I woke up to the harsh sunlight piercing through the cracks in the metal walls of my makeshift home, a shipping container I've called my own for the past decade. My name is Ram, and at 65, the years of hardship have etched deep lines into my weathered face, a testament to the life I've led on the unforgiving streets of Mumbai. I've made my bed in this confined space, surrounded by my meagre possessions and the whispers of the city's chaos outside. As I stretch my aching limbs and prepare to face another day of begging, I hear the distant rumble of an engine and the squeal of tires. A flash of hope crosses my mind as I recognize the sound of the college girl's car.

She's become a regular in my lonely world, her kind eyes and warm smile a beacon of light in my otherwise bleak existence. As I emerge from the shadows of my container, I spot her car pulling over, and she waves at me with a gentle smile. I shuffle closer, my heart beating a little faster with the excitement of an unexpected friendship. "Namaste, Uncle," she says, her voice as sweet as the jalebis she sometimes shares with you. "I've brought you some fresh food today." Her name is Anjali, and though our paths couldn't be more different, I've found solace in the unlikeliest of companions.

I was confused as no person did such gesture towards me all these years.

Anjali notices my confusion but misinterprets it as disbelief. She quickly reassures me.

"It's okay, Uncle. I see you here every day, and I just wanted to help. It's not much, just some leftovers from my canteen. Please, take it."

She opens her car window wider and hands me a neatly packed meal wrapped in newspaper. The smell of freshly cooked rice and dal fills the air, making my stomach rumble with hunger. A passerby glances at the interaction with a mix of pity and curiosity.

I graciously accept the food from Anjali with a smile that reaches the depths of my soul. Her eyes light up with joy, seeing your appreciation. She nods, her expression a mix of kindness and understanding. As I reach into the pocket of my tattered shawl, I pull out a small, polished stone that I found on the beach a few months ago. It's the most valuable item I possess, not because of its monetary worth, but because it reminds me of my childhood home, which is now just a distant memory. I offer it to Anjali, hoping it will convey the depth of my gratitude. She looks at the stone with curiosity and then back at me, her expression one of surprise and warmth. "Thank you, Uncle. This is... very special," she says, carefully placing the stone in her pocket. I nod, feeling a sense of peace knowing that she values my gesture. The passerby's gaze lingers on the two of us before they continue on their way, the scene leaving an imprint of human connection amidst the city's chaos.

I conveyed my thanks, and as I see passerby are looking which made me feel uncomfortable and more importantly not to anjali. I decided to walk past her car. So she could silently continue her travel wherever she is going.

I walk past Anjali's car, the aroma of the fresh food in your hand mixing with the smells of diesel and dust from the street. She calls out to me, her voice gentle but concerned.

"Uncle, are you sure you're okay?"

I wave back, not turning to face her, and mumble a quick,

"I'm fine," hoping to alleviate any discomfort she might feel from the onlookers.

She nods, understanding, and me, both continue on our separate paths. The eyes of the passersby linger for a moment before returning to their own concerns, the brief moment of shared humanity forgotten amidst the hustle of the city.

As I walk, the weight of her gesture sits heavily on your heart, a silent reminder of the kindness I've found in such unlikely circumstances.

As she moved with her car, I looked behind myself and wondered what had happened now. I never had such an experience of someone giving me food in such a well-mannered way.

As I watch Anjali's car disappear into the cacophony of Mumbai's traffic, I find myself standing alone again, the food she gave me feeling heavier than usual. The encounter has left an indelible mark on my psyche. I look down at the meal in my hand, the newspaper wrapping a stark contrast to the shabby clothes I wear. The act of kindness seems to echo through the alleyways, reminding me of the stark divide between my world and hers. I notice a nearby bench worn by the city's harsh embrace but offering a brief respite from the relentless concrete jungle. I decide to sit and eat, the clank of my metal plate against the bench a lonely serenade in the symphony of the street.

I settle onto the bench and eagerly unwrap the food Anjali has given me. The aroma of the rice and dal fills the immediate area, making my stomach rumble with anticipation. I dig into the meal, the flavours exploding in my mouth with each bite. The taste is exquisite, a stark contrast to the stale and often spoiled food I usually find in the garbage. Each mouthful is a revelation, a reminder of the simple pleasure that a good meal can bring. I eat quickly, savouring every bite, aware that the food is not just nourishment but a symbol of the connection I've formed with this kind-hearted stranger. As I finish, I notice a small note tucked into the newspaper. It reads, "I hope this makes your day a little brighter. Looking forward to seeing you again, Anjali." The sight of her neat handwriting and the thought behind her words brings a warmth to my chest.

Her words made my heart filled with happiness because of kindness she showered to me. I was confused at the same time thinking how could a beautiful young girl could provide such kindness to a person like me. I felt sad that I may not see her again in my life as the life around this big city is very different and knowing to see same person again is such rare occurance to a person of my kind.

Days passed as they often do, a blur of begging, scavenging, and trying to find a safe spot to rest my weary bones at night. I saw no sign of Anjali's car, and the note i cherished grew more worn with every passing day. The world's indifferent rhythm didn't miss a beat. The kindness she had shown me a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of the city's life. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed within me. Each day felt a little less lonely, as if her gesture had left an invisible thread connecting me to the world outside my shipping container. I found myself looking up more often, searching for the blue sedan that had become a symbol of hope amidst the endless stream of vehicles.

On the fifth day, as I sat in my usual spot, a shadow fell across my outstretched hand. I looked up, and there she was, her eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth.

"Namaste, Uncle," she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

I felt a rush of joy, my heart fluttering like a caged bird released into the wild.

"Namaste," i greeted her, my voice a mix of surprise and relief.

