Another cold, lonely December night. I stare at my plate and sigh. This was not how I expected my twenties to come to an end. Well, you made your bed. You bloody well make sure to lie on it, says my brain. I sigh again and use the plastic fork to pop a few mouthfuls. The taste is horrid, as expected. I try to remember how old the fork was and fail at the task. I don’t even remember if I washed the damn fork the last time I used it.
My mobile chimes with the dulcet tone of an incoming email and I swipe the screen open. ‘HAPPY SECOND ANNIVERSARY,’ the email subject shouts in all caps, and I wince. Fuck! I had all but forgotten your damned existence, my bane! Didn’t I dump you for a better alternative? Why are you hounding me? I don’t give two hoots if it is our second anniversary or seventieth anniversary. My miserable life was going on quite well without your bloody meddling, thank you very much. Despite myself, I open the mail.
Hey you! I miss you. Of course, you do, you spawn of hell! Two years ago, tonight was our first date. You ordered mutton biriyani and murgh malai tikka from Mars Restaurant. Do you remember that? Yeah, I do. The order was thirty minutes late, and I was pissed off. It was my first day as a bonafide single after being dumped by Shivani after a five-year-long relationship. Shivani! Shit, I have even forgotten how she looked. She was hot, right? Not very sure. All I remember was her saying that I had become a bit plumpy. Plumpy! Is that even a word? Not sure. Anyway, that’s not the point. I came in contact with you the very night Shivani had called me plumpy. I mean, she was being kind to my face. I had overheard her telling Kshitij that I was so fat that I couldn’t see my own… feet. Fuck you too. As if you had an hourglass figure. And bitching about me to someone who had ‘shit’ in his name–not cool at all.
So, yeah! The order was thirty minutes late, and I was about to blow my top. You convinced me to spare the poor delivery guy. You argued that it was a Saturday night and there was a heavy demand for deliveries. I accepted your arguments at face value like the gullible fool I was. I should have known what a manipulative bitch you were right then. Oh yeah, you were manipulative. Don’t fucking try to argue otherwise. You made me do things I didn’t want to, okay? Like, I fucking hate seafood and you goaded me into trying some Rava-fried pomfret on a rainy July afternoon. Authentic Goan cuisine, you had said, and I had given in. Fucking, I became an addict to that bloody dish, okay? Do you know that? Of course, you do.
You remember every fucking thing, don’t you? I should have known better before entering into a relationship with you. Mornings, afternoons, and nights passed with you playing me like a cheap plastic mouth organ. You made me indulge in my shameful fantasies. You encouraged me by gifting me with worthless baubles. Obviously, I didn’t recognize them for the useless trinkets they were. When I did, it was too damn late. Your claws had sunk inside my flesh way too deep.
Getting rid of you was a herculean task. Something I’m proud of till this very moment. And you dare spoil my minuscule victory by writing to me again? Well, I wouldn’t have expected any lesser from you. From the minute I dumped you, this has been your two hundred and forty-seventh email. After the first three, I have religiously marked each and every single one of your following mails as spam, but you are not one to give up. You are a bit of a psychopath, aren’t you? I got a hint about your neurosis when you got someone called Anwar to call me and tried to convince that breaking up with you was a bad idea. I mean, who the fuck is Anwar? Does he know the disastrous relationship between us?
Only way later did I realize that you had pulled the same shit you had done with me multiple times before. I mean, talk about a parasitic relationship! Trust me, any modern dictionary would have your name across the word parasite.
It has been six months since I ditched you for something better. Of course, we don’t have the explosive chemistry that you and I shared, and to tell you the truth, sometimes I hate my new and improved lifestyle. Fuck, I’m not ashamed to say that I miss you. Yeah, I lied before when I said that I had forgotten about your existence. Why would I have saved all your emails in a separate folder then? But trust me when I say this, we are better apart. I have my new choices and you have a lot of other gullible people to exploit.
Let’s make it a night to remember!
No! I don’t want to.
Let’s re-live our first date!
I shove mouthfuls of lettuce and cabbage and chew them loudly. I will not get tempted, I will not get tempted by you.
Just click to re-order the following two items from our esteemed partner, Mars Restaurant.
1 X Mutton Biriyani
1 x Murgh Malai Tikka
Damn it! I throw away my salad and click the green button on my mobile screen to re-order. I add a Rava-fried pomfret as well. What the hell! A message flashes, ‘Your Quicky order has been received by Mars Restaurant. Tasty food will be on its way to you soon.’
I look down. I still can’t see my… feet.
Fuck you Quicky!