I guess I am the original midnight's child. As the minute's hand rushed five minutes ahead of the hour hand, the doc yanked me out. ``Guess what,'' she told my mother, ``he is the only male kid to be born tonight,'' leaving my parents guffawing to their heart's delight. Some joker had already told them that this was Valentine's Day. Unfortunately for me, that same joker told the rest of the world the exact thing and left me out!

``So you must be very romantic...'' they surmised. ``No, just spastic,'' I would reply with a beatific smile. Mostly, because there wasn't much I could do. Imagine growing up in an all-boy school for 12 crucial years of my life coupled with a cousin (brother) I looked up to, brainwashing me - ``Women,'' he said, looking an all-knowledgeable 12 years, ``are nothing but a sub-species.'' That did it.

So I buckled up and went out to face the world. And came running all the way back in. Here's a list of reactions that I evoked:
``I was born on the 14th of Feb.'' Me
``What went wrong.'' Them
``Born. Feb 14th.'' Me
``Oh, you must be very romantic!'' Them
``Feb 14, me born.'' Me
``YOU!!!!!!'' Them
``Feb (muttered) 14.'' Me
``The ironies of life...'' Them

So I asked my father what all the jazz was about, having lost a little bit of faith in my brother. ``Well,'' said the man who had started all the trouble for me, ``it is a day when somebody likes somebody and everybody among those somebodies send cards to anybody they like.'' I was convinced that Baba was a romantic man.

Then Ma came along and told me that it was an official Valentine if a girl was involved in the process. ``Oh.'' So I loaded on the guilt. ``If you knew, why didn't you put me into a girls' school. ``Slight problem with that,'' said Baba. ``So what do I do?'' I said, discovering existential angst for the first time. ``Get a girlfriend,'' said Baba, giving me my first existential angst. Friends guffawed, teachers sniggered and the football coach saw red. ``Nothing doing. Give me 10 rounds.''

And my condition got worse. With college ahead and puberty behind me, the whole concept of red roses and cards and hearts got me all worried. My biology classes started to suffer, with the heart looking like an aorta gone horribly wrong. My first love got rather confused with me. ``Do you want a birthday card or a Valentine thing. Both are very silly.'' Then she left. Forever.

So I tried reading. But before I could get to Love Story, I ended up reading The Three Musketeers. D'Artagnan was a dashing hero but for me, France was miles away, fencing I had not mastered and horses were not my scene. By the time I finally made it to Love Story, Jenny was dead and there was not a single mention of the whole Valentine business.

And one day, Ma, burdened with guilt, sent me a card. My first Valentine card. I looked at it for a long time and decided to bring in the troops on this. As the gang got together to mull over the matter, I got the best macho piece of advice that I could stick to. With granite jaw and flexed muscle, my friend said, ``Love don't live here anymore!''