. Can’t I walk for two minutes instead of standing for ten minutes? It should speed it up no?”

Er, try telling that to the egg curry and rice you belted at breakneck speed and maybe it will comply.

So much to poke fun at, fawn over and cherish amongst all the other nonsense and wisdom that comes out of his mouth. Around here I behave like the enlightened foodie. The one that has it all right, just waiting to expound the whys and hows of taste and flavour to VC. Sometimes, he takes it seriously. Sometimes he surprises me. For someone who couldn’t go one week without eating out, who’s confused taste-buds and skewed foodie upbringing have been such a source of entertainment for me, for someone who didn’t think he could enjoy ghar ka khaana and only turned to it because there was little option, he really surprises me.

An unplanned experiment saw us eating at home for three months, with an average of one restaurant meal a month, at the start of this year. I didn’t realise just how much time had passed this way, until VC said to me one day, “I don’t think I like eating in restaurants as much anymore. It’s just always nicer at home.”

That, is the sound of victory for a home-cook who is always trying to get better and beat the foodie demons out of the kitchen.


So yes, it might have all started seven years ago with questions about star signs and possible foodie-ness. Yes, Linda Goodman might have some part to play in all of this. Yes he’s a funny foodie, the strangest one I know. He’s got a twisted sense of taste. Yes, I make so much fun of it all. But he’s quite alright, this chap, you know?


Apart from his love for food, VC has an uncanny love for work, all things Apple and, umm, me! There’s more shenanigans in the stack I like to call Things About VC I Never Want to Forget!

Things about VC that I never want to forget #13

Things about VC that I never want to forget #13
VC lives to work. And works to live.

If you’ve read this blog long enough you’ll know that the love of my life is this creature I call VC. AKA the hugsband around here. If you’ve read this blog long enough, you’ll probably also know that the love of his life, is his work.

There are some kinds of people who are driven by a passion to steer their careers in precisely the direction they want to. They know right from the start where they want to be, and they get on with it without wasting any time. VC is one of them. Then there are people like me. We start off wanting one thing and then we change our minds every six months or so. Along the way, we are distracted by books, boys, beaches, baking and the like. And six years down the line we might even decide we’ve had enough, chuck it all and stay at home to explore this world of books, boys, beaches and baking — because well, we still can’t decide what exactly we want from life. Career-wise at least.

Clearly VC isn’t anything like me. Because he lives, breathes and dreams work. Calling him a workaholic is an injustice. Even though I’ve done it before, mocked him for being that way, and even cribbed more often that I’m willing to admit, the truth is he is one of the most passionate people I know.

There aren’t too many others I know who take their work as seriously as VC does. Often forgetting his home, his wife, his family in Bangalore and losing himself to an excel sheet, a campaign, a meeting or whatever it is at hand, VC is all-in, once he commits himself to something. I have always kept work separate from life, never been able to mix the two. So this is something to admire with wide eyed wonder. For VC, work is life. And while I have given him a lot of grief about it in the past, I have grown to accept and now even respect this about him. Because I realise, from my experience as well as that of others around me that it takes a special kind of commitment to be that dedicated and motivated to something outside of yourself.

Most of my inclinations and passions are very rooted in me and my needs. Selfishly so, they are all about me, my satisfaction, my fulfillment, my betterment. And this is probably why I have always considered my work as just something that facilitates the other things in life that give me satisfaction and fulfillment, but never as the thing that can give me that satisfaction. It has never been, and probably will never be, my raison d’etre. For VC, his passion for his work, the commitment he brings to it and the drive he manages to dig out from unknown depths is what makes him who he is.

When he is at work, he is 100% absorbed. I don’t remember the last time I saw him have a bad day that caused him to be less involved or distracted or uninterested. None of the excuses I made so often, having an off day, not feeling all-there and the like, seem to exist in his mind and vocabulary.

He walks and he talks work. Which is why, when I ask him on a Monday what he’d like for lunch in the next few days to follow he says to me, without batting an eyelid, “How about I email you a menu?”

Another time, he bought a new pair of pants that needed altering, he asked me, “Where can I get these edited?”

He even sleeps and dreams work, because there was that one time he woke me up in the middle of the night still half-asleep, nudged me, pointed to my blanket and said, “Can I get a copy of that please?” A story he was also pretty amused about.

Clearly, I should be used to it by now, but imagine my shock when in the midst of a particularly unpleasantly stressful time at work I asked him to spare an hour or two at home to help me crack a few ideas, and he suggested we go out on a date. Over dinner, on scraps of tissue paper, he scrawled out elaborate diagrams and explained the 5-step creative process to help me crack ideas on my own. Our meal was punctuated by pop-questions, hypothetical situations that I had to then work my way around, and mock business problems that I was to have a crack at. Yes, that was his idea of a date.


