One afternoon @ CP

As I entered, animal fat-filled aroma hit me right where it hurts the most-stomach. I rushed to the counter as if ISI officials were after my life and asked for a chicken burger. “Have it or take away”, the guy with a constipated look asked. I said take away while motioning my hands to emphasise that I want to have it here. Perplexed, the constipated look guy gave an even more constipated look to the guy standing next to him who looked like a prisoner of war going through a torture session. Realising my mistake, I made a swift correction and gave him a “How the fuck does it matter?” look.
With efficiency, that would put any robot and its inventor to shame, the “prisoner of war” guy got me my next 300 calories and motioned the tray in front of me. As if almost on cue, I ordered for cold water, extra ketchup and extra tissues. (No, I am not one of those who collect souvenirs from trains and hotels and restaurants and save monthly rations.) To this, he gave me a look of hurt, as if it was a breach of some unknown bond between us. Anyways, I picked my tray and looked around for an empty corner. Trust me, it’s easier to find living proof of the early man than to find an empty seat in a fast food joint in CP. Almost everywhere I glanced people gave me, “Oh poor girl” look, to which I wanted to respond by grabbing their necks and give an Undertaker style Chokes-lamb.
Anyways, an uncle in his twilight years, occupying a table of four gave me inviting looks (no pun intended). I trailed his eyes and sat with a thud (thanks to weight that is ashamed of itself). In no mood to communicate, I immediately got down to business and finished half the burger before he could complete a single respiratory process. To compensate for my selfish behaviour I gave him a beauty contest winner smile to which he asked if I liked the burger. I said I hated it and so started the conversation. While he hurled abuses at Shiela Dikshit and Sonia Gandhi for digging out the whole of Delhi which denied him his morning walk and Perizaad Zorabian dreams, I kept contemplating how much damage can another 300 calories do? His face kept moving at 45 degrees on the axis, as he explained how countries like Thailand, Singapore, Britain, US, Australia, New Zealand, Uzbekistan (ok I made that up) are far better than India. I had to cut him short, to which his British accented voice crippled with colonial etiquettes.
I excused myself for another difficult decision, but to my own surprise I settled for a vegetarian burger (It’s my way of saying to God, “I hereby made a sacrifice. Now please get me a job!!!). Anyways, returning to the table I found him waiting for me which is always a dangerous sign. Which also meant that he named more countries than my Geography teacher ever knew, gave all the arguments why E. Sreedharan (the metro man of Delhi) should be awarded a Padma Bhushan and told me why Manmohan Singh is the best performer. Well some words just don’t go down well with me. I could not control the immediate rush of visuals to my brain wherein Manmohan Singh performed the Balle-Balle act. (Ok, I am not an anti-national but usage of words like ‘perform’ shall be strictly confined to Viagra commercials).
The vigour with which he discussed the socio-economic problems of the country would have put any P. Sainath to shame. I kept giving occasional intelligent gestures to keep him amused. Suddenly, at a stroke of enlightenment he blurted out ‘Population-That is the root cause of all that is evil in the country.’ To this had I said, “Congratulations you can be the next CM of Delhi,” that would have been the EOM of the conversation. But almost on whim, I wanted to flaunt my newly gathered costly education so I uttered the word, “Inequality.” Almost as an act of symbolism he shifted from CENTRE to the LEFT of the table. All after that is blurred and hazy. Last I remember is getting late for the interview that no one took.,