A passenger once asked me to join him for dinner. He offered to pay for my food as well. I politely declined and asked him to give me money instead, so I could buy something to eat on the way home and share it with my son. The customer immediately teared up and told me, “I have never thought of sharing food with my children ever — I finish work, eat outside if I want to and go home.” All I could do was smile listening to him. Maybe his parents raised him differently, but I learnt the value of food and sharing the hard way. I began working at the age of seven because my parents didn’t have money to run the household and look after my three siblings and me. 

We could afford to boil only one cup of ration rice a day for all of us so I wouldn’t eat breakfast or lunch. On some days at my workplace, the boss would ask me to buy 10 idlis — if he ate eight and two remained, I would finish the leftovers and that would be my meal for the day. After returning home, at times rats would be feeding on the cooked rice, so I would clean the top layer and divide it equally between the six of us. I don’t ever want my children to face a situation like this. I will work as hard as I can to ensure they eat three meals a day.