The Blog Of Dysfunction

He stared in wonder at the big boxes his father and the delivery man were carefully moving into the office. The office wasn’t really an office, it was just one corner of his parents’ bedroom which housed his dad’s precious typewriter perched on a table so messy as only a writer could have. His book stacks, growing with a viral intensity from the corner marked his territory. It was his sanctum sanctorm, the typewriter his ark. Though he didn’t know how, he had a feeling that things were going to change, drastically.

It was late already, his mom shushed him to bed, asking  him to let his dad be, as he clucked and grinned like a mad scientist.

When he woke up the next morning, the office looked different. For one, the table was clean and the trusty old typewriter was gone, but what amazed him the most was the replacement.  There sat in its place a giant, pale yellow square thingy with a dark screen, like a tv, perched atop another, rectangular box. which had 2 slots and was making busy noises. The keys were mounted separately, on an elongated tablet, from which a wire emerged and disappeared behind the rectangular box. The setup was quiet impressive and he had a million questions to ask his still-asleep father, but he would have to wait till he returned from school to find out what the contraption did.

He told his friends and class teacher of course, that’s what six year old’s do. And they refused to believe him, he had a reputation for making up elaborate stories when he forgot his homework. His class teacher who never hid from anyone that she was very fond of him took him aside during lunch hour and said “nandu, you make real good stories, but you are a good boy and good boy’s shouldn’t lie”.

Boy, were they in for surprises.

Image by cxAlena
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