Mostly this is fodder for me to make fun of him. But then there comes a day like today, when he returns home beaming. It’s been 6-8 weeks of non stop brain work. Work that leaves him with few hours and even fewer words to spare. At the end of the day he usually either just goes straight to bed, or chugs a few beers, eats in silence and then goes to bed. So when he comes home smiling, voluntarily shares news from work, I know it is good. I know he’s happy. I know he’s satisfied, and that his head and heart are in the right place.

I realise in that moment that asking VC to work less, is like asking him to live less.

The news is fabulous. So we high-five, I give him a hug.

And then I make him a big fat chocolate cake.


Because some times, even the boy who quietly works his butt off so I don’t have to, and the boy who does it all never expecting anything in return, also deserves some cake.


It’s past dinner and his eyes glued to the television as he chomps away at his slice of cake. I’m thinking about my trip away, and I say in passing, “You’re going to be so busy over the next few days, you won’t even know if I’m gone. You’re probably not even going to miss me.”

I’m not expecting a response. And yet, I get one.

“I might miss you. A little.”


For always having a solution, working it out and moving forward, VC is the best team-mate and business partner I could have chosen. And there’s more where this story came from.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #12

Things about VC that I never want to forget #12
VC is that breed of (over)smart-alec who can beat you with irrefutable logic and impeccable comic timing

The trouble with reaching milestones is the perspective it brings. I said earlier this month, that 5 years is just a number. And to me, it still is. Shaped like a curly inverted C with cocked ears up, its just a line-drawing I can’t seem to attach more significance to. Part of the reason I balk at the fact that it has been that long, and that we have come so far, is that somewhere not-so-deep-down, VC and I are a couple of giggly children. We’re so quick to regress, breaking into fits of laughter of silly things. Social faux-pas, corny one-liners and idiotic childish things usually have us guffawing till one or both of us snorts.

30+, married for half a decade, half way through adulthood? Pfft!


VC has plenty of obvious, useful skills that are relevant to every day life, but some times it’s the smaller, seemingly inconsequential things that I value so much. Like his ability to drape a blanket over me. It’s simple, no big deal. Unfold blanket, swing it over sleeping person. Done. But VC does it near-perfectly. So its become a chore of sorts. I get into bed, push my blanket towards him and nudge him into getting up to do the honours. Most times he is happily willing, but some times when he is snug and comfortable, completely engrossed in his book, tired after a long day, getting him to get out and cover me is a task.

VC: WHY?! Why can’t you do it yourself some times?

Me: Because you’re good at covering…stuff.

VC: (with an evil grin that makes me wonder about how his annoyance disappeared so soon) But I’m also pretty good at uncovering stuff, you know?

Cue: peals of uncontrollable laughter and tears streaming down my face.


Of the two of us, I’m the one with the eye on our finances, making sure we tuck away what little we can in the name of securing a future of some kind. VC really couldn’t be bothered and it takes a great deal of nagging and sometimes threats of divorce and the like to get him to take me seriously and meet the financial planner.

Me: Meet him already! It’s been pending for 6 months. Or if you don’t have the time, just give me all your money and I’ll invest it. That way, the next time you piss me off I can take all your money and leave you with nothing. Muhuhahahaha!

VC: You don’t get it, do you. Who needs the money? If you leave me, I wont be left with anything anyway.

Cue: Short bursts of stifled laughter on my part. The sort that comes from trying to keep a straight, angry face when your sheepish husband is being a smart alec and distracting you from the serious matter at hand.


Of course no anecdote is complete without a story about how the man drives me up the wall. Of late it has been his growing inability to turn off the lights and fans when he leaves a room. It’s like he constantly operates on the fact that switches turned on are magically turned off, by some invisible pixies, when not in use. And when I say invisible pixies, I mean me, of course.

Me: (violently banging multiple switches — bathroom light, exhaust fan, geyser, bedroom fan, bedroom light — off) Why do I have to keep reminding you?! Pray when are you going to learn to turn things off when you leave a room, VC?

VC: I don’t turn things off, Rere. I only turn things on.

Cue: Exaggerated chuckling from VC, very pleased with himself. Resigned laughter from me, quite helpless about what to do with the boy with irrefutable logic.


The End. Not. There’s more where this story came from.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #11

Things about VC that I never want to forget #11
VC is the epitome of patience. Only sometimes.

If there’s one thing about VC that I actually, really want to forget, it would have to be his impatience. If there’s one thing I could change, in an instant, it would be his restlessness. His inability to wait, calmly. To hold on, while some things that tend to take time to just happen, happen. So if, for example, I don’t have a sufficiently accurate answer to a question he has asked, the restlessness shows on his face. If the service-man is unable to address his queries fast enough, he’s quick to dismiss him as inefficient and start considering an alternate service. The other day a sweet lady from the local bank came over to help him figure out some mutual funds. Not knowing that he might already know the basics, she did her job by starting at the very beginning of the story. Approximately 47 seconds in, he cut her off and asked, “Okay, so what do I need to do?”

