You see, both of our mothers lovingly packed our lunches and sent them to school through messengers. I lived a distant 7 kilometres away from our school, while Zu’s house was a more manageable 3 kilometres away. My designated messenger was Hari, a part-time mechanic with a peculiar taste in clothing. He always wore shirt and trousers several sizes larger to mask his short frame, a choice of clothing that never failed to turn heads wherever he went.To my teenage embarrassment, I often complained to my mother about his wardrobe choices, imploring her to persuade him to wear proper trousers.

In stark contrast, Zu’s messenger, Madhar, was always impeccably dressed and carried himself with an air of dignity. He was prompt, efficient, and had an innate sense of responsibility. Whenever my lunch arrived late, he would go the extra mile, quite literally, by fetching me a delicious dosa from a nearby Raj Bhavan. This was a delightful treat that I savoured on numerous occasions.

However, one fateful day, while I was enjoying the dosa Madhar had brought for me, I noticed Hari frantically scanning the school campus for my presence. Seizing the opportunity to avoid being seen with him, I decided to play a little game of hide and seek. Deep down, I was angry with Hari for refusing to wear the well-fitting trousers my father had kindly given him.

Little did I know that this decision would set in motion a hilarious sequence of events. When the bell signalled the start of the assembly, I hurriedly joined my row, blissfully unaware of the comedic catastrophe about to unfold. Right there, at the front of the assembly, stood Sr. Cabrini, our indomitable school principal, with Hari grinning mischievously. It was clear that Hari was on a mission, and there was no turning back. When Sr. Cabrini called my name, I hesitated but eventually stepped forward to accept the lunchbox from Hari, forcing a genuine smile. Furthermore, the lunch that Hari delivered to me was not your average meal; it came in a massive five-set tiffin carrier that could easily feed a family. My friends burst into laughter, and soon the entire school was swept up in the unintended jest, turning Hari and me into the epicentre of a joke.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by a profound sense of guilt for my prior unkindness towards Hari. If only I had accepted the lunchbox earlier when I saw him on the campus, I might have spared him this embarrassing spectacle. I had never fathomed that he would summon the courage to approach the principal with a resolute determination to deliver my lunch. As I made my way back, my face flushed with humiliation, I came to the realisation that my criticism of Hari’s attire had been unfair and uncalled for.

Following this incident, Hari miraculously transformed into the most punctual messenger, always arriving well before lunchtime, and I made sure not to provide him with any excuses to involve the principal again. Despite my initial grievances about his attire, Hari never changed his fashion sense, and eventually, I learned to accept him for who he was. This episode taught me a valuable lesson, one that has stayed with me throughout my life: respect comes from within and is not dependent on outward appearances. I had learned, in the most embarrassing manner possible, that it was essential to treat others with kindness, irrespective of their attire or appearance.