A week before the V-day, I got the opportunity to visit the Nehru Place and drawn by habit got attracted to one of the leading book stalls out there. The entire book shop was laden with new arrivals but the front desk was all full of books with interesting and titillating titles as varied as “Love: A Rather Bad Idea…All it gives is a lousy hangover” to “OOPS, I Fell in Love”, with the regulars like “I too had a love story” and bolder titles like “20, And still Virgin”, “It happened that night”. Reassuring titles like “Of Course I love You” and discerning ones like “To Whom It May Concern: luv, luck and my bad!!” Interestingly all these titles had their credits belonging to the set of budding writers in their 20s and early 30s. After the Chetan Bhagat saga, writing seems to have come back to fashion. As a compulsive trash collector, I purchased them all. 15 to be exact and chose to devour upon them to find out the real chemistry going on in young minds. These books were however, a stark revelation for us. Junta does think creatively, the passions are greatly alive. The originality of spirit is distinctively visible. There is honesty, there is care, there is belongingness, there is originality and most importantly there is integrity in relationships. Who says that the Generation X has gone nuts? No doubt, at times and at places there are excesses, but then isn’t this the failure of Generation W to unravel and make understand the mysteries and vagaries of life patiently? Why the domain of love has been converted to such a murky terrain? Why can’t we boldly & confidently utter the world “Love”? Don’t we love our parents, our siblings, our teachers, our friends, our well-wishers? Don’t we love our passions, dreams and aspirations? Is Love a mere uni-dimensional phenomenon, something between a guy & a gal alone?