it’s midday and i’m in the mood for biriyani, as one often is, and being mostly unemployed, i’m still in bed.

i text moosaalhu to see if he’d go to maagiri with me. that is, pay for half the biriyani cos they dump that fatass TGST on your bill and it’s not really worth it now on your own.

‘i’m working man,’ says my friend.

‘they don’t give you a break for lunch?’

‘i am self-employed now,’ he responds. ‘keep up.’

‘why don’t you give yourself a break then?’

‘too much work man,’ he says. ‘why don’t YOU get a REAL job?’

funny. so i lie in bed and peruse the gram. i don’t mean drugs, i meant instagram. and i come across a place, @mixgrillmv. the photos are attractive, but there’s a mind-numbingly huge selection. they offer biriyani tho, so i ask them to collab with me on a review, which of course they agree to. who wouldn’t?

and while i wait for the meal, samfa comes home in her meeting-important-people-clothes.

‘i’m getting lunch,’ i tell her.

‘what are you having?’

‘biriyani.’

‘nice, keep some for me.’

it doesn’t take too long for the delivery and it’s a hefty package. there’s paaparu, there’s gulaab jaamun. and of course, the main event.

it smells nice and fresh, and the grains look well blended with spices.

the first bite is beautiful – fragrant rice with a bit of their homemade havaadhu. i have a baiy suvaa again and discover more to love: fiesty peppercorns, snips of pungent cinnamon, caramelised onions, and the tender, havaadhu coated meat. it’s a great feast. but in my enthusiasm, i have completely forgotten about samfa. oh no! there’s still quite a bit of meat left but the rice is almost gone. i pack up the remainder and put them in the fridge.

‘where’s the biriyani?’ asks samfa.

‘in the fridge,’ i say.

she disappears into the kitchen, then returns.

‘why did you say it like there was enough?’

‘there’s a lot of meat, i thought you’d like that.’

‘why can’t you say you’ve finished it? it’s just meat. no rice at all.’

‘why are you getting mad at me? it’s MY biriyani, dammit! i got it for MY review.’

i storm off into my room. samfa can be so infuriating and ungrateful. it was ME who got the biriyani. i offered to share out of GENEROSITY. but maybe it’s me i’m mad at. my gluttony. why did i pretend like there was enough for her? i could’ve just told her i ate it all up. why did i have to pretend?

goddammit. gotta do some breathing. and so i do. slowly. 

soon, i become calm, and there’s a lingering sense of shame. i venture out. samfa is on the sofa.

‘well?’ she says.

‘i’m sorry,’ i tell her. ‘i shouldn’t have done that.’

‘was the biriyani worth the fight at least?’ she asks.

‘oh, absolutely!’

‘i’ve eaten the gulaab jamun btw.’

‘ALL of it?’

‘i left you some. it’s in the fridge.’

oh, she only took one, i think while taking them out. that’s the difference between me and her. and i begin to eat, looking out at the trees. a hard rain begins to fall as the sun glowers behind a thin veil of cloud. hmm, it’s good, this gulaab jaamun. not great, but still good.