KFC and relationships

Sushmeeta’s eyebrows contract, as she glares at the glowing Nokia. It’s him again, her husband. Always CHECKING UP on me… She refuses to answer and buries the instrument, next to her daughter’s crayons, in a 1-ton capacity Gucci bag. She hears the swoosh of the door, and she raises her eyes to catch the reflection of Randeep on the blank TV screen, as he nonchalantly strolls in. When the course began 6 weeks ago, they sat opposite each other (the chairs are arranged in the shape of a U). The wanna-be Booker Prize winners threw bend-it-like-Beckham glances at each other. With every class, the number of seats separating the writers, collapsed – 10 became 5 became zero. Randeep, who studies Mathematics at Hindu College, rarely condescends to small talk with his classmates. He always seemed to be thinking of some place else, somewhere more tantalizing. Maybe this impressed Sushmeeta. Maybe, she was just bored. Her almond-shaped eyes had that been-to-hell-and-back look. Her in-class contributions were much appreciated: No, I don’t think a street child would go to school…there is just no incentive for the kid or money changes people, something happens to their soul – something turns the thermostat down…

Sushmeeta, although south of 30, is smothered in real-world living. Randeep, who finds it difficult to speak in a group, has nothing to contribute. Zilch. Nada. When prodded, he would utter something inane: ‘The hero should fall in love, in the next chapter.’ Randeep has never lived anywhere but New Delhi. His mother would pamper: ‘Beta, I made your favourite. Roganjosh and rasamalai.’ His older brother was always there:‘Randi, don’t worry, I will sort things out…’

Sushmita’s index finger gently twisted her hair, as they converse at 8:59 pm.
‘Sushmee, KFC ? I feel like chicken tonight,’ Randeep proposes as he closes his notebook.

Sushmita slowly tears a piece of paper in to bits and replies ‘Randi, you know by now, I am veg on Thursdays…’