Episode 7 : The curse

All of us, at one point or the other, feel we are cursed. Accompanied by a firm conviction that it is true.

Life after the surgery took a little getting used to. An all-liquid diet consisting of sweet lime or grape juice with the odd cup of porridge thrown in for good measure.

One week went by.

I first stepped out of home to complete some formalities at the hospital. Walking through the market, I noticed odours and sights that had escaped my senses before.

The chaatwala stirring his big pot of bhel. The road-side vendor selling a plate of chicken biryani for twenty rupees. Mutton hanging in butcher stalls. The smell of hot sambhar wafting out of the vegetarian mess.

That was when I felt something dampen the top of my shirt.

I was drooling without realising it.

It is a curse, I tell you. When you are able to walk, move your hands, sense your nostrils and tongue working. But not your mouth.

Instead you are painfully made aware of a set of jaws held together by a metal brace that will stay for at least three weeks.

I am not foodie, but I miss eating. More than eating, I miss the action of biting and chewing. The feeling of biting into soft bread, crunching down on chips, gnawing on a chicken leg.

Three weeks of no ice-creams, no pizzas, no burgers, no bhel puri, no papdi chaat, no biryani. No chicken lollipops, no potato chips, no sandwiches.

I am salivating.

The only thing I can do is swallow. As I keep adding to a list of things I will eat when I am freed from this pair of metal cuffs.

It is going to be one hell of an orgy.