There are some people who really enjoy their meal. While a person like me would finish a meal eating with military precision, there are some people who take their own time. However, I had also, some times, enjoyed a meal like the ones we would have after a long route march, sitting under the shade of tree or bush and having a pack lunch of parathas, pickle and onions or only shakarparas and water during war times.

As a seasoned infantry soldier, I believed in ensuring that I always had with me my weapon, ammunition and food with adequate reserve of hard scale rations. On one occasion, we were required to carry our pack meals for three days. When I opened my packed meal on the first day, I found the subaltern with me, trying to shy away from me. When questioned, he pulled a long face and confessed that he had forgotten to pick up his pack meals from the base before leaving for the training exercise. I reminded him of the age-old saying that the "infantry marches on its stomach" and shared my meal with him for the remaining duration of the training.

Once I had the occasion to share a a meal with the rural folk. Posted near a village called Chokla on the Burma border, I was invited for a meal by local Pastor/Master. While we sat down for the meal, he introduced me to his neighbour, an old man, who looked as if he had indulged in cannibalism
once upon a time. I was taken aback and wondered if he was considereing me as a special dish for his next meal. Not taking any chance, I quickly changed my place with my Subedar Sahib.

During the operations of 1971, pangs of hunger overtook me and my colleague. Sitting on sandy dues, we watched some local fowls roaming around a cluster of huts. Without waiting for second thoughts, my collegue rushed and physically caught a few. However, the problem of cooking remained as there was no water to spare. Not to be outdone, he quickly lit a fire and roasted the whole chicken. In no time, he brought out a fully blackened chicken. Amidst the sands of the desert, the meal was far greater than what I would have enjoyed in a five star hotel.

A meal which I have never forgotten was the one which I had with a
stranger. After the ceasefire took place in 1965, I was returning to my unit in Khemkaran after a short leave. While travelling by train to Patti, next to Amritsar, I got in conversation with a young man, who insisted me to have a meal with him once we reached Patti. As I had to wait for my vehicle and since it was already late in the night, I agreed. In the darkness, he took me to a narrow lane and up the stairs to two small rooms. The door which he knocked was opened by his sister. He whispered instructions for a meal for both of us. The young girl grumbled and gave vent to her feelings. The young man was quiet and did not react.

The meal was served in a thali. It was a simple meal with nothing extra which made it obvious that it was all they had. We ate in silence with limited conversation. All along, I felt guilty of having consumed a meal meant for both brother and sister. I did not want to disregard the offer made by the young man as it might hurt his feelings nor did I want to leave in between. Offering money would have caused him more hurt. I left hurriedly with guilty feelings.