"Social tools are not just about giving people a voice, but giving them a way to collaborate, contribute and connect", said a certain someone.

But, has it been so?

Every story has to start somewhere, it may not be from the end, it may not be from the beginning, it may just be from somewhere in the middle..however, not everything is a story. What if, it's a slice of life?

And in an excerpt from that slice of life, Anushka wobbled around the last steps to her newly furnished Salt Lake flat. Throwing away those uncomfortable sky-high pointy heels on the other side of the foyer, she staggered inside and flopped on the bed, hard. The mattress dipped and sprang up simultaneously due to her weight, it was worth the investment. Her pink crop top rose up to the ribs as she lay sprawled on the plush white sheets with arms wide open. Even though the strapless nude bra kept on raging a dirty war with her heavy breasts threatening to spill from the sides, she could hardly muster the strength to move. Flabbergasted with an ill-fitting underwear, she unclipped and slid it out from underneath an off-shoulder mere millimetres of cloth sold as a top. An off-white cigarette pant hung low on a flat waist accentuating a prominent belly button with a tiny piercing. It was an achievement worth boasting, the defined lines in her abdomen spoke of her accomplishments.

Yes, at last.

Those endless, torturous days of starvation and exercise had been a success, after all it had gifted her a washboard stomach she always wanted.

Oh! Pardon for not mentioning, she abhorred strict diets and rigorous exercise regimens. Crunches after crunches, it had taken the life out of her.

Any Bengali would know how rice and West Bengal are synonymous, the two resonate with each other. No matter the place, it could be as hot as Sahara or as desolate as Antarctica, a Bengali would run after a grain of rice, the connection is that obvious. Now, imagine the struggle when a typical Bengali being deprived of her staple was forced to consume bowls of millets and awful, weird looking juices all in the name of a holy weighing scale!

Preposterous!

Her lids closed on their own accord, unable to bear any further the weight of fake lashes. The blackness from the smudged mascara added a tone of eeriness to existing eye bags, her bare nipples poked from inside the flimsy apparel. The soles of her feet presented an aching witness to hours spent in the disc and the warm comfort of a cosy bedroom was lulling her to sleep.

It was the fourth within a span of eleven days, not the first and definitely not the last of wild sex with Rahul. His touch had lingered on every crevice of her body, his teeth had left multiple imprints throughout her cleavage and nipples and she cursed him for that. They were now bloody sore and required an immediate hot bath. "Worshipping he calls it? My foot!" she uttered in disgust. He had kissed her as if there was no tomorrow, he ate and thrusted inside her like a wild boar, moaning and grunting her ears out. "Bloody scoundrel, fuck you Rahul, do you want to devour my vagina or what?" She had screamed during their make out.

Under normal circumstances, she would find his expert hands explore all the tiny dents, curves and peaks of her soft, feminine body and take refuge in the deep gorge in between the twin, round mounds of flesh he so lovingly caressed and yearned to suck day in and day out. His face would light up with a wicked grin while lowering the straps of her bra with intentional, lazy downward movements, as the torturous nibbling on her slender neck and his laboured, aroused breaths ignited sparks of fire and wild passion that she better preferred to restrain due to an obvious upbringing. But, one or two drops of alcohol, and his testosterone levels would spike up like crazy until it left a raging bull writhing for release within her. "You'll be my ultimate destruction", he would mutter in a feverish tone while their hot bodies attempted to fit into each other.

Hands on breasts, lips on lips, hips to hips, nail marks on back, they would squirm against a backdrop of the City Of Joy that posed a mesmerising picture from the eleventh floor bedroom of his apartment.

Problem lay elsewhere, they had broken up a fortnight prior and were thriving on no strings attached sex. Turning off the comments had barely been beneficial. It went from muting Funtube to making Grimstagram private and later apologizing for the same, only to be rewarded with a sharp fall in subscribers. But, the lunacy remained as rampant as before, the female community craving to have a glimpse of the muscular, ripped Rahul Dev Verma with an oh-so-sexy stubble. She had been trudging on a thread of apprehension, and to her consternation, he, being aware of it had multiple times voiced his strong opinions. Her cooking and food review channel shot up by leaps and bounds ever since her item boyfriend started gracing the screens in slim-fit tshirts or laid back athleisures. In no time, girls and women had gone gaga over the hot and happening ex-model turned healthy food enthusiast, swooned over his macho gestures when he swept a casual hand over his messy dark brown locks or licked the cream in a suggestive way from her fingers. Not that she or him found it erotic or suggestive, it was rather flirty and fun until the much-desired comments from her million subscribers hammered it into her head.

