for the love of chaat

He served gol gappas with a fury that I couldn't keep up with. I am miserably slow. My friend however gobbled each without so much as battling an eyelid. As he looked at me with well deserved pity, my tiny plate filled up with 3 oblong pregnant gol gappas swimming in a sea of jeera water. I wrestled, my small mouth struggled to fit in the elliptical item. I thought there is no grace, no dignity in eating gol gappas. There was no way I could redeem myself in a lady-like manner, my sagittarian ungraceful self with two-left dancing feet would forever be revealed.