Yesterday, while I was googling the reasons behind the extinction of Dinosaurs, Rohit gave me a call.
“We are going out. Want to join? ”
“No. “I replied bluntly. He reframed the question.
“Okay. Want some free food? ”
“Yes. Where are you? ”
They were waiting for me downstairs. It was dusk, and as I stepped out of my room in my t-shirt, I felt my bones rattle in the cold. We walked for about a mile, checking out nymphets and mannequins ( they were clad in designer bras ) and stopped at a tiny shack. It was a Biryani shop.
I have had veg Biryani before. It was okay. Some people can kill for Biryani, and I don’t know why. I am more of a Masala Dosa guy.
CHICKEN BIRYANI – the headboard read. Three people were already busy tearing off the pieces from bones. I could feel the delicious taste of the legs in my mind.
We sat down and the plates arrived. There was rice, chicken, spiced curd, red chilli sauce, and chicken. Five huge pieces. I finished everything else and began eating the chicken. I was so excited, I even swallowed a bone maybe. They were only quarterway down when I was already licking the sauce. I noted the name of the shop and promised myself that I’d come here again.
Then, we trudged back to our rooms with bloated stomachs. There was a whatsapp message from my mother. It read – don‘t eat streetfood. Pinky Di got sweet poisoning.
It‘s food poisoning – I corrected her. And I‘m never getting food poisoning – I added.
Just because Pinky Di got food poisoning didn’t mean I’d get that too. I mean isn‘t that ridiculous!? I don’t know how my mother gets such silly thoughts. Funny.
Yeah, except that I did get food poisoning. It was 2 am and it felt like the walls of stomach had been sprinkled with petrol and then lit up. I touched my belly. It was so swollen that a mosquito bite would have burst it. It was hurting like hell. I started thinking scientifically, and told myself that the stomach wasn’t hurting, it was the response of my brain. Brain feels the pain. If I could focus on good things, say, Mia Khalifa’s boobs, I could get rid of the pain. Brilliant. I knew checking whatsapp notifications would distract me for a while.
If I die today and my postmortem report shows a chicken bone trapped inside my stomach, what are the chances that my mother will cremate me? I mean wouldn’t she be like he was good and all but HE ATE A BLOODY CHICKEN. Let vultures rip his pancreas!
Stop thinking about vultures, I said to myself. I wrapped a towel around my stomach and opened the whatsapp app.
There was a message from this awesome girl. It was a quiz about her, comprising of eleven questions, where each question consisted of two options I’d to choose from. It was compiled to test my knowledge of her.
Now folks, it’s a difficult test to take. Especially at 2 am. It gets a bit tougher when you have volcanoes erupting inside your belly. Anyway, I answered bravely and got 10 out of 11. I don’t know if I slept or fainted, but my eyes opened again at 6. And I couldn’t close them again.
I couldn’t walk as my tummy weighed half a dinosaur. I couldn’t sleep. It felt like the chciken left his spirit inside my stomach. And then, I vomited. Thrice.
The chicken Biryani never reached my intestines.