I am walking with this Chicken Kottu Porotta in my hand. Chicken Kottu Porotta is shredded chicken, shredded omlet and shredded white flour bread cooked together to make a meal out of it, a pretty famous thing in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India.
I have got some leftover; I have got it parcelled so that I can give it to a person whom I usually give food to, a guy who stays on the footpath close to my place. Afternoon I have wasted some food which is making me guilty as I am not used to throwing away food. I feel this is a compensation for what I have done with the lunch becoz I could only finish max five or six spoons of this dinner and I started feeling full. Anyway, I go to this guy. He gets so conscious of my presence; he immediately jumps up from his sleep. I give him the food and all he says is “Please sir, Please sir.” I don’t understand. Can’t speak to him in Tamil as well, I hardly know the language. I ask him in whatever broken Tamil I know “Do you want it or not?” He is still saying “Please sir, Please sir.” I am so confused. With great difficulty and after almost five minutes of struggle I he is able to make me understand that he did not eat anything in the afternoon and instead of saying “thank you sir” all he knew in English was to say “Please sir” and that’s what he was saying. I give a smile and return.
I feel satisfied but bad too. The lunch that I wasted could have been somebody’s meal, could have been this guy’s meal. But, I am a little relieved too. Finally, I have helped someone at least.
A story ends and another begins.
On the way back, I go to the ATM which is again very close to my place. The ATM security guy whom I have seen for two or three months now, is sleeping right outside the ATM. The first thought I get is about the irresponsibility of these ATM security guys. More than half of the times, you will find them sleeping. It is drizzling or maybe raining a bit more. He is shrunk like a worm, his knees touching his chin. He reminds me of my cat Chucky who used to sleep in a similar manner. But there is a difference. Chucky had much more luxuries than a poor human can have, at least more than this security guard, who probably did not even have a bed/cot of his own, unlike Chucky, and was sleeping over some sheets of newspapers spread on the floor with nothing to cover him. I understand immediately that he is feeling cold. Might be sick or something. That’s how the weather makes you feel in Chennai when it rains. However, I didn’t bother too much, went in, withdrew the money, came out.
I have left from the ATM now, moved few steps ahead, but I am still thinking about the guy’s sickness, thinking if I should stop by and check. And finally, I do. I wait, step back. Go to him. Go close to him, observe him for few seconds. I am scared too. Really scared. What if he is dead or something? Anyway, I gather up the courage and call him, “Anna (brother), Anna”, “Enna ayechch (what happened)?” “Have you got fever?” His body moves a little giving a sign that he is alive. He struggles to get up. And when he actually does, it is so bad a scene to watch. I find his eyes blood red, tears pouring down. Which makes it very clear that he has fever. A very very high one. He nods confirming that he has.
His nod has made me restless. I can’t just leave him like that. I need to do something. I ask him if he has a bed sheet to cover himself. He says he doesn’t. I tell him to wait for five minutes. I decide to give him the bed cover I am using. But I am still in confusion. Should I give him the one that I am using? How will I manage then? I’ll run out of one bed sheet. Quietly, somebody tells me within. “C’mon. It’s just a bed sheet. You have got some extras and even if you haven’t you are capable enough to buy some.” I agree. It makes me confident of my decision. I am in the house now, getting a pack of cake which was there in my room brought by Ashok (friend), a pill of paracetamol and the bed sheet, of course. I have left my cell phone and wallet in the house. Don't feel the need of carrying it, as the ATM is at less than half-a-minute distance from my house. I go to him, hand over the bed sheet and ask if he has had anything for dinner. He says he hasn’t. A stroke in my heart again. I think to myself, “Gosh, so much of food did I waste in the afternoon. It could have been two people’s meals.” The guilt is just eating me down. I ask him to wait for another five minutes, but I know the wait is going to be longer, he might lose hope of me going back to him again.
I have walked quite a few metres or probably more than a kilometre for all this now, and it is irritating me. I am thinking to myself, “Why did I have to bother so much?” But the guilt is more painful than the irritation. I keep walking towards my house.
I am in the room once again, getting my wallet. I start for the only possibly open eatery close to my place but quite opposite and far to this ATM. I walk walk and walk and finally reach. I am in the shop now, hesitantly asking if there is anything left, it’s already 11:15 pm. They ask, “what do you want?” Phew... I tell them to pack two stuffed Aloo parathas...
...Luckily, I have got the parcel in my hand within just ten minutes which is never the case usually. I walk, in fact run with it. I don’t want the guy to lose hope with this. I want to shout out, right from here, “Brother, I have got you food. Don’t worry.” These thoughts... They make me increase my pace more.
Finally, I am there, at the ATM. The guy is sleeping. I call him and he jumps up just like the guy on the footpath. He is staring at me, his hands joined, tears flowing down his thick cheeks. I tell him to eat it soon and then have the medicine that I have given. He is staring at me now, right into my eyes with his tearful eyes. It’s a killing stare. I don’t know what he is trying to say with that look but I am scared, I am feeling so so guilty. His stare is making me feel as if I stole his food, as if I stole so many people’s food. But I know he doesn’t mean that. I know what his silent eyes are trying to say.
I walk back, back to my place. I reach my place in another few minutes. The first thing I do is switch on my laptop and write about it.
I am thru with writing this in another ten minutes. And while writing, the only thought that lingers in my mind is that all this is about food, food and FOOD.
This incident has made my views stronger on wastage of food and hence this appeal to all you angel people.
“I don’t ask anyone to stop eating their 100, 150, 200-700 rupee burgers and junks. The only request I have is to give a little thought to this incident. Next time you want to throw that food away, just ask for a simple polythene bag, paper bag, insulated bag, or just a newspaper. Wrap it up and give it to somebody... PACK THAT UP... I assure, you’ll definitely find someone. Your leftover can be somebody’s breakfast, lunch or dinner.”
I am writing this with some thoughts striking my mind – should I share it with everyone? And I decide at the end that I have to share it. It makes me feel happy; it makes me feel that I am over with that guilt. Glad that I could help those two. I feel so satisfied. Really happy.
And now when I have shared it with you, my joy has gotten ten times more than it actually was only ‘coz I know that if not all, at least 5% of you will definitely think of packing your food before throwing it.
Spread the smile... :)
