The Chicken Puff Chronicles

There are so many things I could talk about when mentioning being a freshman at Krea. I could talk about how I feel like I’ve started life all over again; how I’ve come to the realisation that I am a prodigy at standing awkwardly around strangers and expecting friendship or how I’m now hyper aware of the way I breathe and the way I walk just in case it’s ‘weird’. Though these are worthy topics that I have troubled those around me with, I think there are more significant issues to address. Like those damn chicken puffs. 

To understand why I possess such hostility when talking about chicken puffs, I need to take you guys back to my first week at Krea. It was orientation week and I was sitting with my buddy group. Insufferable small talk ensued and the topic of food came up. My seniors mentioned that there aren’t too many options with regard to food in Sri City. But there was one hidden culinary gem: the chicken puffs. I will be honest, during the first week, this piece of information flew right by my head. I wasn’t focused on food more than I was on the gruelling Krea Nite, the purpose of which was to humiliate myself. But then classes started and my Bangalore sleep schedule flew right out the window. I became so aware of how empty my stomach was at all times; it was almost like I could hear it begging me for food. So, the temptations of the chicken puff creeped back into my mind.

That is when I made my first attempt.

I had decided half-way into my Mathematical Reasoning class that I was going to treat myself to a nice chicken puff. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Would it taste like the ones back home? The spices, the fluffiness of the pastry, the crunch – oh my god, I was in love. The second class ended, I dashed to Narsis. I stood there in line, smiling at everyone around me. I smirked even, preparing my taste buds for satisfaction. One of the annas looked at me and I smiled. He smiled back, confused, which is when I realised that I actually have to speak for him to know I want a chicken puff. I asked, smiling so widely that it was borderline creepy. But then it all crashed down. They were out. I did my walk of shame out of the line of people standing. But then I told myself to shake it off. There will be other days and there will be other chicken puffs. 

My second attempt.

Upon pondering the waste of my efforts the first time, I concluded that the reason I didn’t get my chicken puff was because I went to “Old Narsi’s”. Of course they would be out; that’s where all the classrooms are. I decided that this time I would go to the library Narsi’s. I never see people eat puffs there. I didn’t even know there were puffs there to begin with. I was a woman on a mission. I’d had a very busy day, so I was determined to treat myself to a puff. After my last class, I dragged my friends with me and we walked towards the library. But there was a crowd. Don’t tell me. The one day I go to get myself a puff is when everyone on campus now decides they want one too? As I got closer to the crowd though, I realised that no one was standing in line to buy anything. They were facing each other and they looked pretty mad. Then I began to hear the screaming. There was a fight going down. Now you see, here’s the thing- I do care for my fair share of gossip, but on that day all I wanted was my chicken puff. But this fight had everyone’s attention. People who were sitting on tables nearby shut up and stopped doing whatever they were doing. I don’t know if it was because they were curious or out of respect for the fight, but whatever it was made me feel as though I couldn’t go and get my puff, especially since the crowd of people were right in front of the counter. How does one awkwardly push themselves through the crowd, maybe even interrupt the fight, just to get a puff? I am a first year, not God. I value my life. Besides, it seemed like the annas were very invested in the fight and pulling them away from that would make us adversaries. The last thing I needed was another obstacle between my chicken puff and me. I decided that the puff would live to see another day.

Attempt number three.

I told myself out of self-respect and value for my dignity that this would be my last and final attempt. It wasn’t even about the chicken puff anymore. It was about the principle. I didn’t care about how it tasted, I didn’t care about how it would satisfy my cravings. It was about winning. Yes, I was in competition with the chicken puff.

There was something about this chicken puff that taunted me. It was like every time I was rejected, I could hear its laughs. I could hear it telling me that I wasn’t good enough. That I’ll never be good enough. I would wake up at night, in a cold sweat, giant puffs dancing around me, okay I think you get the gist. Point is, I am not crazy; I just hate losing. And that is what this felt like: a huge defeat. 

This time, I used strategy. I made my friends my accomplices and sent them to get me chicken puffs. Both from separate Narsis. There were no more smiles, no more excitement, just pure competitiveness. It was like an underground deal. We agreed to meet at the benches near the tennis courts. The three of us sat side by side, pretending to look at the tennis players. 

“Did you bring it?”

They each brought out a brown paper bag, all while looking ahead.

“And you’re sure it’s chicken?”

“Treia, can you just eat the damn puff, it’s so oily and now my bag smells and it isn’t even that big of a deal—”

That was when I saw it. That golden brown flaky goodness of spiced meat. This was it. My greatest rival.

I took a bite.

Interesting.

• college
• food
• freshman
• funny