When biryani devotion collides with crispy fried temptation, someone inside has to say, “Stop.”
Ramesh was an ardent biryani fan. He always relished the aroma—the spicy steam rising from freshly opened dum, the tender chicken hidden like treasure beneath the rice. To him, biryani wasn’t just food. It was devotion.
One evening, he gladly went through a mountain of biryani, topped it with raita, and leaned back—satisfied yet heavy. Just then, one of his favourite relatives dropped by with a big box of KFC chicken.
Ramesh’s first thought?
“Yummy, delicious! Shame I don’t have space. Already stuffed!”
But he was too excited about the forbidden fruit waiting for him. He couldn’t resist the temptation. He grabbed a big piece of chicken, dipped it in chilli sauce and mayonnaise, and tasted it. Instantly, he felt like he was in heaven.
Then guess what—his stomach started talking.
Scene 1: The Revolt
STOMACH (an overworked factory worker, wiping sweat):
“Enough, human! I’m not Amazon Prime storage! First biryani, then raita, now KFC? I’ve been on double shifts since lunch! You may be in heaven, but I’m drowning in hell’s gravy.”
Ramesh froze. His stomach had unionized.
BRAIN (sorting files):
“Warning: logic alert. Indigestion probability—87%. Acid reflux—pending.”
HEART (fluttering like a poet):
“Oh hush, Brain! Midnight chicken with ketchup is pure romance. Don’t kill the vibe!”
LIVER (grumpy policeman, baton in hand):
“Yeah, romance my foot. I’m here scrubbing oil slicks like a janitor. I deserve hazard pay!”
INTESTINES (bickering twins):
“Too much! Too greasy! Shut the gates! We can’t handle this traffic!”
KIDNEYS (in chorus):
“Overtime again? Fantastic. Spice disposal doesn’t come cheap, you know.”
The revolt was spreading fast.
Scene 2: The Deal
Ramesh sighed, rubbing his potbelly, which was hanging out of his tight T-shirt.
“Alright, stomach. I’m listening. You’re overworked, and you’re a bit grumpy. I’ll stop now.”
STOMACH:
“Promise it! Or I’ll call my cousin Acidity. And you know how dramatic he gets.”
That was enough. Ramesh struck a truce. He would save the rest of the chicken for 10 p.m. sharp. By then, the factory might recover.
The organs reluctantly agreed. Brain recommended water. Liver demanded curd. Heart, as always, begged him to treat food like romance, not warfare.
And so, the KFC box sat waiting. Patiently. Like a ticking time bomb.
And the Conclusion Is…
Ramesh, although stuffed up to his throat with biryani, was still excited for the remaining KFC chicken. To make things worse, he was even dreaming about the vanilla ice cream in the freezer. He now waited for the countdown to 10 p.m.—when his stomach would finally clear some space for more. Yummy, crispy fried chicken, spicy ketchup with mayonnaise, and mouth-watering bites. Well, well, well.
So the Moral of the Story Is…
Your body is not a garbage bag or a grinder. It’s a whole office of characters: a tired stomach, a grumpy liver, a dramatic heart, and a brain with too many spreadsheets open at once.
Overwork them, and they’ll protest. Respect them, and they’ll let you enjoy life’s pleasures—like crispy fried chicken—without calling in Acidity.
So remember: when your stomach says, “Enough, human!”—listen.
Because even biryani and KFC taste better when your organs aren’t on strike.
