During a visit to Kerala when I was 5, my parents bought five gorgeous white chickens. They walked around like the hottest chickens on the block.
I was afraid to go outside by myself because they were hunting for me.
In their pack, they were unstoppable. I tried to act cool, but they smelled my fear. When I bravely attempted to play in the yard, they came and pecked me in the foot. I cried and ran inside, shaking my fist at them.
And then the five chickens became four chickens.
They were still a threatening pack but toned it down a notch. When it came down to three chickens, I think they had a clue about where their feathered friends had gone.
Finally I could wander the yard. They gave me threatening looks but didn’t venture too close. When there were two chickens, they gave up the hot-to-trot act.
Dinner each day that week had never been more satisfying — the chicken curry in particular.
Vengeance was sweet. No — spicy.