- 7am Breakfast: one banana, 4 scoops of plain yogurt, and 1 slice of multigrain toast with peanut butter and mango jam (7am)
- 10am Homemade Chai Tea courtesy of Jagir-peya (peya means brother)
- 1pm Lunch: approximately four spoons of white rice, three spoons of beans, and a few potato slices
As I began thinking about the rumble in my tummy, I remembered an experience I had yesterday while visiting Maitrigram (a center that offers vocational training and empowerment programs to women living in the slums). In route to the center, we passed Som Vihar. “Hey, there’s our place!” I exclaimed. We didn't travel much further before I realized that a slum was located a few blocks from the apartment. With poverty and struggle as my neighbors, I couldn't help but feel undeserving of my unearned privilege. I eat at the table, and my neighbors, well, if they eat at all, they do so on the dusty floor.
My thought was interrupted as I felt a jerk from turning right into the neighborhood. Immediately, my eyes were overwhelmed by he sight of people who lined both sides of the street-- as people would at a wedding expecting the bride and groom to come out of the
church, except here, the people, would expect nothing but traffic. Women, men, and children crowded underneath the shading of trees and under tarps to soften the rigidity of the sun. Many used newspaper as mats and beds. A few feet from an abandoned security post, we pulled onto the unpaved walkway which at that moment became our parking lot. Exiting the car, I saw a little boy, around age 5, who was running up and down a narrow walkway between slum homes holding a short stick to which he had attached a small, white plastic bag. As he picked up speed, the bag would inflate the way an air balloon would in preparation for flight... this was his toy. We walked straight onto the walkway where the boy was. 
We were surrounded by homes as tall as myself with tarps and metal sheets as roofing and curtains as doors. Some were painted blue and others were the color of cement. Down an intersecting walkway came an 8 year old boy who was riding an old tricycle with flat tires. Moments later he was joined by a shoeless little girl, of age 3 or 4, who came out from behind a curtain in an off-pink dress. Despite her "boy cut" hair, she had enough hair to wear a little pony tail that spread like a palm tree over her head. I followed her with my eyes as she traversed a puddle of dirty water with her bare feet. A wave of curious children fell upon us wondering what we were doing.“Let’s go!” Said Mr. Jolly-Sir. “We are having problems with the lock, but we will come again, soon!” We didn't get a chance to see Maitrigram or to play with the children, but I hope we will on our next trip.
In walking back to the car, I witnessed of a group of people filling buckets and bottles with water of the color green that was emerging from a street well (for lack of better terms- it was just a hole in the street). I wondered “Is that for drinking?”
Recalling this experience, made my hunger feel so trivial considering that it was not related to food insecurity (lack of access), as many experience in India and around the globe. All of a sudden eating every two hours as I accustomed felt snobby and inappropriate. It struck me that for some of us thinness and weigh loss are a conscious choice or genetic trait, while for others it’s an imposed and undesired state. In counting my blessings, my Abuelita Lupe’s voice replays in my head reminding me to be grateful for everything I have, for the meals that I have not deserved or needed, and to remember the hungry when I am being wasteful.
It was humbling to feel hungry. I am blessed to have the income to purchase the food that I need and it was so painful to think that others cannot do the same when their tummies start to rumble.
I apologize for the disorganized writing. As of now, my chubbies, heart, and mind are having a conference on hunger.... more to come.
