MicroHorror

Kannan took a deep breath and tried once more. This time he succeeded in zipping up his trousers. He inhaled cautiously, and sighed with relief when nothing split or tore. Damn! He was putting on weight like nobody’s business. His landlady was to blame, no doubt. Mrs. Annapoorna loved to cook up a veritable feast every day.

He glanced at the clock. Time for breakfast. He wondered what she had made today.

“Come on, have some more.” Mrs. Annapoorna bustled around him, spooning some prawn curry over his idlis. The fluffy white cakes were soft and melted in his mouth. A generous dollop of butter only enhanced their taste.

“No, no, Aunty. I really cannot have any more,” Kannan protested weakly.

“At least have some of this kesari bath. I’ve made it with pure ghee.”

The sweet dish drew Kannan like a moth to a flame. It glistened with temptation, studded with cashews and raisins, and he succumbed. Poor old lady, he thought, as he savored each spoonful. He was so lucky that he had found such good paying guest accommodation at a mere pittance. In a city like Bangalore, this was pure gold. The only thing Mrs. Annapoorna had asked was whether he had family, or if he was going to get married soon. She had said she could not take the disturbance, annoyance, and tension that unexpected visitors created. It was a good thing that Kannan was alone. The love and affection she had lavished on him surprised him at first, but then old age did such things to people. Loneliness in a big city could rot the very soul.

“That’s all you’ve eaten? A growing boy like you needs to eat better,” Mrs. Annapoorna admonished him, but Kannan felt he would burst if he had a morsel more.

“I’m stuffed, Aunty. I don’t think I can even move out of this chair! I shall have to call my office and tell them that I’m sick.”

“Go on, go on, don’t exaggerate.” She laughed.

Mrs. Annapoorna gazed at him fondly as he left the room. He looked pleasingly plump, a welcome change from the scrawny lad who had showed up four months ago at her gate. Just one more month, she told herself. Then he would be ripe for harvesting. His heart would make such a delicious casserole, and his cheeks, the perfect curry.