In the kitchen, VC’s enthu abounds. Until he realises that cutting veggies takes some time. As does sauteing onion lovingly, over  a low flame. His impatience knows no bounds when a pressure cooker sits stodgy on the burner sputtering away, all the while wishing he could just get the damn thing to erupt into a mighty whistle already. His instant-result-obsessed self would like to think there virtually every action can and must be mechanised. For efficiency of course. All the better to get instant results with. If he had his way He might like to turbo-charge me too.

I can hear the lot of you who know me in person chuckle. Yes, its a bit rich for the Queen of Restless-dom (me, in case you didn’t get that) to take potshots and crib about her husbands apparent lack of patience. I’m all kinds of fidgety and hyper-active. But with VC its not so much the physical restlessness. Its the sort that makes him expect instant results. He asks for something and he imagines that it will actually be conjured within minutes. And somehow it is at precisely all these moments that I somehow turn into the embodiment of calm composure . I feel sorry for said service-man or bank lady, and make eyes at VC discreetly, hoping that he will calm the eff down and give the poor woman a chance to say her piece!

But for all is impatience with all things trivial, I’ve realised that he has a firm inner core of calm. And it is large and heavy enough to envelope the both of us. For every wavering, fluttering decision that I make, it is the steadiness of his inner core, that takes us through. It’s easy for me to say that I am the bohemian of the two of us. Following my heart and what not. Ridding myself of my job just so I could bake, while he willingly let go and assured me that it was alright. I’m the one that froths at the mouth, picking inconsequential fights over art, music and feminism, while he sits back and watches calmly, and later soothes me with his live-and-let-live lectures. For every zany dream that I let myself fly away with, he is the anchor that keeps me grounded.

I’ve never quite been able to put a finger on this air of coolness that he carries around. Until very recently, when a series of situations had me in a frenzy. It doesn’t take much to send me spinning into a tizzy, and most of those times it is VC who steps in, calmly lists out what needs to be done and marches through one thing at a time. And that’s when it struck me.

In every life situation that has left me paralysed, he’s been the one to ease life back into me. In every health issue that has turned me into a worry wart, he swooped in and insisted it was nothing I couldn’t face. When the work stresses flew in thick and frequently, he undid it all with his logical thinking and quiet composure, until we reached a decision. And because when it comes to decisions, I am crazy most of the time, he is right there to back me up all of the time.

The decision to start the Hungry & Excited business was 80% his. I just agreed, because I was happy to have someone take care of the heavy-duty business part of it. Yet, we’ve had a few meltdowns over it. Where differences in personalities emerged like giant alter-egos of the people we think we are, ending with him throwing his hands up in despair, mostly because I am too carefree to fully strap myself into business mode, and him trying to make me see that there is a fine line between happy home baking, and happy home baking for sale. A fine line, that if we are choosing to cross over. So when he asked me over and over, to write out the content for our website, and I struggled, I half expected him to lose it at me. But he stayed. Asked again. Wrote parts of it himself. And here we are, almost done. It’s been rather painful dealing with me, I realise. I’m furiously touchy about my ideas, headstrong about what I want to do with the baking. We’re as different as chalk and cheese, in this venture, as with  everything else in life. And yet something makes him persist. It’s that inner core of calm, I think. The one that balances is out. The anchor that takes us both through.

Because he knows that deep down I want to do it, and maybe it will take some goading, some encouragement, some patience. To teach me the business ropes of it. Something that comes most naturally to him. Somewhere, I think he realises that we balance each other out. He is the brain, I am the hands. And he’s okay with that.

Most times VC is impatient as impatient can get. But sometimes, he is the epitome of patience. Thankfully, he chooses his moments well, refraining from bringing out the impatient instant-result-seeker. Because that might result in me demanding that he jump into the kitchen bake a perfect cake in one go. We don’t want that now, do we?


Apart from approaching life with a business plan, in order to achieve optimum results as efficiently as possible, VC is a constant source of support, understanding, love and erm.. entertainment. If you’re new around here, look this up to know why.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #10

Things about VC that I never want to forget #10
VC is the worst breed of Apple fanboy there is to be found

There comes a point in every married couples life, when the threads that hold the two people together in unison, are tested to the max. And that, my friends, happens to us every time VC has an Apple-product-itch. I’ve spoken about it here, but only mildly. Because up until now, instances of giving in to temptation of the Apple kind, although always irrational, have been preceded by a fair bit of deliberation. AKA, me drumming some sense into VC’s head, and pushing the inevitable until I have had some say in the matter.

