While eating, I had become aware of a certain melancholy in me. Never before had I cherished a meal as much as I did this one. I had always been a picky eater, and perhaps I had taken the availability of good food for granted. I used to think that life had a grand purpose for me, and was confident that there was nothing I couldn’t attain. I believed I knew better than most people. If truth be told, I had thought I was special. What had I been reduced to? Here I was, sitting on the floor in a queue, having consumed my food, eagerly awaiting my second mango. I may have fancied myself as a monk
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