The Snob Foodie Part-4
Triiiiiiiing Triiiiiiiing Triiiiiiiing........
I wanted to snooze my alarm and spent some more time embracing my warm, cosy blanket. But I did not have the luxury to steal away extra minutes of forbidden sleep. Unwillingly, I dragged myself out of bed. I did not have a moment to spare. I have to get read quickly, drop my son to his school and haul myself to office through the ocean of cars plying on potholed roads.
Before going to the bathroom, I glanced at the bed and was surprised to find my wife still lying on it as if she had all the time in the world. Embittered, I asked, "Have you forgotten that you have a son and you have to get him ready for school?"
She seemed annoyed at my intrusion and she retorted with equal bitterness, "It seems that you have forgotten to consult the calendar. For your kind information, today is Sunday and schools remain closed on Sunday."
I sighed and lamented the mechanization and isolation of my life.
After the morning ablutions, I made myself some tea and picked up the newspaper from the door. I sat on the sofa sipping my piping hot black tea and glanced at the headlines. There was an article about the French President's 3 days visit to India. The word 'French' set forth a tornado of emotions in my mind. The only French, rather French-Indian person I knew had been an enigma to me. True it is that the stream of time has somewhat abated my burning emotions for her but even now, after 12 years of meeting her, longing for her sometimes catches me off guard. The happiest night of my life, i.e., my dinner date with Alice Leroy is a 12 years old memory now. These 12 years had wrought many changes in my life but it has never made me aware of its flow. Indeed, Time is a sly thief. I am no longer that insouciant college student who was passionate about all the unimportant things of life. Had I been more focused on my studies, I might have landed myself a lucrative job. Anyway, my current job also pays me enough to pay my bills and feed my family. Recently, I have bought this 2 BHK apartment where I live with my wife and son. Thus, in retrospect, life hasn't been too harsh on me, rather I should be grateful to life for giving me the privileges of middle class. Nevertheless, the dreariness of my life suffocates me. But, life has been kind enough to teach me that abstract notions such as happiness, satisfaction, etc. hardly matter in the long run. Fulfilling the basic requirements of food, water, shelter is enough to keep the wheels of life running.
I hate being inundated by such pessimist thoughts. So I take out my phone, unlock the hidden folder and click on the thumbnail. A 12 year old selfie crops up on the screen. This photo is remnant of all that the sly Time has seized away from me. This is my only photo with Alice and the only thing capable of making me genuinely happy. I have never shown this photo to my wife nor do I ever intend to show her. In fact, I have not told her anything about Alice. Maybe, I fear she might allege me for cheating on her. Maybe, I might want to keep Alice only to myself even if it’s only her memories that I guard from everyone else. I don't know which is closer to truth.
After the dinner date, Alice had never contacted me. I spent so many sleepless nights waiting for her call or message but the wait never ended. Since I did not have her phone number, my only means of contacting was her through Instagram. I inundated her Instagram inbox with hundreds of messages but I did not receive a single reply. I couldn't fathom why she behaved so coldly with me while on the dinner date she seemed so friendly. In fact, she had even asked for my number on the dinner date but after that, she refused to even acknowledge me. The thought of offending her agonized me night and day. I fervently prayed for a reply from her, but my prayers went unheard. Otherwise, everything seemed perfect with her Instagram account the_snob_foodie. She regularly posted pictures of exotic food, reviewed restaurants and conducted her bimonthly contest.
After tormenting myself for about a year, I resigned to my fate. I realized that it was implausible for a lady as elegant as her to take notice of a shabby youth like me. She was literally a Goddess while I was a nobody. It would be prudent if I stopped expecting reply from her and continue adoring her as a devout worshiper and move on in life.
Though I gave up expecting reply from her but I could never stop myself from stalking her Instagram handle. As the years passed, I noticed the gradual waning of her popularity. It began with a decrease in the number of likes and comments on her posts. The popularity of her bimonthly contest also decreased, there were fewer people participating in the contest. Gradually, the bimonthly contest became monthly and then it disappeared into thin air. I noticed there was an increase in mean and harsh comments on her posts, sometimes there were even personal attacks on her. She also decreased the frequency of posting photos and reviews and one day she stopped posting altogether. The followers decreased and finally, the_snob_foodie became an abandoned account. It pained me a lot to see her dreams shatter before my eyes, for she was extremely committed to her food blog. I tried to reach out to her, to offer her help, but as usual, I never received any reply from her.
I closed my eyes and say her waving hands and saying "Maybe" before she closed the door of the car. I still wait for her "Maybe" to happen. I still wait for her call.
I was snapped out of my reverie by the ringing of my phone. I opened my eyes and saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. My heart beat increased, my palms sweated and I felt adrenaline rushing through my veins. I felt as if time has reversed 12 years and I was sitting at The Wide Canvas waiting for Alice to come with wild anticipation.
My heart was beating madly against the rib cage, it felt as if it may burst out of the rib cage if I delayed one more second. I tapped the Receive button and put the phone to my ear and squeaked, "He..Hello?"
"May I speak to Mr Aman Awasthi?"
The male voice on the other side of the phone shattered my heart to a thousand pieces. But soon, my rationality took charge and I realized that it was foolish of me to anticipate a call from Alice and that too after 12 years.
Clearing my throat, I replied, "Yes, Aman Awasthi speaking. May I know who I am talking to?"
"I am Inspector Raunak Choudhary. You are required to report to the police station as quickly as possible."
Terror gripped me, a lump formed in my throat, I couldn't find my voice. After some effort, I spoke, "Bu..But why? .........Hello.......Hello.....Hello Inspector.......Hello can you hear me?"
