by Fabiyas M V
She guts sardine and curries it for her mistress, concocting spices. Declining her delicious share, she puts sardine heads, a coriander leaf, and a nip of salt on to boil. Her bare, yucky curry is ready before a couple of old songs end on the FM radio. I wonder why she prefers it every day. A cow not only eats insipid grass voraciously, but also enjoys chewing cud. A taproot doesn’t seek a cocktail. Will a kingfisher ever dive to pick a candy? Drinking and drinking, a diabetic doesn’t feel tea sugarless. I relish a worm-like shrimp in spicy sheath. In the world where people eat even cockroaches, why should I wonder at her choice? First published in The Literary Hatchet