She handed me another packet of food, this one smelling of spicy vegetables and fragrant rice.

"I've been looking for you," she confessed, a hint of concern in her voice. "I was worried when you weren't here the last few days."

I smiled and looked at her. She was so beautiful, a young, pretty girl with full eyes, kissable lips, with a roundness of amazing curves that highlighted the shape of her breast and buttocks.

Anjali blushes slightly at my observation, her eyes darting away for a moment before returning to meet mine. She's dressed in a beautiful, vibrant blue and gold saree that accentuates her youthful beauty. The fabric flows around her like a river of colour, and the way it drapes over her curves is indeed captivating. I see the corner of her mouth twitch upward, acknowledging my compliment without saying a word. She extends the food package towards me with both hands, as is the custom with gifts in her culture, and I accept it with a nod of my head, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at the gesture. The exchange is simple, yet it holds a profound significance in the unlikely friendship that's blossomed between us.

I smiled shyingly, knowing that she observed my observation of her beauty.

Anjali's cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink as she notices my shy smile, confirming that she's aware of my appreciation for her beauty. She seems both flattered and a tad embarrassed, her eyes flickering downward briefly before meeting me again. I take the food package she offers, feeling a gentle warmth from her touch.

"Thank you for giving me this nice food. I never had such tasty food before. You are a very kind girl. But you are taking a lot of trouble, " I said slowly said to her.

I saw her smiling and then she said to me. "Don't worry, uncle, it is not very big trouble for me. I am happy that you liked the food. "

I saw some passerby are looking at us, and I felt it would be nice to talk away from the prying eyes of so many people. So I just walked to another side, where there was a bench. I sat there and looked at her. I saw she was looking at me warmly with a smile.

I opened the food and tasted some enjoying the flavour that melted inside my mouth. I thankfully looked her again for giving me such wonderful food.

"Uncle, are you not having it now? Is the food not good enough?" She asked me.

"No dear, everything is good and food is lovely. It is that my kind don't get these types of tasty food very often. So I just wanted to keep some for later. "

I could see a little sadness on her face hearing my condition and struggle i face in my life.

"Dear, what is your name?" I asked her.

"Anjali," she replied.

"What are you doing? Anjali"

"I am doing my final year degree."

"What is your name? Uncle, " she asked me.

"Ram," i replied immediately.

Our conversation then moved to her family and her life. As conversations flowed thoroughly, I came to know that she was the elder daughter of a middle-class family. Her father is working as a doctor in a well-known and established hospital, whereas her mother is a teacher in a school. She has a sibling who is younger than her and is currently studying in school. She also told me that she is engaged.

I asked her, "How did you see me, and what made you give me food?"

Anjali pauses for a moment, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. She shares that she noticed me a few months ago while she was on her way to college. At first, it was just another face in the sea of humanity that she saw from her car window, but as she passed by my spot each day, she grew more aware of my plight. One day, she saw me picking at discarded food, and her heart was moved. She decided to bring me some extra food from her canteen the next time she saw me. Since then, she's made it a habit to check on me and offer what she can. Her kindness stemmed from the belief that everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and care, regardless of their circumstances.

"You are such a wonderful person, Anjali. Your parents should be very proud of you. " I thanked her again for everything she had done to me.

She looked at her watch and then said to me.

"Uncle, I need to go now. I can bring some food tomorrow again if you like. "

I smiled at her generosity and told her, "I would really love that."

She then smiled and left me saying bye.

After that, we both met together on different days as she would bring food for me. While I have the food, I would have a conversation with her, although most of the conversation is done her.

I ask her about her day, and she tells me about her college life and the stress of upcoming exams. Her words flow easily, and I find myself nodding along, sharing in her excitement and worries.

The meetings become a daily part of our lives, and I always thank her for bringing me food. It was really surprising to me that a girl of stature would even look at me, but she was bringing food to me everyday and will make sure that I eat the food while she talks with me about her daily life.

Despite the city's anonymity, we find solace in each other's company. Anjali's compassion leads her to seek me out, bringing food and engaging in meaningful conversations that highlight our mutual respect and shared humanity.

Anjali nods, acknowledging my gratitude. She seems genuinely pleased that her small act of kindness has made such an impact on my life. I continue to speak with her, learning more about her studies and her aspirations. She listens attentively as i share snippets of my own past, the memories of our village and family, before the harshness of the city swallowed me whole. A bond forms between us, a bridge over the chasm of our vastly different worlds. I notice that the people walking by cast less judgmental looks and more curious glances at the odd pair we make: the young, well-dressed college girl and the old, ragged beggar sharing stories and smiles.

As she brought food everyday, I felt compelled to reciprocate her generosity and ask if there's anything she needs help with, perhaps offering my assistance with a small task.

Anjali seems surprised by my offer to help, her eyes widening slightly. She takes a moment to consider before responding,

"Well, Uncle, I'm actually looking for a place to donate some old clothes. Do you know any charities or shelters nearby that could use them?"

I nod, remembering a local charity that sometimes provided me with blankets and clothes during the harsh monsoons. I tell her about the organization and I ask Anjali if she would like to visit the charity together, suggesting it might be a way for her to understand the lives of those less fortunate and possibly inspire her to do more for the community.

Anjali's eyes light up at my suggestion to visit the charity together. She nods enthusiastically and says,

"That's a wonderful idea, Uncle! It would be great to see firsthand how these organizations work."

She tells me she has a bag of clothes in her car she's been meaning to donate.

The two of us walk to her car, and she opens the trunk, revealing a neatly packed bag of clothes. We both get in, and she starts the engine. The car weaves through the crowded streets of Mumbai as I give her directions to the charity. Upon arriving, I notice that the charity is bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of my usual days.