Mira sat still in the office meeting. Ramrod straight. Eyes fixated on the screen. She was glad the Corona mask hid her face, because all her attention was rivetted on her tongue tip.
The tip did an acrobatic leap, a desperate attempt to reach that tiny gap between her last 2 molars. Wedged in between 2 molars , deep and snug next to her gums, lay a tiny morsel of apple. Her breakfast apple.
The tongue tip worked like a spade, then curled like a scoop, dug in like a spoon. It scraped the inner, then the outer surface of the molar. No use. The morsel hid deeper like a soldier ducking into his trench.
Mira felt a slight give, and her pulse quickened. The morsel rotated in its grave. It somersaulted. Its skin now lay stuck to her gums.
Mira’s jaw ached. Her tongue begged for mercy. It had been swaying, tugging, cajoling that morsel for – Mira’s eyes swung to her watch – was it only 2 minutes?
Mira fidgeted. She itched to dig in a manicured fingernail and yank out that damned morsel. Ah! that apple tasted so crisp crunchy at breakfast. Now, an hour past its prime, it felt wilted and tasted rotten in her mouth.
Apples dont always protect you from doctors. This one would probably force her into a dentist’s chair!
Mira swung her jaw side to side to dislodge the stubborn bite. No use.
The speaker droned on. Mira heard not a word.
Then Mira felta slight give. And thensome more. Some more. And Yessss – the morsel finally surfaced and was quickly flushed down her throat.
Mira grinned behind her mask. Then she realised the entire room was looking at her. Then it dawned on her that she had said the ‘Yesss’ out loud.
The above was an exercise in ‘slow motion writing’, as part of Himalayan Writing Workshop by Chetan Mahajan. Click here for more details The writing is targeted at zooming in and amplifying a moment, making it visual, sensory and raw.
Did it work? Did you relate? Had the same experience
