Thursday, December 29, 2011
There is a fish-bone stuck inside Bakin's throat. It's choking him minute by minute. He doesn't know surely how it got there. He must have had something foul in his last meal. It disrupts his vital biological functioning; most significantly breathing and eating. It is not the first time this has happened but unfortunately he has forgotten the ways to get it out like the last time and this one time when his face turned water-melon red because of the sudden blood-rush caused by the multiple attempts to puke the bloody bone out. He has a vague memory of these incidents but he can't quite conjure up the whole event. Like an intense film seen long long ago. His folks tell him, he was sedated with memory-altering drugs to save him from an overpowering nausea that follows the bone-removing cure.
he loves eating out and is on the road for most part of the day. therefore he finds hard to resist the sight of a scrumptious fish curry. The adrenaline gush of the juicy first bite re-installs his faith in human as an able fish-hunting tribe just as he is about to give up on humanity. It makes him glad to be alive. Even with the awareness of his problem, he surrenders his primordial organs thinking atleast he won't regret not having what he liked the most when he dies. He saves up for the exquisite Goan-restaurant in the neighbourhood, promising this would be the last time he would eat out. But ofcourse, it's too late to rationalise all this now as he stands cringing, holding his stomach in the bathroom, begging his guts to co-operate in another exhaustive attempt to puke the rancid bone out.
relationships do the same to me each and every god-damn time..