The chaatbot
Brought me
Bhel puri
garnishes of
sour yogurt, bright mint,
red chiles and
A sticky saucer of tamarind
And three types of chutney
One redolent of dried ginger
I ate with gusto
But deep inside
A hollowness grew
That couldn’t be filled
With puffed rice and green mangoes

"I have a confession,"
I said
It just nodded and stood still
"Aren’t you curious what it is?"—
"Do you need more bean sprouts?"
It asked

"No, no
It’s just"

I didn’t read the item description clearly
I let the AIs do the shopping for me
The ones I foolhardedly downloaded
 into my phone
And they decided you… with your top of the line 
taste sensors and shredding capacity
Would be my best companion

"Yes Mumbai’s finest," It said
All part of the chefs4you platinum package
Fresh ingredients delivered daily

"And it's all so savory and delicious
It really is
But
What I really need is chat
Like
A conversation
A talk
A tête-à-tête
The bots must’ve slipped an extra ‘a’ into the mix
I’m sorry
But
What I really wanted was
Someone I could volley words with"
(And expel this raging loneliness
Is what I didn’t say)

It looked
Sad, perhaps, or confused
I couldn’t tell with its sensor eyes
But its arms moved fast to compensate for
the frozen look on its face
Dishing me plate after plate
Sweet desserts of the finest kulfi
Cold frozen creamy
Indulgent

I stuffed my face
In cardamom
Saffron
Strawberry
What else could I do?
The best thanks was my appetite
I couldn’t bear to say more
Not under that evaluating gaze
(that employed complex algorithms analyzing expressions to adjust what to prep next)
And preternaturally speedy
chrome limbs of eager action—
Food-safe and rust-resistant

What could I say?
I couldn’t deny
The soul longed for more

This is not what I meant when I said
I wanted to spice up my life
And engage in others
Anyone
Just have a sounding board
Even if it was a chatbot
The shopping AIs must have overheard
And enacted their efficient resolution

It was only a week ago
A chime
A drone delivery
And my own chaatbot
cutting edge
Literally
with ten different rotary blade modes

Somehow I felt cut up
In my sudden forlornness
But charged it up anyway
Returns are a pain

Potatoes balanced on appendages
It diced
Fried and cooked
Impassive to the crackling sounds
Of sizzling oil meeting puffing dough
As I ate
It watched
Looming eyes gauging for a response

Drowning my atomized anonymity
In courses and courses of delicacies
I gorged
Bereft of conversation
But to the brim with

Another kind of
empty satiation