The Stupendous Case of Chicken Little

It’s one of those times.

Every now and then one of those furry little stinky yet absolutely yum birds rise to the world’s view with their heroic deeds.

At least this one did. Ok, so maybe not in the world’s view. But at least in mine.

But probably not the way you’re thinking.

For one thing, I never knew it when it was a little furball, or whenever it grew. In fact, I didn’t know it till it was cleaned out and placed as a clean slab of pink uncooked meat on a platter next to its brothers and sisters.

But I would like to imagine that it was once a cute little furball, which has now risen to great heroic heights in my head.

I should perhaps start from the beginning.

I am yet to get over the exultation of actually having a two day weekend. Every Friday evening I smile widely as I hit the bed…knowing that I don’t need to set an alarm for the next day. It is by far one of the best feelings in the world.

So with so much time on my hands, I finally decided last week that perhaps every Sunday I should try and make use of the pretty little kitchen that my new house has. At least try.

So I woke up last Saturday full of extreme enthusiasm…a dish on my mind…and a visit to the supermarket planned to buy all the necessary ingredients to make a nice continental chicken dish.

Of course, one of the most basic ingredients required was a chicken.

Now this might be a good time to mention that I have never before in my life cooked, or come anywhere close to buying chicken. I usually just eat the scrumptious little thing.

I entered the non-veg section of the supermarket for the first time in my life and looked around in amazement at all the amazing things that I could cook over the coming weekends. Lamb…ham…sausages…salami……it went on and on! But with a lot of will power I contained my growing excitement and asked the guy at the counter for a tiny little bit of chicken.

While I waited for him to pack it I glanced behind the counter. The scene wasn’t very pretty. And for the sake of my limited readers, who might just happen to be vegetarian, I think I’ll skip the description.

I swallowed and looked at the ceiling instead.

Be cool…be cool…

I got into the long billing line with the 15 odd people in front of me all holding different parts of different animals. The wait was long. Too long.

Somewhere between all the standing and waiting, I began to notice how tiny the room was. And how much raw meat stinks. And how hot it was. And how little oxygen there seemed to be.

Something didn’t seem right.

I remember walking out of the non veg section before I managed to reach the counter, I remember putting the chicken neatly on a shelf, holding tightly onto my new phone…

I came to, passed out flat in the middle of the super market, with anxious heads over me.

It was embarrassing to say the least.

The people were really sweet, and handed me chocolates and lemon juice.

But it was still embarrassing to sit on the floor, in the middle of a crowd, and munch on dairy milk, to an audience.

All thanks to the damned chicken little.

That heroic little thing.

Who brought me tumbling down.

In hind sight though, it was really yum.