Breakfast. The first absolutely vital thing i think about as i awake. The fragrance of the cinnamon jam, the sizzle of the eggs, the scrumptious brown of the buttery scones. A great breakfast inside of me, and no task is daunting, or humdrum. Cup of tea in hand, senses organised the rest of the day begins.
As i stride around the corner of the street, intent on my morning walk, i see them. A motley crowd divided into men, women and children, the children heading the line. Ragged beggars all, including the old and ailing and differently abled, they sit patiently, their hunger almost palpable, as they devour, with their eyes, the food being cooked in front of them. There is a sense of urgency about them. Sitting on their haunches, they resemble a group of runners ready to take off from the blocks as soon as the whistle sounds. Which it does. The man blowing it has a staff in his hands, with which he herds the first five or ten in line inside the eatery. This is the 'bhatiyar khana', the hotel run by cooks, that cooks for the poorest of the poor, churning out a basic meal of flattened bread, or roti, and a gravy, day after day, meal after meal. Of course it was dependent on the charity of passers by, the affluent devout or the charitable who gave money to feed one or ten as their means permitted.
Even the most hardened of hearts would be touched, seeing the small girl, her precious packet clutched to her chest, as she runs with it to her grandmother, sitting under the flyover. Oblivious to everything else around them, they eat, carefully sharing the meal between them, with the grandmother pretending to be quite full, after a few morsels. She watches fondly, as the child then hungrily devours her portion of the roti. There are many such homeless and hungry, the shadowy have- nots that live homeless on the streets, surviving on the charity of the haves.
As i wait with my child for the school bus to arrive, i notice a small sleepy little boy, sitting in his car, waiting for the driver to come. His mother sits beside him, a sandwich in her hand, coaxing him to eat. After much wheedling, and threatening by turns she manages to feed him half the sandwich, the other half of which, he knocks out of her hand with irritation. As the car moves off, the little two year old who had been watching hungrily, from the pavement half crawls, half walks towards it, and snatches it up, stuffing it into his mouth right away.
That afternoon, i am at a five star hotel, meeting a beloved nephew, who is in the city for work. As we have tea, i cant help seeing the extensive spread laid out for the afternoon buffet. The kids at the next table, are uninhibited, as kids are wont to be. Plates groaning with food, they hurry from table to table, piling on food, which is pecked at, then discarded and discreetly cleared by the hovering attendants. The desserts counter stretches, from one end to the other of the long hall. Having done justice to the varieties of cakes and ice creams, replete, they shuffle from the restaurant, heading for their rooms. At four, the staff is busy winding up the meal. What, i wonder will be the fate of the 'leftovers' ?
The next day, as i walk briskly around that same corner, i stop short in amazement ! The crowd of beggars at the roadside eatery is huge, a mob, that is battling to get inside. What is even more amazing is the food laid out on the tables inside. It seems to me that the buffet of the five star, is laid out in the eatery, and the beggars were fighting to get in ! The din was unbelievable, the cops who have been called in to control the mob, are themselves gorging on the food, their duties forgotten. I rub my eyes in disbelief. Am i dreaming ?
"Breakfast mom? You're late today, " admonishes my teen gently, rousing me from my sleep. You bet i was. Dreaming.
As i stride around the corner of the street, intent on my morning walk, i see them. A motley crowd divided into men, women and children, the children heading the line. Ragged beggars all, including the old and ailing and differently abled, they sit patiently, their hunger almost palpable, as they devour, with their eyes, the food being cooked in front of them. There is a sense of urgency about them. Sitting on their haunches, they resemble a group of runners ready to take off from the blocks as soon as the whistle sounds. Which it does. The man blowing it has a staff in his hands, with which he herds the first five or ten in line inside the eatery. This is the 'bhatiyar khana', the hotel run by cooks, that cooks for the poorest of the poor, churning out a basic meal of flattened bread, or roti, and a gravy, day after day, meal after meal. Of course it was dependent on the charity of passers by, the affluent devout or the charitable who gave money to feed one or ten as their means permitted.
Even the most hardened of hearts would be touched, seeing the small girl, her precious packet clutched to her chest, as she runs with it to her grandmother, sitting under the flyover. Oblivious to everything else around them, they eat, carefully sharing the meal between them, with the grandmother pretending to be quite full, after a few morsels. She watches fondly, as the child then hungrily devours her portion of the roti. There are many such homeless and hungry, the shadowy have- nots that live homeless on the streets, surviving on the charity of the haves.
As i wait with my child for the school bus to arrive, i notice a small sleepy little boy, sitting in his car, waiting for the driver to come. His mother sits beside him, a sandwich in her hand, coaxing him to eat. After much wheedling, and threatening by turns she manages to feed him half the sandwich, the other half of which, he knocks out of her hand with irritation. As the car moves off, the little two year old who had been watching hungrily, from the pavement half crawls, half walks towards it, and snatches it up, stuffing it into his mouth right away.
That afternoon, i am at a five star hotel, meeting a beloved nephew, who is in the city for work. As we have tea, i cant help seeing the extensive spread laid out for the afternoon buffet. The kids at the next table, are uninhibited, as kids are wont to be. Plates groaning with food, they hurry from table to table, piling on food, which is pecked at, then discarded and discreetly cleared by the hovering attendants. The desserts counter stretches, from one end to the other of the long hall. Having done justice to the varieties of cakes and ice creams, replete, they shuffle from the restaurant, heading for their rooms. At four, the staff is busy winding up the meal. What, i wonder will be the fate of the 'leftovers' ?
The next day, as i walk briskly around that same corner, i stop short in amazement ! The crowd of beggars at the roadside eatery is huge, a mob, that is battling to get inside. What is even more amazing is the food laid out on the tables inside. It seems to me that the buffet of the five star, is laid out in the eatery, and the beggars were fighting to get in ! The din was unbelievable, the cops who have been called in to control the mob, are themselves gorging on the food, their duties forgotten. I rub my eyes in disbelief. Am i dreaming ?
"Breakfast mom? You're late today, " admonishes my teen gently, rousing me from my sleep. You bet i was. Dreaming.
cant run away from reality, can you?! Thanks for the mention, beloved Maasi! delighted to meet you!
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