[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Questrial||||||||” text_font_size=”18px” animation_style=”fade” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
An hour and a half since I ordered food \u2014 and my hunger had already turned into anger. The clock hands moved lazily, mocking me. My stomach had given up growling, too tired of waiting.<\/p>\n
When I placed the order, the app had promised a neat little \u201c20 minutes.\u201d Twenty minutes \u2014 that magical number that always feels believable. But now, ninety long minutes later, I was sitting on the edge of hunger and rage, staring at the blinking chat window of the delivery support team.<\/p>\n
They had just called me. \u201cSir, there\u2019s a delay from the restaurant. The food is on the way.\u201d
I had snapped at them \u2014 not because they were rude, but because I was starving and their voices sounded like scripts. \u201cWe sincerely apologize, sir.\u201d \u201cWe regret the inconvenience.\u201d Every sentence was dipped in politeness and emptiness.<\/p>\n
If it had been any other time, I might have laughed it off. But tonight, the kitchen was bare. No leftovers, no snacks, not even a biscuit crumb to trick my hunger. The support team kept promising, \u201cten minutes more,\u201d \u201cjust five minutes,\u201d \u201canother fifteen,\u201d until the numbers themselves lost meaning.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a limit to how long patience can pretend to exist.
\u201cLet me get you the latest update, sir. We\u2019ll call you back,\u201d they said \u2014 and hung up.<\/p>\n
That was it. I didn\u2019t care anymore. Let the food rot on the way, I thought. I\u2019ll make sure they get a taste of my fury on Google Reviews. They had even charged me seventy rupees for delivery \u2014 seventy! \u2014 for what now felt like a test of endurance.<\/p>\n
Just then, my phone buzzed. MyGate Alert: Delivery Boy at the Gate.<\/em><\/p>\n I hit Approve Entry<\/em>. But ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. No one came. The food that was supposed to reach me long ago was now somewhere between impatience and mystery.<\/p>\n Then the phone rang again. I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. \u201cAnd what do you expect me to do about that? Keep the bike at the gate and bring the food to the door. I can\u2019t change society rules for you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSir, can you please come to the gate and collect the food?\u201d<\/p>\n That was it. The dam burst. He tried to say something, but I cut the call. I was done. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n I stormed toward the door, rehearsing my anger again. I opened it sharply \u2014 it slammed against the wall.<\/p>\n He stood there \u2014 a man of about thirty-five, maybe thirty-eight. He didn\u2019t say a word. He simply held out the food bag, his eyes calm and quiet. I grabbed it, ready to speak \u2014 but then I noticed his right arm, twisted slightly, and his leg dragging as he turned away.<\/p>\n He was limping. My throat went dry. The anger drained out like air from a punctured balloon. I wanted to say something, anything \u2014 but the words wouldn\u2019t come.<\/p>\n Finally, I managed, \u201cSorry, brother\u2026 I didn\u2019t know you\u2019re not well.\u201d<\/p>\n He turned with a small, tired smile. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, sir. The security guys saw me clearly but still didn\u2019t let me bring the bike inside\u2026\u201d I stood there, frozen. The food in my hand had lost all its meaning. My throat tightened, and guilt wrapped around me like smoke.<\/p>\n A few minutes later, I ran out, hoping to catch him before he left \u2014 but the corridor was empty. He was gone.<\/p>\n Back in my room, I opened the delivery app, desperate for a way to reach him. But the order was already marked \u201cDelivered.\u201d \u201cHello sir, we sincerely apologize for the inconvenience caused. As a token of apology, we\u2019ve refunded thirty percent of your amount to the original payment method. Is there anything else I can help you with?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I typed. \u201cCan you please share the delivery person\u2019s contact number?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir. For security reasons, we can\u2019t share that information. Is there anything else I can help you with?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs there a way to send him a tip now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, sir. Since the order is complete, and you hadn\u2019t selected that option earlier, it isn\u2019t possible.\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at the screen, feeling hollow. \u201cI\u2019m really sorry, sir. We can\u2019t cancel a refund once it\u2019s initiated. Is there anything else I can help you with?\u201d<\/p>\n It took me a long time to type my last message. I set the phone aside and leaned back on the bed. The room was silent except for the ceiling fan that sounded like a sigh.<\/p>\n The food sat untouched on the table. My throat is still dry \u2014 and now, the throat has started hurting too.<\/p>\n A faint buzz broke the silence. New SMS:<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cApologies for the inconvenience caused. \u20b970 has been credited back to your bank account. It will reflect in 3\u20134 working days.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" An hour and a half since I ordered food \u2014 and my hunger had already turned into anger. The clock hands moved lazily, mocking me. My stomach had given up growling, too tired of waiting. When I placed the order, the app had promised a neat little \u201c20 minutes.\u201d Twenty minutes \u2014 that magical number […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":353,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-348","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creations"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/348","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=348"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/348\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":361,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/348\/revisions\/361"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/353"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=348"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=348"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpleink.in\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=348"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u201cLet him come,\u201d I muttered, already rehearsing the lecture I\u2019d deliver when he arrived.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir,\u201d said a new voice, \u201cthe security guys are not allowing my bike inside the gate. Delivery bikes are allowed only till the gate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dear sir<\/em>,\u201d I said, the sarcasm slipping through every word, \u201cI\u2019ve paid seventy rupees for door delivery<\/em>. If you can\u2019t do that, just leave. I know what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Whether he came or not didn\u2019t matter anymore. Hunger had turned into something darker \u2014 frustration that leaves a bitter taste even before the food arrives.<\/p>\n
A disability.<\/p>\n
He stopped midway, maybe deciding there was no point in finishing. Then he turned again and walked away, limping down the corridor under the yellow light.<\/p>\n
There was no option to connect back to delivery executive. The chat window opened \u2014 another polite voice appeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want the refund. Can you cancel it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The phone screen lit up.<\/p>\n\n