Have We Ever Felt Something Like This Before?

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Just Another 3 A.M.

It was around 3 a.m., and I hadn’t slept. Work had kept me awake, lost in discussions and deadlines. Somewhere in between, a quiet hunger crept in. So I went out with a friend, hoping to find something to eat. A little distance away, we noticed a long queue. Unusually long. People were waiting patiently for what everyone around called the special biryani. The sound of metal hitting the large biryani pot, the aroma in the air, and the quiet excitement of the crowd made it hard to ignore.

It was Ramzan morning. The final day of fasting had just ended, and there was a subtle sense of celebration. The smell of the food made standing there feel worth it.

Hunger for Biryani , Fed by Kindness

When my turn finally came, I ordered two parcels and scanned the QR code to pay the amount, already tasting the biryani in my mind. A few seconds passed, and then the message appeared

“Your bank server is busy, try again later.”

We tried again, hoping it would go through, but the same message stared back at us. The man serving shouted for us to hurry, “Sir, please move, so many people are waiting.”

In that moment, the world felt rushed, impatient, and indifferent, as if money alone decided whether I deserved a meal or not. I stepped away in disappointment.

On the way home, we stopped at a small buttermilk shop we often visit. Anna looked at us and smiled, the kind of smile that feels like home, and asked how many.

“Anna, two,” I said, but hesitated as I explained that my bank server wasn’t working and I couldn’t pay right now. Without a second thought, he said,

“Brother, I’ve known you for a long time, we share a good bond. I don’t need money now. Just have it, you can pay later.”

In that quiet moment, it didn’t feel like I had missed biryani, it felt like I had received something far more filling, kindness.

A Story Shared, A Bond Felt

The next day, when my uncle’s family visited us to invite us to a wedding, I casually shared what had happened the previous night. It turned into a moment of laughter, something small yet something we all felt connected to. After a while, they left, and the day moved on like any other.

Later that afternoon, as I stepped out for lunch and waited for my order, my phone rang. It was my uncle. He insisted on sending me money, saying he wanted me to finally have the biryani I had missed the night before. I told him everything was fine now, that I was already at a restaurant, but he wouldn’t listen. So I told him I’d just join them instead since I was nearby.

We met at a biryani place and shared a meal together, simple mutton biryani, a few sides, and easy conversation. But in that moment, it wasn’t just about the food, it was about being cared for, about showing up for each other, and that made the meal feel complete.

A Familiar Hunger

A few hours later, I was on my way back home when an elderly man stopped me. He asked if I could drop him at a nearby bus stop. I agreed.

As we rode, he spoke quietly. He hadn’t eaten since morning. He had been searching for something affordable but couldn’t find anything within his reach. The heat, the wait, and the hunger had worn him down.

In that moment, I saw myself from the previous night. The same hunger. The same waiting.

Not just a Meal

I dropped him at the bus stop and gently asked if he would like something to eat. He nodded. There was no hesitation, just a quiet acceptance. In his eyes, I could clearly see hunger, not just for food, but for a moment of care.

As he ate, I watched a subtle transformation. It wasn’t just his hunger being satisfied; it was a sense of relief settling into him, like something heavy had been lifted. Before he finished, I gently said,

“Once you’re done, please put the trash in the dustbin.”

He nodded again, this time with a quiet sense of dignity.

When he finished, he thanked me with deep sincerity and offered his blessings. Then, to my surprise, he tried to bend down to touch my feet as a gesture of gratitude. I quickly stopped him. “Please don’t,”

I said softly. “You remind me of my father… don’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

He looked at me and said, “I am 70 years old,” smiling gently, with just a single tooth left in front, the rest gone with age.

I smiled and replied,
“Then think of me as your grandson… just doing his duty to take care of his grandfather.”

He felt emotional. He left slowly, but the moment stayed. That day, I understood something I hadn’t fully felt before. Hunger doesn’t always end with food. Sometimes, it awakens a deeper purpose, one that goes beyond our own needs. What I missed the previous night came back to me in a different way, not as a meal, but as a reminder that the smallest act of giving can quietly turn an ordinary day into something meaningful.

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