That his mind is so easily and quickly made up when it comes to shiny, happy, white, sleek pieces of metal, that I really don’t have too much of a say, is inconsequential. At least I try. At least we’d talk. At least he’d pretend to listen. At least we would come half-way on what we thought, even if we agreed to disagree and he would proceed to go get himself the Macbook, or the iPad, or the Magic Trackpad, or the Magic Mouse (yes, since the last time we spoke he has added in the mouse and several pointless cases and accessories to his phone and tablet).

But. Its happened again. And this time the decision was so firmly taken, that there was no discussion on the matter. Not even when I reminded him that when he bought his iPhone, he gallantly declared that he is done spending ridiculous amounts of money on technology, most of all phones.

Then he followed through with his declaration, like all well-meaning human beings. Right? Eeerrrhh! Wrong. Except I now know him and his ways even better than he knows himself, so this was fully predicted and totally anticipated. When the iPhone 5 came out, he mocked it as a piece-of-shit upgrade of the 4S. But when the iPad mini came out, boy his eyes lit up.

Told you. Sucker. For. All. Things. Small. Shiny. White. Things that bear apple logos neatly embossed on them.

And so it has happened. One quick sudden panic-stricken need for the newest of new gadgets. The excuse this time however, was part-legit. The iPhone has a sucky battery life, especially difficult if you are a workaholic. So I present to you a set of completely rationally-thought-out, logical reasons why VC absolutely must have the iPad mini. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that it is the nicest, newest Apple gadget on the block. Oh noooo, it doesnt.

  1. I need to separate my communication device from my browsing device and save battery!
  2. I cannot carry the iPad around because its too big (we are now at that stage where the thinnest iPad yet, is too big!)
  3. I want a 7″ device because 11″ is unwiedly (no, you’re not the only one that thinks the whole “inches” talk is kind of gross)

Thus, another mini-battle ensued. Several hours of cold war like silent seething, plus an equal number of hours of me badgering VC to think straight, met by more stony cold silence, which is a combination of him standing his bratty-ground and dealing with some residual guilt, followed. And today, as things stand, we are one iPhone down and have one proposed iPad mini on its way.

That makes it two Macbooks, 1 iPhone, 1 iPad and 1 iPad mini between two people, one of whom is seriously cutting down screen time, and another who constantly oscillates between having no choice but to look at a screen and wanting to have nothing to do with it.

Over-indulgence, much don’t you think?

I thought so too.

So, in light of the vociferous arguments that ensued, and the drastic turn of events that it led to, I had an array of thoughts that included how wonderful it would be to have an “opt-out” setting that I could tick off when it came to choosing a spouse with/without an Apple-fetish. And then I realised that the possibility that my marriage might be shred to bits one day in the foreseeable future, all because of some stupid gadget, is not hard to imagine.

I am now exploring the option of turning myself into a Mobile Virtual Presence Device. Something like this.


Clearly VC has his priorities in the right place. Gadgets are the way to the future. So I might as try and blend in, no? Think about the possibilities! With an upgradeable, interchangable screen-face, I can quickly be the newest, shiniest face around! I can save so much time and effort that I might otherwise spend in trying to stay svelte and sexy, in shape. And since a screen is all he needs, I won’t have to bother with sexy lingerie, antiwrinkle cream and botox to keep his eyeballs on me as I get older.

The only other thing I should possibly consider is branding my bum, or any other appropriately sexy spot, with a nice big fat Apple. You know, just in case he sticks by his bratty, brand-conscious ways.


If you’re not new to this series, you’ll remember the other instance where I talked about the extreme fan-boy-dom in my home. When he isn’t obsessing over the newest gadget, working his ass off, and generally being a boy, VC provides much entertainment and food for thought. As all husbands should.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #9

Things about VC that I never want to forget #9
VC is the guy who gets sent home (from work)

It was noon and I was neck-deep in a review yesterday, racing against time to meet a deadline, when I heard the main door click open, unexpectedly. I could tell it was being opened form the outside, and I was on the verge of screaming for help, convinced that someone had broken in.

Except, I had to stifle the screech mid-way. Because that someone was VC.

What? It is really that rare to have VC at home, so do you blame me? My jaw drops on the odd day that he calls me at 7 to check if there’s anything I need for him to pick up on his way home.

“Home? Already?” I invariably ask. And he is never amused.

I don’t remember the last time I was sent home from mid-day, from somewhere I ought to be. College maybe? Mostly for unfinished assignments, jeans that were too tight, or for displaying my overt disinterest in everything the professor had to say. Yeah, didn’t we only ever get sent home when we did something wrong?

Yesterday VC got sent home. From work. For…get this…Working. Too. Hard.

But that is not new. He has always been the workhorse. Overly determined, he can go on and on for days on end with his nose stuck to the grinding stone. And I have always marveled at his ability to zone it all out, and keep going when the going gets tough. For someone like me, who is quick to breakdown, crib and rant at having the slightest odd-ball come my way, submitting to self-doubt, inefficiency and plain old disinterest, I’ve always been slightly intrigued by never seeing VC in that situation.

