The Man Who Ate Everything

Once upon a time in a small, peaceful town lived a man named Aslam. He was known by everyone in the neighborhood—not for his wealth or wisdom, but for his incredible appetite. Aslam loved food. Not just any food—every kind of food. From fried street snacks dripping in oil to sugary desserts soaked in syrup, from heavily spiced curries to large portions of red meat—Aslam ate it all without a second thought.

He wasn’t a bad man. In fact, he was quite cheerful. He’d greet everyone with a smile, often holding a samosa or a kebab in one hand. Children loved him because he always had sweets in his pocket, and the shopkeepers adored him because he never haggled over prices—he was their best customer.

But there was something Aslam didn’t do: he never took care of his health.

Doctors, family members, and even strangers warned him.

"Aslam bhai, reduce your sugar!"

"Aslam bhai, too much fried food is bad for the heart!"

"Aslam bhai, you should go for a walk at least!"

He always laughed it off. “Life is short,” he’d say, “Why not enjoy it fully?”

And enjoy he did. Every day was a feast. He would start his morning with parathas drowning in ghee, followed by sweet tea with three spoonfuls of sugar. Lunch would be a massive biryani, with raita and salad that he barely touched. Snacks in the evening included jalebis and pakoras. Dinner would be heavy meat dishes—often double helpings.

Despite his growing belly, breathlessness while walking, and constant fatigue, he ignored all signs. When his knees hurt, he said it was due to old age, not weight. When his chest felt tight, he blamed the weather. He popped painkillers instead of visiting the clinic.

Aslam lived this way for years. By the time he was in his mid-fifties, his body had started showing serious signs of damage. He developed type 2 diabetes, but didn't take the diagnosis seriously. “Just a little sugar issue,” he joked. “I’ll cut back on desserts—after this week.”

He didn’t cut back.

His blood pressure rose. He started having dizzy spells. Once, he fainted in the middle of the market, holding a plate of chaat. People rushed to help him, and he was taken to the hospital.

The doctors were stern this time.

“Mr. Aslam, your heart is under severe strain. You are severely obese. Your arteries are clogged. If you don’t change your habits, you are risking your life.”

Aslam nodded, promised to make changes—but within a few weeks, he was back to his old ways. Eating was his comfort, his joy, his escape.

One evening, after a particularly heavy meal of nihari and naan, Aslam felt an unusual pain in his chest. It started small but quickly grew worse. He tried to ignore it, thinking it was indigestion. But within minutes, he was on the floor, gasping.

His neighbors called for help. An ambulance arrived, and he was rushed to the hospital. The doctors tried their best, but it was too late. Aslam had suffered a massive heart attack. He was declared dead an hour later.

His death shocked the community. The cheerful food-loving man was no more. His family wept, his friends mourned, and the shopkeepers missed their most loyal customer.

At his funeral, many people spoke about how kind he was, how lively, how he had a joke for every occasion. But behind every memory was a deep regret—if only he had taken care of himself.

His story became a lesson for the town. People started paying attention to their diets. Walkers filled the parks in the morning. Sweet shops saw fewer regulars. Health awareness programs started being held in schools and mosques. Aslam’s story was told again and again—not to scare people, but to remind them: Health is a blessing, and ignoring it can cost everything.

His younger brother, Imran, took his death especially hard. He had looked up to Aslam all his life. After the funeral, Imran cleaned out Aslam’s home and found a diary. To his surprise, Aslam had written in it regularly.

One entry stood out:

> “Today I had four gulab jamuns. I know I shouldn’t have, but they bring back memories of my childhood. I wish I had more control. I’m scared sometimes, but I hide it behind jokes. I hope I don’t leave too early…”

Imran cried reading it. His brother hadn’t been ignorant—he had been trapped in habits he couldn’t break. From that day on, Imran vowed to live differently. He changed his diet, started walking daily, and even helped others in the community make healthier choices.

In time, Aslam’s story became more than just a tragedy—it became a turning point.

Moral of the Story:

Enjoying life is important, but ignoring your health is not the way to do it. No matter how delicious food is or how tempting unhealthy habits are, nothing is worth losing your life over. Discipline, balance, and care can help us live longer, healthier, and more fulfilling lives—not just for ourselves, but for the people who love us.