Anything new is magnetic. I stuck to the tablet, and all was going well until…

Though I wouldn’t describe myself as totally unsocial, I’ve always been more reserved. How, then, did I get drawn into the vast vortex of social media? That’s a question I still cannot answer. My grand foray into social media began with Facebook, back when I was just using a PC—no touch screen, no accidental mistakes. My relentless desire to bore others with what I thought were brilliant writings was always in my blood, and with a blog titled A Page to Forget, I launched my first digital attack on Facebook. Of the 30 or so friends I had, only two, at best, showed some faint interest in my posts. To this day, I’m not sure if even my own family members ever dared open that "page."

Then the tablet arrived, and with it, the gradual, inevitable switchover to using it for everything, including Facebook.

One day, while I was showing someone an obnoxious post someone had shared—to illustrate how people spread such nonsense—that person must have accidentally touched the "share" button. And just like that, the bomb fell. I received a couple of mild but disapproving messages from friends, asking what had happened. Only then did I realize the post had been shared by me! A frantic call to my son followed, who promptly managed to remove it. This incident confirmed the doubts and reservations I already harbored about social media, giving me the final push. My mind and fingers worked in unison to get me out of Facebook—forever. And with a touch screen, it was so easy.

Now, the tablet had truly taken over my life. I used one finger to scroll, two to zoom, and three for a magical tap-and-zoom experience tailored to my needs. Throughout the day, I kept tapping, touching, and swiping on that sleek screen. But then, one day, the tablet seemed to have completely "tonked" (as they say). Nothing would revive it. Since I was in the US at the time, my son took me to the manufacturer’s outlet.

As always, YouTube tutorials had claimed that fixing the issue was "so easy." Yet when I followed their steps, the result was the exact opposite. Very rarely had my unwilling mind been able to understand such tutorials, let alone succeed in fixing anything. The magical trick in this case, according to the video, was to "tap three fingers together thrice in quick succession." It didn't work.

At the outlet, the tech guy confidently said, "It’s simple. Tap three fingers together thrice in quick succession." Feigning innocence, I asked, "How, sir?" He demonstrated, and it didn’t work. I chuckled inside, but outwardly remained calm. Why was I so secretly amused?

Continued in 210. Touch-me-not - Part 3