What is to give light,
Must endure burning
Dr. Victor Frank
We are made up of stories from our life, both real and imaginary. Tiny tiny stories come together to make us.
This is one such story from my life which gave me a rather weird behavioral trait, which is not sharing food. Or share food with only really close friends and family.
I love food. I grew up eating a lot of different styles of food. My father used to run a very small canteen(eatery), and he is a good cook. My mother worked in a sport club. she was a sweeper but this did not stop her from learning new dishes from (around the world) sports clubs’ kitchen. Both of them cooked at home. My elder brother was also a very good cook. All this gave my taste pallets a very rich environment to grow.
Till 7th standard I was studying in Kannada medium aided government school. A school for children of a lower socio-economic status. Naturally, all of us were more or less from the same financial background. Most of the children who were studying with me were from rural karnataka and were staying in government hostels.
whenever we(family) cooked something special, My Amma used to pack box and would tell me to share it with everyone.
I loved doing it. We all used to sit together during lunch break. We used to get our rice and dal from our mid day meal program(free lunch program by the government in the school) and box with dish was kept in middle. There used to be a lot of laughing, talking.
Heavy anticipation and drama would fill air as I open the box. Once the box opened we used to sit and look at it. Some would sniff the box and say “smells amazing”” never seen anything like this”.
Before we would start eating from the box we would pray for my mum and everyone, I don’t remember exactly who started that but we did it.
After the food I used to feel blessed. My friends would come and shake my hand and talk and I could see love and gratitude in their eyes.
To date, my school friends remember those days of sharing of incredible tasty food. 🙂
My mum foreseeing the future wanted both of her children to go to an English medium school. Hence, for 8th standard we switched to English medium. The switch was difficult for me. From being one of the smartest of the class to average, from being popular to not so much. I also struggle to make friends. I missed my old school, friends.
One day my mum made chicken kebab and she gave me a box full of kebab to share it with my new friends from the new school. I was so happy and excited. “There is nothing in this world which could stop me from being with everyone” I thought.
When the bell rang for lunch break. I went and sat with a group of fellow classmates. I opened the box and said “Hi, I have something for you all”. I kept the box right in middle of the group. They all froze. I was so proud and happy.
This One of the kid stands up, took my box filled with kebab and love and then he just screamed “cheeeee!! this stinks so bad”. Everything froze. I stopped moving. I turned into nothing and I could hear myself crumbling cell by cell. They all screamed. After the first a few words, I could not hear the rest. I felt broken and numb.
That day I did smell of burnt hopes, and lack of appriciation for MY food.
That day I also realised that the value of things changes from person to person. Food example means different to a person who is hungry and who is full.
On my way back home I could hear “chee. Stinks” over and over again. I could never comprehend the disgust associated with food. I mean we are lucky to have full stomach. Millions of people do not eat their fill and many thousands die. With this grew anger and decision of not to share food and get humiliated.
That day the box not only had those tasty kebabs but a lot of hope for the better. I did not share this story with Amma, I ate all the kebabs and told Amma that “they went crazy. they loved it and they have never had something like that”. Amma smiled.
That incident left a scar on me and changed me forever. Everything has a story behind it. I feel its important to know our own stories. To deal with these unresolved issues, to forget and to forgive. I have realized that Life is too precious to waste it on the unpleasant event 16 years ago. Hence this realization will go on my memory slate.