And the last 4-5 weeks have been no different, if not just a little harder. As if all the travel, proposals, pitch presentations, and work issues were’t enough, you can also add early morning sinus attacks, sleep deprivation and a wife who lovingly passed on her flu virus to the diverse mix of elements that is VCs life at the moment.

The flip side, is that I have long surrendered myself to the life of the workaholic’s wife. Which means knowing very well that one must always add a couple of hours to the estimated time of arrival from work. It means confidently scheduling all spring cleaning and other dust-ridden and grimy chores for the weekend because for 3 out of 4 weekends in a month one can be sure that the dust-allergy-prone husband will be safely nestled at work, far from home. It also means managing to lug heavy grocery bags all by yourself, so much so that on the odd occasion the husband is around to help, you feel strange to walk up the stairs flapping your arms freely. It means making the most of short-bursts of time that we do get together. It means resorting to writing emails, when you need to discuss things that cannot be pushed until you have the luxury of face to face conversation. It means learning to treat your weekends preciously.

Weird as it might sound, I don’t grudge any of this. Largely because I see in VC something I have never seen in myself: complete and utter joy in the work he does. I see the effortless long hours, the extension of working at home, putting in weekends even when nobody asks him to, as a natural extension of really loving what he does. Something I never had the fortune of experiencing.

So to have him walk in mid-day, sent home, with the face of a child reprimanded for working hard was a bit odd. But when an opportunity like that presents itself, we make the most of it. A hot lunch, together, at the table; followed by a nap; followed by me sending him grocery shopping, a light dinner to keep from slaving in the kitchen, so we could bring out the beer have ample time to catch up instead.

Yeah, we only get sent home for doing something wrong, and maybe working too hard is not always right. It’s good that he works with people who can recognise it on his behalf, because he is so stupidly immersed in his proposals, estimates, concalls and KRAs that 9 out of 10 times he will miss all the signs himself. It’s good that they sent him home. And it’s good that he got the day off, even if he did answer some mails and take some calls from bed.

I suppose everybody reaches that tipping point. Even the worst workaholics do, and it’s good that he caught his in time. A break was in order, I think, lest he dropped another gem by way of asking me to “set up a meeting with the dentist”, “get his pants edited“, or hand him “a copy of the blanket“.

(Yes, these have all really happened, in case you’re wondering.)


Even though he is not home much, VC provides much entertainment and fodder for stories, thinking and life. There are so many things about VC that I just never want to forget, and you can see the rest here. And there is still lots more to come.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #8

Things about VC that I never want to forget #8
VC doesn’t think sharing is caring

There’s a lot being said about the dynamics of marriage on a couple of blogs I follow. And here’s what I love about this crazy little world I call blogdom. It gets me thinking about things I wouldn’t otherwise given too much thought. Things like am I really independent? How much of what I earn/own do I share? If we decide to part ways, who gets what? Which of our common purchases can I call my own? Heavy duty marriage stuff. The kind of thing one really ought to consider before entering into holy matrimony. Not five years in. Anyhoo, so I came to the conclusion that we may have skipped a few steps.

You see matters came to light, when we went to watch Matru Ki Bijli Ka Mandola last week, and VC walked in with a tall serving of caramel pop-corn. He settled into the seat next to me, bugged me to turn my phone on silent (as usual) and as the trailers rolled along, I leaned in to get a handful of pop-corn. And then I did it again. And again. And three handfuls later, there was a voice in the dark that said, “Get your own!”

To say I was shocked and shaken up, would be an understatement. But I let it pass.

A few nights ago, we had dessert ordered-in. It baffles my mind how the kind folks at Basin Robbins are happy to come by and bring us ice cream, no matter how late it is. So when someone is willing to bring ice cream right to your doorstep, you don’t turn down the opportunity. No matter that it is nearing midnight. But as luck would have it, I was passing out slowly, by the time the ice cream did arrive. Nodding off, I watched as VC slurped his scoop of Bavarian Chocolate, and through half-closed eyes, I asked for just one bite. Again, there was the voice in the dark again.

“Get your own!”

In that moment, it hit me. While we seem to be mostly sorted on banal issues of dependence, independence, co-dependence, interdependence and don’t quibble over money, how it is spent or worry about what will happen should we decide to break up, the more important stuff remains in the dark.

Here I was, patting myself and the husband for the rock-solid marriage we have. Built on the unshakeable foundation of love, trust, communication and understanding. But clearly I’ve left the things that matter out. The smaller, subtle nuances of how a marriage works. The stuff we really ought to have sorted right at the start.

Like who gets to sleep on which side of the bed, no questions asked.
Like sharing one side of the earphones when were watching TV shows in bed.
Like letting me have the first look into a common email.
Like who gets dibs on a gift given to us both.
Oh, and most important of all our respective ice cream and pop corn quotas. Till death do us part.


