The lunch box

The classroom was getting restless in the last few minutes before the much-awaited lunch break. The teacher could feel the students shift in attention. She banged the duster twice on the desk to bring back the focus of the students to whatever she was saying. The students were immediately alerted only to hear the next lunch bell; the harbinger of their joy.


This was the usual scene every day during the fourth period of my school. We couldn’t have waited to open our lunch boxes, much less to see what other students have brought.


The lunch break used to commence as usual- with everyone opening their boxes and trying to eat what they can before going for a hunt to others’ tables. But that day was a bit unusual. The introvert Naveen was sitting idle with his tiffin box lay in front of him. We all had waited for him to open so that we could jump on it. He was one of those rare students who picked from other people. His innocence was often mistaken as his stupidity as is always the human nature to substitute any virtue with naiveté.


We were busy wondering why he wasn’t opening his box. It was then he grabbed it and made a move towards the door. He wanted to eat alone that day. There had to be something special, we thought. We began calling him from behind. He didn’t respond and continued walking. We started following him, he paced up. We realised he was avoiding us. There is something special, we were assured. We doubled our pace. Being not the fastest runner, he was finally outrun and caught.


He begged not to snatch his lunch. We were in no state to negotiate. He threatened to complain. We were in no mood to listen. One of us snatched his box and tried opening it. Naveen protested and tried getting his box back. In the strife, the box broke open, and the entire content fell out, resulting in no one getting anything. Naveen broke down in tears shouting and blaming us. His wail was loud enough to get teachers’ attention. Two of them came out running towards the commotion. They hurried towards the crying fourth standard boy. Learning on what happened, they took him inside the staff room. Before leaving, one of them gave an angry look. We knew we were up for some severe punishment.


But sir had something else in store for us. After the school got over, he took us to the nearby slum. He showed us the way children live there. They merely had anything to eat. And we waste food without thinking. We were all very silent. Coming back home only one thought haunted me. What if I had to live that way? Why can’t they live like me?


As a child, I was never able to answer these then. That day didn’t just make me feel how fortunate we were or that we shouldn’t waste food like that. It opened my eyes towards another India. I wanted to do something for them.


Often we take what we have for granted not realising how it affects others around us. We need to understand that this world is for everyone and everyone is liable to the same respect we think we deserve. It is my urge to everyone to understand, appreciate and respect what we have.


This incident inspired me in ways more than one. My story ‘The Bottle’ in my upcoming book is one such story dedicated to those marginalised children around the country.