The lost magic of lunch breaks

During my school days, the lunch break provided a welcome rush of excitement. The half-hour recess was not only a much-needed break from the humdrum routine of the classroom but a time to bond with buddies, forge new relationships, share lunch, and indulge in some fun.

The tasty meals rustled up by my mother was delivered steaming hot by an elderly housemaid Andalamma. The wire-knitted bag contained a tiffin carrier, a pair of teeny-weeny hand towels, steel tumblers, spoons and a water bottle. We dined under an open-air dining area, which had a few long wooden benches and tables.

Andalamma would unpack the tiffin carriers and spoon-feed my brother and me. As we dined along with our classmates, the flavours from the assorted lunch packs around us filled our nostrils. In the old days, fast food was unheard of, and we relished the humble fare of rice and curry.

There were students of varying appetites, tastes and preferences — vegetarians and non-vegetarians, fussy and champion eaters. There was even a tribe that gorged on junk food, hailing from well-off families who always hung around the school's Tuck Shop, splurging on sandwiches, fried snacks and other homemade food sold by the school staff.

My father availed his month-long annual leave soon after our summer holidays ended and would ferry our lunch boxes during this period. His lunch trips to school always thrilled us, as he would treat us to little packets of goodies from the Tuck Shop or pamper us with the fare dished out by the street hawkers who frequented the school.

We always gobbled our lunch in a hurry as we longed to get into the playing arena. Winged visitors like the crows, ravens and sparrows would hop in and pick up the crumbs scattered around, unmindful of the children. Trepidation overcame us whenever a bird parked itself directly on the overhead branches — the feathered beauties did not hesitate to poop on us.

There was a real buzz on the playfield — the sound of running feet, screams of tiny tots and the dust kicked up by young legs. Everything fell silent after the bell rang post-lunch. Students lined up in front of the classrooms and were led away to the school kitchen to guzzle a tall glass of milk. The white fluid, stirred by a ladle, simmered from a large cauldron, nestling over a wood-fired oven. I yearn to go back in time and relive those nostalgic moments!