I asked Mom today if she is confident that Dad loved her. They were married for about 23 years, before my 6-footer-well-built Dad bid farewell without a party. Mom looked at me with condescension in response to my question, as though I was talking like Mark Shutterbug. Agreed, there was no Facebook those days where both could publicly exhibit, declare and display love, and exchange “mwahs” (to whomsoever it may concern) with each other, just like a lot of couples do these days during their long stints of 23 months, 23 days, 23 hours, AND/OR 23 seconds. Mom informs me that they never had the urge to let the whole world know what they felt and did last summer, winter, monsoon and during all seasonal cycles. She wonders though, when Mausi became maus? Bhabhi became bhabhz. Touching feet with both hands changed to touching thighs with 2 fingers (ouch!). Girl became gal (dono gal zara aage toh karo?) Happy birthday, HBD. Thank you, TY. Good Night, GN. Good morning, GM. Good Evening, GE. Happy New Year, HNY. Anyway, to me, at 3.23 pm, what matters most is that I Still Know What They Did Last Summer (_evil grin!_) #Facebookwalapyaar