It was around 7:30 in the morning. I dropped my mother at the entrance of a hospital and drove to the next road to park my car. As I got out of the car, I noticed a pile of garbage about five feet from where I stood. A man, probably in his forties, was seated in the centre of that pile. His clothes looked ragged and dirty, even torn at places. He was separating plastic from the garbage and putting it into a bag. As I was turning away, he did something that made me stop. He had opened a plastic box, in which were some fried puffs that looked like Cheetos, and immediately put them into his mouth.
I stood there looking at him. I remember a feeling spreading within, which I can’t describe exactly. I immediately called out to him and said, “Down the road to the left, there is a small restaurant. Do you know the place?”
“Yes I do,” he said softly, nodding a couple of times.
I gave him some money and told him, “Please get yourself a nice hot breakfast.”
Before leaving, I smiled and gesturing, I said, “Hot breakfast,” and walked away.
That man taught me that a hot meal is a privilege. I felt I should’ve brought him that meal myself. Next time! 😊
(The picture accompanying this post is copyright free and is credited to Shivam Tyagi).