“You know, I’ve always believed food is literally the one word that can give stiff competition to photographs,” she said, slurping up the pani puri water.
“Imagine being in a boring, like really boring and perennially long conference. And then a tick of the clock and a faint clang from the other room perks up your senses. Had the feeling before?”
I looked at her swollen cheeks, crunching the puri and the liquid victory in her shining eyes.
“You make it sound like poetry,” I offered lazily.
“Aha! You do realise, I hope, that the idea of food is a slow orgasm that hits the ears, the mind, the body and pretty much every nerve in the system in one whiff.”
I nodded. Food and sex were conveniently interchangeable.
“Forget how the dictionary defines it! When you’re depressed, and someone asks do you want food? What do you see? Rajma chawal, yaar!”
She paused to instruct the vendor to put more green chutney in her pani puri.
“See, when you’re watching TV, and your mum asks if you want food, what do you think? Pizza!”
“Say what you will because when I think of food, I can only see daal chawal.”
“Don’t be so boring. Just goes to show what sort of person you are!”
“This isn’t a Rorschach test.”
“What’s a roarshack?”
“If I spill some ink right here, you will say it reminds you of chutney. That’s how I will study your personality.”
“That’s complicated. Why not show me chutney and ask me to identify which one it is?”
“Okay, okay. Last one. When you’re planning to go on a date with your girlfriend and she asks you if you want to grab some food – what do you think?”
I whispered in her ears.
“This is some food for thought!” she looked away, giggling and then burped.
“Sorry! That was very unwomanly, I know.”
“Not at all, my dear. Now, I know what to think when someone yells food.”