Sharing and caring aside, VC has some other remarkable traits. Some exemplary. Some outrageous. Some mildly funny. And you can see them here.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #7

Things about VC that I never want to forget #7
VC is a man of few words

As is probably obvious, if you know us in person, I more than make up for his lack of words, by always having a lot to say about everything. One incident that I will probably never forget, is one (of many such) night when I was elbow deep in the angst and woes of my last job. I was propped up in bed and VC lay beside me, reading or something. I was furiously typing away on my blog, like my life depended on it, while he just lay there doing his thing, with the annoying tip-tapping of keys playing background score. And he uttered just a few simple words, which he didn’t know then, would later make a huge difference.

There were many nights like that, when I couldn’t wait to wrap up work and get away from the office into the yellow haze of my home, into bed to finally relax and sort my thoughts out to put them into words. It was deeply cathartic to just be able to write in a way that made sense to me. And it brought me a sort of silent bliss that little else did at the time.

Writing aimlessly, toying with my mind, tying shapeless thoughts down with the threads of syntax and words was the only challenge I was willing to set myself up for. One that I felt confident of tiding through, every night. No matter what and how terribly things went at work, it was strangely comforting to know that despite everything, there was still that once space where I could let my mind wander, and know I won’t be lost.

“I wish someone would just pay me to blog,” I said, recklessly, “sometimes I think it’s all I want to do.”

“Then do it. Don’t worry about the money,” he said. And he went back to his book almost as casually as he had looked up from it.

VC has a surprising way of saying the simplest things that make the most sense in the moment. I was at my angriest, cynical best at the time. Constantly frothing at the mouth, visibly agitated about everything at large. It was quite easy to forget, and not bother to understand. When I would choose to spend a weekend tucked at home, nobody understood why. When I would go home alone, rather than out with friends, nobody understood why. And when I felt a sense of contentment with a finished blog post, nobody understood why. But when I wished out loud that, blogging was probably the only one thing that kept me going, and all I wanted to do, VC understood.

Sometimes support comes in loud declarations, in wild, impulsive moves, in elaborate and outlandish actions. But VC has always been subtle and understated. So much so, that I take his silent being for granted a lot of the time. His acts of support have always been quiet, lacking grandeur and almost hard to notice.

Like that night. It is quite an apt representation of how things work with us. Of how despite me, with me erratic and often hard-to-understand moods and whims, he has always found it in him to silently stand by. To try and understand. To live and let live.

Writing, especially of the kind I have discovered I enjoy over the last year, is a quiet and sometimes reflective exercise. It takes hours of going back to a single post, tending to it, chiseling away at it, and slowly, lovingly bending it to shape. It is an individualistic act. One that isolated me more than I already was. And in that solitude, it was nice to have that one person, who didn’t abandon me and leave me to my lonesome, unsociable ways.

In eerily quiet and lonesome moments, when I sometime thinks about where I will end up, when I wonder if this kind of writing will take me somewhere, when I toss about the idea of living the isolated life of a writer, its nice to know that I will never really be alone. VC will probably always watch from a safe distance. Sometimes sidelined. Sometimes confused. Mostly taken for granted. But always supportive.

Sometimes support comes in loud declarations. And sometimes it creeps up on you almost silently.


Don’t be fooled. Aside from his rather taciturn demeanour, and Zen-like husband qualities, VC is quite the riot. For more ridiculous stories from our marriage look here.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #6

Things about VC that I never want to forget #6
VC takes me to be one of the boys

You know, with the backslapping. And the loud guffawing. And the obscene jokes. And the unflinching ease with which he assumes I will be up for a night of beer and banter as opposed to wine and cheese.

I guess I could blame myself and my sometimes over-zealous independence. I guess it could be that he has never had to really attention to the real quirks of a girl. There is also the faint possibility, that I don’t let him pull the heavy weight as much as he should — but VC really does take me to be one of the boys.

I realise it distinctly when we sometimes spot well preened chicitas in Goa, and we scoff at their perfectly fakely straightened hair, their drainpipe jeans and the miniscule little clutch — the look that seems to have been copy-pasted all over the place. Or when people visit us and there is invariably one party of women who want to go shopping, and he takes care to include me with the men who go drinking. Or when I spot a hot woman walk by, and I nudge him and point her out, wingman-style. Little things like that, but they happen so often its almost default now.

It could also have everything to do with me, and not him. Because I’ve largely only had male friends, save for the one odd female bestie who never lasted the test of time. I’m used to being with the boys, scouting for pretty girls, assessing them in code language, giving them equal if not more competition in appetite for meat and dessert, burping loudly and generally being a boy, the way boys are when in a group.

