By Parthshri Arora Apr. 19, 2017
The Samsung Galaxy S8 is taller, fatter, and curvier, but he still resembles his brother, Note 7, in some ways and the world can’t handle that. A letter from Mama Samsung.
This is your old friend Samsung Galaxy again. I wrote to you last when my elder son Note 7 went up in flames, and now I’m writing this because my youngest son, Galaxy S8, is going out into the world. As a mother, I’m scared he will follow in his brother’s footsteps and maybe blow up an airplane.
After Note 7 was abolished, life was very difficult for Galaxy S8 and me. I remember the day S8 came back from school in tears. He got into a fight with those snobby Apple boys, who just pinned him to the ground, and tattooed on his forehead, “Mera bhai phhatu hai.” The silly kids didn’t even know that phattu had nothing to do with exploding, but either way, it was a burn.
I, too, have faced the brunt of my elder son’s ignominy. I would go out at night after the Note 7 fiasco, and no half-decent man would spare me a glance. At the bar, all of them just kept buying drinks for those iPhone7 bitches all night. I came back and tried to use Tinder, but to no avail. I got only one match, and that guy sent me just one message, “You’re not as cool as the iPhone.”
I’ve been recharging my batteries ever since.
Still, I have soldiered on, mostly for the sake of my young S8. Growing up in a world, where every kid on the street told him that his brother broke down and exploded because he ran out of Apple juice, was difficult. He had his own setbacks while growing up; like a NASCAR car, he just kept on crashing.
Growing up with a criminal for a brother, my son didn’t even appreciate his own accomplishments.
I remember the day his friends called me from a birthday party. Drake’s new song “Blem” started playing and these boys started grooving to it like little Tony Sopranos. One of them chugged fruit beer, screamed, “It’s lit!!” and jumped into the pool. Galaxy S8 couldn’t handle this. The word “lit” brought back to his giant screen every horrible memory of his brother. The kid might as well have raised Note 7’s portrait and yelled, “It’s the bomb.”
Growing up with a criminal for a brother, my son didn’t even appreciate his own accomplishments. None of his shmancy apps like the new facial-recognition software could make him feel better. There came a point when he didn’t want to be associated with the family name for a while. He spent a lot of time at that bitch Siri’s house and came back talking like her. “Call me S Voice, mama,” he said. And then he had a rebellious “black” phase – he only wanted to wear black clothes and said, “White phones run slow. People only want Jet Black.” He proper broke my heart.
Now, he’s ready to go out in the world on his own. He’s become taller, fatter, and curvier too, I think, but he still resembles his brother in some ways, and the world can’t handle that. Where I see my lovely, scared boy, the world sees a killing machine. Where I see a headphone jack, the world just says #NotAniPhone. When I talk about its cheap rate, they say we Indians are not poor. Just ask Snapchat.
Is the world ready for my son Samsung Galaxy S8 then? I do not know. Loving is so short, forgetting is so long. I just hope the world comes prepared with hazmat suits and bomb squads in tow, because after all blood is thicker than water, and come launch day, nobody can stop him from shining on like a crazy diamond.
Lover of baby animals, Arsene Wenger, Damien Rice, Peggy Olsen and overly long podcasts. Tweets at @parthsarora.
Confused about most stuff. Writes things.