How did these small, colourful spokes get inside? I give the thing a shake. The bluish, soapy liquid moves here and there, flowing over the glossed, vivacious spokes that kind of resembles those seaweeds and algae you find in oceans. I place the two big, spread out air bubbles on the surface of what seems like faux Mediterranean corals. There are a few starfishes stuck to the bottom. I try to get the air bubbles laid on them now but the bigger coral deflects that from happening. The bubbles and the liquid jaunt aimlessly. How did these get inside? Didn’t the liquid splash when they were trying to make this thing? Why aren’t there any other fishes when there is a mini ocean in here? I try to look through the thing, squinting hard. The reflexion is blurred, like a mirage, swaying and trembling at the same time. I want to know if those corals are real and if the liquid is as slimy and shiny as it appears. Argh, this is too much. I cannot resist this temptation. That’s precisely why it’s called temptation. Is the door locked? I check the thing again, it feels so cool against my own flushed palms, its surface is so damn smooth. I press it to my cheeks and close my eyes. I’ve had enough.
Curiosity killed the cat. In a parallel backdrop, curiosity made a girl break and smash every paperweight she saw. It is true, I guess – you break the things you love.
Legend has it that I usually left people in awe by the measure of food I could gobble. Before this legend, my grandma has it that I ate very poorly and the margin of me turning into one of those malnourished kids in Africa whose ribs were protruding, was very thin because I averted my face and pursed my lips every time food was in a proximity of a meter. What retribution I had against food, only God knows. So my family prayed to him, bribed him and finally I started eating. It seems. And I haven’t stopped since.
Of the very few things I am good at (which is basically a compendium of two things) one is eating. Lately after moving into hostel and such, my meals have been reduced to poorly cooked noodles, corn flakes and chocos with mere hot water and mess food. Owing to such harsh Russian conditions I started dreaming of the refrigerator back at home when usually nocturnal visions were mainly of oil strapped guys from 300, Rafa Nadal and those guys who run chasing a ball for 90 minutes.
And now that I am home for the winter break and that I am well fed, my nocturnal functioning of brain is annealing, in case you were concerned about the preceding malfunction. Back to the point, last night or should I say very early morning since the time was 2 am –ish, I was hungry. It was not that kind of hungry that can be gratified by three gulps of water or a banana, neither was it the kind where a cup of coffee and a sandwich will do but it was the kind where you are not sure whether the rumble was of a thunder or the tummy. I planned on raiding the refrigerator. So I cautiously tip-toed my way to kitchen.
The fridge had everything. How come I’ve never noticed before. Everything except legit food.
- There were two bowls of thick, creamy stuff; yesterday’s curd and today’s curd and two jars of pickle alongside a bottle of maroon nail polish from Latha Fancy Store next road.
- A tray destitute of eggs where a packet of opened Marie biscuit was kept (No, Thank You).
- Two Tupperware dabbas; idli maavu and dosa maavu
- An unopened tiffin box (Haiyaa, tiffin box! Something should be there.)
Contents of the tiffin box: curry leaves, ginger, green chilies, coriander and pudhina.
I should have seen that coming.
- Oh, there’s a plastic cover. Please let there be something. Bread is also fine. Ha ha. Paaku packet and beetle leaves. Paaah, such a big cover and so much scene for vethala paaku.
- The shelves, nevertheless were neatly arranged by various stages of discolouring lemon that made me rethink of eating the lemon rice mother was planning to make for that day’s breakfast beside an unpeelable fruits from last wedding/family function, 98% empty bottles of Mayo and tomato sauce (for western breakfast, in case you were wondering) and baking soda (which has been there for ages).
- Water bottle. I’ll at least have some cold water and quench the disappointment in fashion. *SPITS!* Jesus Christ Perumale WHAT WAS THAT? Panchakavyam. Just a svelte concoction of milk, a pinch of sacred ashes and cow’s urine.
I don’t think I will ever dream of the fridge again.
PS – I remember seeing a sketch of such a fridge somewhere on the Internet. If anyone remembers, tell me so I can add it here! 🙂