But some of this has changed in recent times.I don’t know if it has something to do with nearing in on the Big 3-0, or it is just the girl in me finally surfacing, but I find myself seeking out female company, I make plans to hang out with the few woman I know here (yes, even here in Goa, I have more male friends) even though I know at the back of my mind that tete-a-tete is almost always going to be unceremoniously turned around by the husband and a few other boys who manage to turn up. Every small little hangout somehow always turns into a big boisterous affair. And I think its because they can’t imagine I’d like it any other way. It doesn’t occur to him and the others that maybe I’d like some girl time.

So when I recently expressed to him how its uncanny that I suddenly find myself with more women friends than I have had in all my life, and how I am actually enjoying re-discovering my love for jewelry, handloom textiles, cupcakes and cookies and the like, I was aghast to see his reaction. Where I expected him to be surprised and maybe even slightly relieved, I saw jaw-dropped, shocked almost bordering on disappointed husband, pleading, “Aw come on Rere, you’re not one of them! Don’t tell me I’ve lost you to them!”

I didn’t quite know how to react.


Right, its official then. He really did think of me as one of his kind. Mildly disturbing as that is, it is also kind of endearing. If all else fails, at least I know I’ll always have a best friend in him. Someone who will join me in the joy of never having to go shopping, someone who will always make a beeline for the beer, and of course someone who will shamelessly sling his arm around my shoulder and whisk me away with him. As an equal.


For some of his other exemplary traits and more disturbing truths about our marriage, look here.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #5

Things about VC that I never want to forget #5
VC has a way with the women

I can’t seem to tell where he gets it from. Its certainly not in his genes — because nobody else in his family is as charming. Or witty, for that matter. He couldn’t have picked it up from around him, because charming women was certainly not something that was encouraged or discussed at home. He went to an all-boys school and had what I’d like to think of as a totally forgettable college life, which included such things as bunking class to play cricket all day long, not visiting Pecos which was down the lane from college, and not really paying attention to too many girls. Degree college? Lets just say he spent it lusting over a woman not worth his time. Just lusting, and thinking, and being charming, but not really doing anything about it, if you know what I mean. And yet, with his deep brown eyes, impeccable chivalry and manners, I have seen VC charm many a woman. Whether he’s interested in them or not. Its like some natural talent that’s just waiting to catch an unsuspecting woman unawares — age, religion, class, sect, status no-bar.

Whether he’s just looking out for someone ensuring she has an escort to drop her off late at night, or he’s offering to cook poached eggs, making movie night plans, or being a boisterous PS3 competitor, I’ve noticed that he has some innate knack with charming the women folk. Nobody cares two hoots if I’m around or not. I’ve seen the young ones flutter their eyelashes, get tense and awkward around me and if the grapevine is to be believed, there’s been a girl or two in the office who have harboured a heavy crush on him. When I was still there!

I was a victim of his ways at one point in time. Many a nights he’d hang around at the office, when I was working late, just so he could be the one to make sure I got home safe. This one time I had pulled 2 all-nighters in a row and had called him telling him I was exhausted. So when I got home close to 4 a.m. on night 3, my mother opened the door, to show me what had been delivered earlier in the evening. An enormous, and I mean gigantic, bouquet of yellow roses (my favourite kind) to cheer me up. Of course mommies know best, and her first reaction to this was, “Whoever sent these to you either really likes you, or is just very generous. Most likely the former.” And of course I rubbished her notions officiously. Heh, little did I know, I was slowly being charmed. The VC way.

When we were done being in denial (actually that was just me, he just proceeded charming the daylights out of me, with singleminded focus) about the way we felt about each other, there was the weekly Sunday night fancy date. Every Sunday night, he’d take me out. Same routine, but with a genuine effort to really turn on the charm. He’d shower, dress pretty, smell all nice, come pick me up, take me someplace fancy and cozy, book a corner table, sometimes make flowers appear form nowhere, pull my chair out for me, make hushed intimate conversation, share a gooey dessert and all that jazz. Basically, systematically just turn me to mush. And let’s just say, it worked.

So when the night ended and he dropped me home, I never really wanted to go home. And we all know how that story ended. Because there is only so much charming one can take and many weeks of these niceties later we found we were effortlessly discussing the intricacies of a life together. Of course our naiive little heads we so clouded by the charm, the romance, all the heavy breathing and the thrill of the damn chase, it was but natural to imagine that a life after meant would be the present times forever.

Right? Except, its not.

Don’t get me wrong here. It’s not that the husband doesn’t have the charm. It’s not like he’s lost it post-marriage. It’s just that now that he has the cat in the bag, for life. There’s nothing left to charm me about. And all the charm is saved up for harmless banter with everyone else. C’est la vie.

