Aparna was a close friend of mine—not a so-called best friend, but a good one. Back then, we were probably in eighth grade.
We lived in nearby areas. Her flat was much closer to our school compared to my house. However, I had never seen Aparna go to school without taking a rickshaw.
She used to waste a lot of money and even food. During tiffin time, she would gather with a group of friends, and she would cover a significant portion of their expenses.
One day, during tiffin, I saw her sitting with quite a few egg chops. Even after sharing some with her friends, she threw away two or three broken chops into the dustbin.
At that time, I had finished my tiffin, which I had brought from home—rice and fried egg—and was returning to class. Seeing what she did, I approached her and asked, “Hey Aparna, why did you throw away the food? Even if you didn’t want to eat it now, you could have eaten it later.”
She responded arrogantly, “No, I don’t have the habit of eating broken and crushed chops. Besides, I already feel full. Forget it.”
That day, I simply told Aparna, “Food is a blessing. Never disrespect it.”
From that day on, for some reason, Aparna couldn’t stand me anymore. Even though I never fit into her social status, we had a good relationship because we were in the same category of students. But back then, neither of us was particularly mature.
Starting from ninth grade, we ended up in different friend groups. Even though we saw each other at school, she never really spoke to me again, nor did I, because that day, she had humiliated me in front of the entire class.
A long time passed, and when it was time for university admissions, I saw that Aparna had enrolled in my department at the very last moment. By then, classes had already started.
On the first day, after class, we were taking the bus home together. Suddenly, Aparna said, “Can I tell you something?”
I replied, “Yes, of course.”
She sighed deeply and said, “Do you know why I enrolled so late?”
“Why?”
“Because my father couldn’t afford the admission fee.”
I asked, “Why?”
Then, Aparna started sharing the unexpected reality of her life.
Their flat was about to be sold. Her father’s business had been struggling since last year. A huge amount of money was stuck in the market, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever recover it. Now, even arranging three meals a day had become a challenge for her father.
Hearing this, I felt a deep, indescribable sorrow within me.
As we got off the bus, Aparna said, “Food truly is a blessing. Our entire family has always disrespected it. Pray that if I ever get the chance in life, I will honor this blessing.”
And yet, this was the same girl who once called me “cheap” just because I protested against food wastage.