Inspector Raunak Choudhary had hung up the phone.
.............To be continued
I wanted to snooze my alarm and spent some more time embracing my warm, cosy blanket. But I did not have the luxury to steal away extra minutes of forbidden sleep. Unwillingly, I dragged myself out of bed. I did not have a moment to spare. I have to get read quickly, drop my son to his school and haul myself to office through the ocean of cars plying on potholed roads.
Before going to the bathroom, I glanced at the bed and was surprised to find my wife still lying on it as if she had all the time in the world. Embittered, I asked, "Have you forgotten that you have a son and you have to get him ready for school?"
She seemed annoyed at my intrusion and she retorted with equal bitterness, "It seems that you have forgotten to consult the calendar. For your kind information, today is Sunday and schools remain closed on Sunday."
I sighed and lamented the mechanization and isolation of my life.
After the morning ablutions, I made myself some tea and picked up the newspaper from the door. I sat on the sofa sipping my piping hot black tea and glanced at the headlines. There was an article about the French President's 3 days visit to India. The word 'French' set forth a tornado of emotions in my mind. The only French, rather French-Indian person I knew had been an enigma to me. True it is that the stream of time has somewhat abated my burning emotions for her but even now, after 12 years of meeting her, longing for her sometimes catches me off guard. The happiest night of my life, i.e., my dinner date with Alice Leroy is a 12 years old memory now. These 12 years had wrought many changes in my life but it has never made me aware of its flow. Indeed, Time is a sly thief. I am no longer that insouciant college student who was passionate about all the unimportant things of life. Had I been more focused on my studies, I might have landed myself a lucrative job. Anyway, my current job also pays me enough to pay my bills and feed my family. Recently, I have bought this 2 BHK apartment where I live with my wife and son. Thus, in retrospect, life hasn't been too harsh on me, rather I should be grateful to life for giving me the privileges of middle class. Nevertheless, the dreariness of my life suffocates me. But, life has been kind enough to teach me that abstract notions such as happiness, satisfaction, etc. hardly matter in the long run. Fulfilling the basic requirements of food, water, shelter is enough to keep the wheels of life running.
I hate being inundated by such pessimist thoughts. So I take out my phone, unlock the hidden folder and click on the thumbnail. A 12 year old selfie crops up on the screen. This photo is remnant of all that the sly Time has seized away from me. This is my only photo with Alice and the only thing capable of making me genuinely happy. I have never shown this photo to my wife nor do I ever intend to show her. In fact, I have not told her anything about Alice. Maybe, I fear she might allege me for cheating on her. Maybe, I might want to keep Alice only to myself even if it’s only her memories that I guard from everyone else. I don't know which is closer to truth.
After the dinner date, Alice had never contacted me. I spent so many sleepless nights waiting for her call or message but the wait never ended. Since I did not have her phone number, my only means of contacting was her through Instagram. I inundated her Instagram inbox with hundreds of messages but I did not receive a single reply. I couldn't fathom why she behaved so coldly with me while on the dinner date she seemed so friendly. In fact, she had even asked for my number on the dinner date but after that, she refused to even acknowledge me. The thought of offending her agonized me night and day. I fervently prayed for a reply from her, but my prayers went unheard. Otherwise, everything seemed perfect with her Instagram account the_snob_foodie. She regularly posted pictures of exotic food, reviewed restaurants and conducted her bimonthly contest.
After tormenting myself for about a year, I resigned to my fate. I realized that it was implausible for a lady as elegant as her to take notice of a shabby youth like me. She was literally a Goddess while I was a nobody. It would be prudent if I stopped expecting reply from her and continue adoring her as a devout worshiper and move on in life.
Though I gave up expecting reply from her but I could never stop myself from stalking her Instagram handle. As the years passed, I noticed the gradual waning of her popularity. It began with a decrease in the number of likes and comments on her posts. The popularity of her bimonthly contest also decreased, there were fewer people participating in the contest. Gradually, the bimonthly contest became monthly and then it disappeared into thin air. I noticed there was an increase in mean and harsh comments on her posts, sometimes there were even personal attacks on her. She also decreased the frequency of posting photos and reviews and one day she stopped posting altogether. The followers decreased and finally, the_snob_foodie became an abandoned account. It pained me a lot to see her dreams shatter before my eyes, for she was extremely committed to her food blog. I tried to reach out to her, to offer her help, but as usual, I never received any reply from her.
I closed my eyes and say her waving hands and saying "Maybe" before she closed the door of the car. I still wait for her "Maybe" to happen. I still wait for her call.
I was snapped out of my reverie by the ringing of my phone. I opened my eyes and saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. My heart beat increased, my palms sweated and I felt adrenaline rushing through my veins. I felt as if time has reversed 12 years and I was sitting at The Wide Canvas waiting for Alice to come with wild anticipation.
My heart was beating madly against the rib cage, it felt as if it may burst out of the rib cage if I delayed one more second. I tapped the Receive button and put the phone to my ear and squeaked, "He..Hello?"
"May I speak to Mr Aman Awasthi?"
The male voice on the other side of the phone shattered my heart to a thousand pieces. But soon, my rationality took charge and I realized that it was foolish of me to anticipate a call from Alice and that too after 12 years.
Clearing my throat, I replied, "Yes, Aman Awasthi speaking. May I know who I am talking to?"
"I am Inspector Raunak Choudhary. You are required to report to the police station as quickly as possible."
Terror gripped me, a lump formed in my throat, I couldn't find my voice. After some effort, I spoke, "Bu..But why? .........Hello.......Hello.....Hello Inspector.......Hello can you hear me?"
Inspector Raunak Choudhary had hung up the phone.
.............To be continued
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