Sometimes, even now I see a glimmer of the old VC. When he sneakily pulls out the choicest phrases (sometimes unwittingly) that send a certain someone into raptures and giggles. Or when he is deep in eyeball-locked conversation with another young one who I know is quite smitten by his, what should I call it, erm, intelligence. And when I rib him about how he’s shamelessly lapping up all the attention he gets, and his face is flushed by that strange hue of red.

I now get my kicks from being a silent spectator. As for us, and our romance? It now needs a prompter and a laughter track that comes on at all the right moments. Like when I’m racing to bed, to get there before him, just so all the pre-bed duties like locking the doors, shutting  the balcony doors, turning out the lights, can all be left to him, and I mockingly remind him by shouting out from bed, “Don’t forget to turn out the lights, VC!”, and I have him swoop into the bedroom with a wicked grin on his face, saying:

“I don’t turn things off in here, babehhh. I only turn things on.”

Cue: laughter, please.

So yes. 5 years of the charm, and all I get now are corny one liners. I could swear I had at least three more in mind when I started writing this post. But in jogging my memory back to the time when I didn’t see this coming, I think I have forgotten. I even called the husband just now, desperation in my voice, “What was that thing you said the other day that I said I would blog about?! I’m writing about it now and I can’t remember!”

He was in a meeting. And he wasn’t amused. I should really start jotting them down. Because he has a way with the women, he really does. Or I suppose I wouldn’t be sitting here racking my brains to recollect those gems and write about it.


And before you give me a lecture about the state of my marriage, look here to see what else I’ve penned to 1) embarrass the husband and 2) entertain myself.

Things about VC that I never want to forget #4

Things about VC that I never want to forget #4
VC loves to give in to temptation

Gone are the days of waiting to catch Midnight Hot on FTV. These days the husband has his eyes peeled when he catches Gadget Guru on NDTV instead. We live in strange times. Temptation now comes in shiny little minimalistic, white packages (or so he’d like me to believe. Ha!) And when hours are spent ogling at things online, I no longer assume it is porn. I know it is tech-porn. Tech specs have replaced vital stats. (Okay, not completely, but you know what I mean.)

What’s not to like? Small, shiny, holdable, smooth to touch. It’s easy to be immersed in temptation of this kind. Easier still, to give in to sin. And bite that Apple.

One weekend, when I was off trekking, the husband was alone. And in his books, that gives him the freedom to make impulsive decisions that would otherwise be stalled by a fair amount of deliberation, careful consultation, and only acted upon on arriving at mutual agreement from the both of us. In his books, being impulsive equals indulging in temptation. Acting on every desire to own, touch and feel all things shiny, white, minimalistic, and oh-so-pretty. Easy to ignore the tiny little fact that these temptations come at a price. An inordinately high price. A price not always necessary, and not always worth paying. So off he went, and bought this. Just like that. Like he was buying some essential groceries he had accidentally forgotten.

I wasn’t surprised. Because it was no different from the time he bought his MacBook soon after we got married. Or the time he got so stubborn about buying the iPhone 3GS. He was so convinced it was the phone for him, I could have bonked him on the head with the nearest object I could find, when he sold it for a blooming BlackBerry just 7 months later!

Last year, I caught him lusting over the Magic Trackpad. Smooth, sexy and all the better to multi-touch with. Swipe, swivel, pinch, tap, zoom — so many different ways to use your fingers. Barely a year into using it, he’s ready to make a hand-me-down of it, so he can move on to the next level. The Magic Mouse.

When my Lenovo died on me last year, he took no time at all to convince me to indulge. He spoke with such passion and gusto, I was convinced in no time. And pretty soon, I was the owner of a spanking new MacBook Pro. While he enjoyed it vicariously, of course.

Last October, my BlackBerry was on the verge of dying a slow, painful death. A rational, normal human being let it be till it finally went kaput and probably replace it with something affordable, slightly better than the old phone and be done with it. But there is normal, and then there is the husband. In his eyes, signs of a dying gadget is always a sign to bite the Apple. So I did. And he lusted after my iPhone for three whole months. Resisting the urge to ask me to swap phones with him. When finally he couldn’t stand it any longer, he went and nonchalantly bought himself the 4S.

Once he has set his mind on it, there is no stopping the husband. The only thing that can stall every impulsive decision is usually me. Because any expense at that scale makes me stop in my tracks. Heck, I put off buying an oven for over a year! But off-late I’ve been bitten by the bug too. When the iPad came home, I filched it of course, and I frequently use it to blog and read. The iPad goes to bed with us. If the husband had it his way, he’d love for us to make love with all our shiny gadgets and made shiny little Apple babies.

When he bought the 4S, i began to look at my 4 like a poor cousin and have on more than one occasion suggested that we swap. With talk of the new iPhone coming out in October, and my increasing willingness to bite the Apple of temptation, we’re headed for one big gadget orgy methinks. Holy crap.

If you have no idea what this series is about, look here to see where it began.