How Elizabeth Jose Eats Food

The plate sits on her bed with a mournful disposition. It is full of oily uthapams and greasy green-gram curry. Elizabeth enters the room with a bored, almost distracted expression, and looks at the breakfast waiting for her. She takes one step towards it, and decides it is better to stretch her limbs first. After all, priorities in life do matter! And so she stretches her left arm, and then her right. She lets out a satisfied groan. She looks at her food again. It still does not seem very inviting. She sighs as she lowers herself resignedly on the bed next to the plate of uthapam. She lifts the plate up with a distant look in her eyes. She begins to eat. One piece... two... three. :::::yaaaaawn::::: oh, she's so tired of eating!

"Why do we have to eat?" she wonders aloud, as she suddenly recalls, "Oh, my wrist hurts so badly!" Now, that is a million dollar excuse for not eating. She alights from the bed, plate in hand, and walks over to the kitchen, where she deposits the uneaten uthapam in the trash can. Then she leaves for work.

It is lunchtime. Elizabeth lets out a groan. Everyone is at the table already. She wriggles out of her chair and fidgets with her bag for sometime. She slowly gets her lunch box out and makes her way to the table. She settles down and opens her lunch box with a strange gurgling noise in her throat. She then looks at the others. Someone in the crowd offers her a piece of chicken. She smells it, takes a small bite and puts it away. She nibbles on her own lunch for a few minutes, till someone comments, "Hey, Eli! Are you counting the number of grains?" She smiles at him and looks away. After fifteen minutes of battling with her food, she gets off her "throne," and walks out majestically with her box in hand. She goes straight to the huge dustbin across the road, and empties the contents of her box in it. Wow. Lunchtime is over.

She's back home after a long day. She looks at the clock with consternation. Dinnertime is fast-approaching. She grimaces at the very thought. She is already so fatigued. She surely cannot handle yet another encounter with food. But alas! She has no choice. At 9 pm, dinner is served. The ordeal begins. She struggles to eat with her right hand. Oooh... it hurts. Okay. She wouldn't give up so soon. The fighter instinct in her surfaces. She picks up the spoon in her left hand, and starts eating with a vengeance. But in less than a minute, she feels her enthusiasm fading away. Weariness takes control. She tries, but fails every time. Finally, she decides to quit. This is not the first time anyway. She could get even with food some other time. For the moment, she might as well call it a day and go to bed.