I first volunteered with Kechara Soup Kitchen in 2017 or 2018, helping with a dry provisions distribution. I went in with good intentions, but I walked away with something far heavier. I still remember a mother and her adult son, both elderly and unwell, living in a rented space barely separated from others by curtains. That moment stayed with me. It wasn’t just poverty I saw—it was fragility, dignity held together by sheer will, and lives lived one day at a time.
Years later, in 2022, I reached out to KSK again—this time initially from a departmental CSR perspective. But once I reconnected, it quickly became personal. Since then, I’ve been involved in organising volunteers and have personally taken part in many KSK activities: dry provision distributions, static routes, street routes, and surplus food collections.
Each activity shows a different side of hardship. Dry provisions reveal how families stretch the little they have. Street routes confront you with loneliness as much as hunger. Static routes show the quiet resilience of those who line up week after week without complaint. Surplus collection reminds me how thin the line is between excess and need.
What keeps me coming back is not just the act of giving food—it’s the reminder to see. To slow down, to acknowledge, and to recognise the humanity in every person we serve. KSK doesn’t just feed people; it creates moments of connection, respect, and consistency in lives that often lack all three.
I never set out to do anything extrarordinary. I simply showed up—and every time, I leave changed. If there’s anything KSK has taught me, it’s that compassion isn’t loud. It’s steady, present, and deeply necessary.