20 Meals, 100 Memories

Not all meals are grand. Some are quiet. Some are half-stolen. Some are eaten on a shared bench under a broken fan, with plates that clink just a little too loudly. And some—twenty, if I’m counting right—live inside me like tiny time capsules. Not because of the ingredients, or the price, or the setting. But because each one holds a memory that comes back strong and hot, like steam off a steel plate.

These are the 20 meals that cost next to nothing but gave everything. ₹100 split twenty ways. College days, broke days, brilliant days. Each bite fed not just the body but the growing ache of becoming someone.

1. Samosa on Day One

The first friend I made at college offered me half a samosa. I said no. He insisted. It was greasy, slightly cold, and absolutely perfect. That was the first time I realized food could be friendship before it became anything else.

2. ₹10 Rajma Chawal

It came with three spoonfuls of rice, two scoops of rajma, and a dollop of onion that counted as salad. I ate it with my hands. No regrets. Still haven’t tasted rajma like that again—probably because it came with the thrill of skipping class and hiding from the warden.

3. Midnight Bread Pakora

Shared between four roommates on a rainy night. One had a breakup, one had fever, two of us just didn’t want to sleep. It came wrapped in newspaper, with ketchup dripped like poetry. We laughed till the electricity came back.

4. Lunch After Your First Pay

I bought lunch for my whole gang. It was ₹60 total. I felt like Ambani. They made me sit in the middle and served me first. The dal was watery, the rotis too thick—but it tasted like celebration.

5. Bunking Class = Biryani

₹30 biryani from that sketchy basement joint. So spicy it hurt. We cried, then ate more. The real thrill was being there when we weren’t supposed to be. Every grain of rice whispered rebellion.

6. Vada Pav for the Broken Heart

It was after she said no. I sat alone. Ordered two vada pavs. Finished both. The vendor asked, “Aur milega?” I said no. He gave me a free mirchi anyway. Said nothing. Understood everything.

7. Poha at the Railway Station

₹7 plate. Still warm. Still fluffy. Eaten while sitting on a suitcase at 5 a.m. That was the day I left home. The poha tasted like goodbye and ginger and a hint of growing up.

8. Chai + Math Tutoring

Paid my friend in chai glasses. One every day, for two weeks. I still failed that test. But I passed the part where I learned how to ask for help.

9. Bread, Butter, Gossip

Five friends. One loaf. A stick of butter. We toasted it on a hot pan in a room with no gas connection, using a coil heater. More butter than bread. More stories than logic.

10. Free Dal, If You Asked Nicely

The mess guy hated stingy people but loved good manners. If you said “Bhaiya, thoda aur?” with respect, he’d slip you an extra ladle of dal. That dal? Liquid gold on rough rice.

11. Ice Cream at Exam Results

We were all failing something. But someone said “Let’s get ice cream.” ₹10 cones. Vanilla, melting too fast. That sweetness saved the evening.

12. Maggie, But Together

One packet. Two people. Shared with a spoon, sitting on the hostel stairs. We added extra salt because the sachet was missing. It was the best version ever.

13. ₹5 Chana

Served in a paper cone. Tangy, spicy, and slightly chewy. We called it “Exam Fuel.” Eaten at the campus gate, under the neem tree. A bite between questions, a break between breakdowns.

14. ₹10 Pav Bhaji

Too much butter. Too little pav. Still perfect. The kind of mess your shirt forgives because your heart is full.

15. Leftovers, Reheated

One night, we ate cold rice reheated with ketchup and chilli flakes. Called it “Fusion.” Told ourselves we were culinary geniuses. Laughed for an hour straight.

16. Dosa Without Sambhar

The stall ran out. Gave us coconut chutney and an apology. We still ate like kings. Because it was our place. Because we were regulars. Because dosa forgives all.

17. That One Party Plate

Someone’s birthday. No gifts, no cake. Just two paper plates of samosas and jalebis bought with pooled coins. We all sang. Loudly. Badly. Beautifully.

18. Bhel Puri and Broken Shoes

We were walking home after rain. Someone’s slipper broke. We stopped at the bhel stall to figure out a plan. Ate standing, soggy but content. Left with new memories and one barefoot friend.

19. Morning Idli with Auntie

She sold idlis outside the hostel gate. ₹3 each. We called her “Idli Amma.” She gave us extra chutney if we looked tired. I never got her recipe, just her kindness.

20. The Last Meal Before You Left

You didn’t say much. Neither did I. We ate quietly. Paratha and pickle. ₹12 for the whole meal. But it held everything we couldn’t say out loud.

Because ₹100 doesn’t go far today. But back then, it stretched across twenty moments that tasted like freedom, like friendship, like growing up one bite at a time.