People told us we'd never make it this far, but just look at us now, five months on and every bite still as succulent as the first. Sure, we've had our fair share of problems (you've done things to me that my intestines are likely never to forgive you for) but what's a relationship without its ups and downs, the odd spot of trouble? There was a time when I (and my thighs) wanted to be rid of you forever, but I'm past that now. All the hours I spent in a stifling gym run by pervy personal trainers with short tempers, and still I just couldn't run from my feelings for you. No amount of squats, curls, or crunches could erase you from either memory or arse, so I'm chalking history up to my steatopygia (self-diagnosed). That's why to this day I still stick up for you, even when the hippy roommates walk through the door with their eco-friendly carrier bags full of whole grain muesli and high protein soya chunks, bleh.
O Samosa and your crunchy fried crust, O Kofta dipped in cream, and my lovely paratha with those floury swirls dripping with ghee! Even you Pista Burfi, who I took some time to warm up to, your zincy aluminium shell still makes my teeth tingle... And street food! Don't think I've forgotten you - how could I, after all those "accidental" brushes of unwashed hands? You were the most unassuming of all, drawing me into those undiscovered, quiet places like the dimly lit back alley of a cheap cinema for a quick nibble of your mutton momos or the chicken keema roll. Mmmmm...
But alas, one day, quite soon, we shall say our goodbyes, and I shall have to pick you off my diet as I pick the remnants of Khaju caramel cookies from the crevices of my molars. But I hope you know that I'll carry a reminder of you with me for a very long time - a 5 to 10 pound reminder, that is.
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