And in that world of virtual cannibalism, to survive, you either eat the other or eat your own shit. Anushka had taken this motto very personally, "anything for Grouchy Gourmet", she had thought, hence had begrudgingly indulged in harmless erotica. For, compromising on the optical gratification of her viewers would mean accommodating those months of set standards. No, she could not afford, thus the permanent need of them trying hard to live up to their hunk of a couple reputation.

Good looks, amazing body, fair complexion, skimpy costumes, a cool lifestyle, macho boyfriend, plus a woman who could cook for the angels, "who wouldn't fall for me?" she had thought.

And boy, she was right.

*****

Anushka came out of the washroom, a pale blue towel which hugged her slender frame, dropped gently on the polished floor, leaving a young woman in her early twenties in knickers. She watched the girl on the other side of the vanity, brightened to an abnormal degree by a few hundred lights hugging the frame. The reflection was not too satisfactory; her upper arms were still bulky compared to the lower ones, "genetic adversity", she complained to herself. Her breasts which was an object of fantasy to many of the opposite gender was a plain bother. The girl who had to eject the very idea of wearing myriad styles due to this fallacy, now paraded her confidence to the lacs outside who had extreme esteem issues.

But, was the confidence real or was it rehearsed?

Fake it till you make it?

Just on the opposite wall was a collage: a collection of her parents', hers and Rahul's random images clicked through years, ranging all the way from her stamped middle class shabbiness to the present where she could gracefully glide beside the uber rich with a charming smile. A short look at her mother's photo in a blouse and black saree combo spoke gallons as to why she could never have a shapely forearm-the chunkiness was inevitable.

Putting on a cotton short and a yellow tank, she applied moisturiser on her legs and finally dropped down on the bed in front of an open laptop, ready to edit that day's Fun Food Party footage. It was to be uploaded on her channel the coming weekend. Throughout the editing, Rahul and their amicable split wrecked a tsunami at the back of her head, like a gaping wound he stuck out and raised questions after questions about how she was to break that news to her subscribers or followers. "Bloody Mary! I will have to do a separate video on that!" she rolled on her back, exasperated.

Breathing out a sigh after almost an hour, Anushka was alerted by a continuous string of vibrations. She scrunched her nose when the caller id revealed who it was.

"You didn't tell if I have to keep on my appearances in your channel. I'm busy and I may b off to London next month."

Argh!

She was fatigued as hell and just when was pondering on how to solve this particular issue, Rahul had to drop the bomb.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and said, "When?"

"Around tenth or eleventh of October, I'm not sure, but yeah, early second wee-"

"I still have close to a fortnight then, ok I'll let you know." She hung up the call and contemplated on what to be done next. A single wrong move and her audience could drastically be cutdown to half. "Dammit!" she punched the side table as the black screen of her mobile reflected an angry visage and a stubborn pimple that had found a dirty spot just on her right cheekbone. Oh, how much she had tried to get rid of those stubborn acne spots and how many thousands she had paid to the big-talking skin specialist back at the clinic!

In a forced endeavour to scrub off any ties to her middle class, small-town background, she had unknowingly dug a grave-a ginormous pit that now loomed large and awry, ready to sink her into indefinite depths of quick sand.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

The living area wall clock resembling an artistic version of a bird's nest, reverberated in a grave count of three through the room. It was one in the night. Anushka fell on her back and closed her eyes, "Ma was right, this high profile life..." she sighed as slumber finally crawled to take over.

                      ****|||****

A/N:

Hi guys, am back.

So how did the first chapter go?

Vote and comments are always a welcome.

For the uninitiated:

Anushka, the protagonist has been portrayed as a social media star, finding fame through her culinary channel on Funtube.

Funtube- Youtube

Grimstagram- Instagram

Jerkter- Twitter

Tic Tac- Tic Toc

Fakebook- Facebook