Rear-Plate: We're Here To Eat

Sunday, March 11, 2012

We're Here To Eat | A Little Lunacy!

Mar 12, 2012 -

Funny, Short Story

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“Yes, you heard that right.

No, I’m not interested in having a conversation right now.

No, I’ve not changed.

Yes, you sti…

Oh, for Christ’s sake will you let me eat, woman? I’m starving!”

Thus goes the Man-to-mind talk of a diet-deprived male (henceforth referred to as ‘The Man’) forced to endure the relentless ramblings of his female companion (henceforth refererred to as ‘The Woman’) whilst the food on the table acts as an uninterested spectator.

The volley of questions just doesn’t seem to end. It would appear that every topic under the sun must be discussed here and now. And your participation is essential, your concentration vital. A wrong answer to a slippery question (“Would consuming so much cheese affect my figure?” is asked and you blurt out “What figure?”) could make the evening go from bad to worse.

At times like these, patience is key. The Man must focus on his objective – reaching that plate of delicacies, while negotiating any obstacles thrown into his path by The Woman. The first assault from The Woman is taken care of, with ease. So is the second. The third didn’t cause any major worry either.

Inch by inch, his hand draws ever closer to ‘the holy grill’. Just a few moments more and he’ll have the plate within his reach. His eyes light up with anticipation, the tastebuds prepare themselves for a flood of sauces and gravies.

This is it. He can almost touch it now.

*crrrrrrrkkkk* goes the piece of roasted papad as The Man gently takes a piece and places it on his plate. “Hunger, begone!”, shouts his elated mind. The Man breaks into a contented smile, for all is now well. No longer shall he suffer at the hands of his talkative, tyrannical tormentor. “Of course, this is just the start,” he thinks. “There’s still the soup, the salad and ooh, the palak-paneer looks especially delicious. And the biryani… ohhh, the biryani… bless the soul who conjured such a culinary delight… belss you! Bless you! Bleeeess…”

“HEY!! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”

The Man is jolted back to reality. He looks at his plate; the papad is still there. “Okaaaay, so this is not a dream,” he thinks, feeling a little relieved. He then looks at the face of his female companion. It was red like the stuffed tomatoes he’d seen being served on an adjacent table, smoke bellowing out of her ears like the smoke rising from the sizzler he’d eaten at last week’s party, eyes bulging out like potatoes in… you get the message.

“YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME! NEVER!! ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN POURING MY HEART OUT AND ALL YOU’RE INTERESTED IN, IS POURING THAT STUPID KETCHUP OVER THAT GOD-DAMNED PAPAD!!”

“No, no, no, dear. You’ve got it all wrong. It’s nothing like that,” pleads The Man. Indeed, who eats papad with ketchup? He is now completely back to his senses, realizing that his dream of having a fine meal is turning into a nightmare. As he begs for mercy, The Woman decides she has had enough and storms off. His attempts at pacifying her have failed.

Hell hath no fury like a (by this time, very hungry) woman scorned.

Now it’s just him and the array of eatables on the table. He looks towards the door, almost hoping to see The Woman come back – not for him, to pick up her purse which she had left hanging on her chair. Five minutes later, nothing had changed. There was no sign of her, the purse was still there and so was the food which was almost begging to be eaten.

“Excuse me… Waiter… Please serve. And write down my order for the main course.”

The server duly obliged. There was no remorse on The Man’s face nor a hint of sadness. Half an hour and a full stomach later, he calls for the check. And as he picks up The Woman’s purse, he tells the server to pack up whatever food – and there was plenty - was left.

Holding the purse and the packed food in a carry-bag, The Man calls for a taxi. “Where to, sir?” asks the cabbie. “Mangrove Hills. And stop at a flower store on the way,” answers The Man as he makes himself comfortable on the rear seat.

Reclining on the surprisingly comfy seat of the taxi, his mind chalks up the range of possibilities and scenarios in his next mission. It could get ugly and might even turn out to be suicidal. But then, it’s better to die on a full stomach than starve to death. After all, we’re here to eat.

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