Even the doctors come next to God but one thing that’s equivalent to almighty is Food. And it is worshiped since time immemorial. Like many others I was taught never to touch Food, Money and Books/pens/pencils ever with feet because they deserve the highest levels of respect. Money and knowledge in turn helps to satiate one’s need for food. Animals other than humans have different strategies for arranging food. Bottomline: Food is God.
I still get my share of scolding whenever I tend to waste even a single grain of food. I am trained in such a way that not a single grain of rice falls off my plate. Incase there is any, I collect and keep them in the bird-feed. While in restaurants I never over-order but if there ever arises a situation that I am unable to finish it all, I never shy away from asking the staffs to pack the left-over food. Most of the times it is a chapatti or two and I believe rather than throwing them up why not to give it to someone needy.
Just few days back my father was so overwhelmed by a man’s action on street that he never fails to tell it to us whenever possible. I can clearly see the element of pride in his eyes. The pride of witnessing something/someone to which/whom he has relentlessly given his biggest chunk of respect. It might be nothing great, not even notice-worthy to many but to him it was which he passed on to me too.
One ordinary morning it was. The day was taking its pace slowly. In the hustle-n-bustle of everyday work how many times do we notice the beauty around? I do but the frequency graph has surely taken a sinking path and it’s high time I revive myself up. Coming back to the topic, on that morning while my father was all set to leave for work, he saw that Man. So much mediocre he was in looks and appearance that he had blended himself perfectly with the ordinariness of the stuffs around. Men walk fast taking long steps. Every once in a while we women have to run to catch hold of them. And once we do we never fail to ask them with an irritated tone to walk slowly. He was walking with no different gait. My dad was all set to ride away when he saw him at halt. He saw him picking up a piece of roti lying in the middle of the road. Laden with dust and dirt. Stepped over by countless humans and animals. He touched the chapatti to his forehead with utmost respect and kissed it with indelible love. He moved back towards the entrance of my house where lies a slate of kota stone over which there is a clay saucer. He kept the chapatti on it and after paying one last homage went ahead towards his journey. Li’l knowing how he has changed that ordinary day of my dad’s to something extra-ordinarily momentous.
I still get my share of scolding whenever I tend to waste even a single grain of food. I am trained in such a way that not a single grain of rice falls off my plate. Incase there is any, I collect and keep them in the bird-feed. While in restaurants I never over-order but if there ever arises a situation that I am unable to finish it all, I never shy away from asking the staffs to pack the left-over food. Most of the times it is a chapatti or two and I believe rather than throwing them up why not to give it to someone needy.
Just few days back my father was so overwhelmed by a man’s action on street that he never fails to tell it to us whenever possible. I can clearly see the element of pride in his eyes. The pride of witnessing something/someone to which/whom he has relentlessly given his biggest chunk of respect. It might be nothing great, not even notice-worthy to many but to him it was which he passed on to me too.
One ordinary morning it was. The day was taking its pace slowly. In the hustle-n-bustle of everyday work how many times do we notice the beauty around? I do but the frequency graph has surely taken a sinking path and it’s high time I revive myself up. Coming back to the topic, on that morning while my father was all set to leave for work, he saw that Man. So much mediocre he was in looks and appearance that he had blended himself perfectly with the ordinariness of the stuffs around. Men walk fast taking long steps. Every once in a while we women have to run to catch hold of them. And once we do we never fail to ask them with an irritated tone to walk slowly. He was walking with no different gait. My dad was all set to ride away when he saw him at halt. He saw him picking up a piece of roti lying in the middle of the road. Laden with dust and dirt. Stepped over by countless humans and animals. He touched the chapatti to his forehead with utmost respect and kissed it with indelible love. He moved back towards the entrance of my house where lies a slate of kota stone over which there is a clay saucer. He kept the chapatti on it and after paying one last homage went ahead towards his journey. Li’l knowing how he has changed that ordinary day of my dad’s to something extra-ordinarily momentous.
