“No!” I exclaim. Any shred of doubt I had about the impossibility of the challenge flies right out the window. I don’t think even thesevenof us together can finish it; surely this needs an army of starving soldiers? There are a dozen different types of parathas, rotis, rice, sabjis, and sweets, accompanied by glasses of virgin mojitos and lassis, and other condiments like salads, raitas, pickles, and papads. The waiter tells us about each item in detail, and even justlookingat the thali makes me feel bloated.
“I was thinking we could have a contest,” Varun says enthusiastically. “Ourowncontest.”
Digha groans. “Could we just eat? I’m starving.”
“No, hear me out. Let’s divide ourselves into groups of two, two, and three, and compete. Whichever team finishes first wins.”
“Won’t the team with three have an advantage?” I ask.
“Nope. We can have Digha be the third, and considering she barely eats, it won’t matter.”
“Hey!” Digha protests.
“It’s true,” Varun says, ruffling her hair. “You know it is.” Jalaj and Charu nod in agreement.
Digha relents. “Fine.”
“What would the winning team get?” Priti asks.
“A pass on having to chip in on the check?” Jalaj suggests.
“I think we can raise the stakes,” I say, grinning. “How about thatandcovering the trek fees? The losing teams can split the cost among themselves.”
“I like the sound of that,” Priti says. “You’re on.”
I look around at the others, one by one, and they each nod in turn, all toothy smiles. I can already feel the thrill of the challenge burbling up within me. If there’s one thing Ican’tresist, it’s the pull of a good competition. It’s like a high for me, watching the jealousy and disappointment roil over my opponents’ faces while I ride the euphoria that comes with the win. And when it comes to food? I bet you there’s no one at this table that can eat the way I can.
And it would help to save some money. I’ve been spending way too much.
“How do we divide the teams?” Rudra asks.
“Pugata,” Priti says, stretching her hand out, palm facing downward. It’s a simple way of dividing teams; I used to do it all the time when I played kabaddi or kho-kho with my friends in Mulund.
Once we’ve stacked our hands, one on top of the other, Priti calls out, “Pugata!” and we draw out, flipping our hands either palm upward or downward. Priti’s and Charu’s hands are palms up, while the rest of our hands remain palms down. So they form one team, exchanging high-fives.
We do another round. When we draw out this time, Digha, Varun, and Jalaj are palms up, while Rudra and I are palms down. The trio cheers, while Rudra and I exchange shy glances.
We call for the waiter to help divide the food into three parts, and Priti and I switch seats. That leaves Rudra and me on one side of the table; Digha, Varun, and Jalaj on the opposite side; and Priti and Charu adjacent to us.
As the waiter piles the portions of food onto three separate plates, I turn to Rudra, eyes gleaming with determination and voicelowered so only he can hear me. “I want to win this thing. So I hope you can eat.”
“Ican.” Those dimples appear, drawing my attention. They’re shaped like tiny hearts, etched on either side of his chin.Not the time, Krishna.“Though I have my doubts about you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse the fuck me?”
Rudra looks me up and down, eyes grazing my body so fluidly I can feelthem on my skin. “You’re... small.”
“I’m five foot three, for your kind information,” I huff, sizing him up in return. “Mr. Five Foot Seven?”
He looks so offended I nearly bark out a laugh. “Five footeight.”
“Same difference.”
Rudra shakes his head and turns away. I smile cheekily to myself. The waiter sets down the plate with our portion of food in front of us, and I drag my chair so close to Rudra’s that our arms are brushing.
“Okay, remember, not a morsel of food should be left on the plate!” Charu says, cracking her knuckles.
“Someone count to three,” I say, hands poised and ready.
