I was a grad student at the time - the seventies of the last century – and the area of my study (what a grand phrase this sounds now – “the area of my study” – but I think I’ll let it stand) was Physics. I had gone to Ohio University, after completing a Master’s degree at Delhi University, India, with the hope of obtaining a Ph.D.

But midway I lost interest, because I thought the problem I was working on was insoluble, and so, in the summer of 1975, I decided to take off for Yellowstone to do some camping, and think things out in solitude: whether to continue with research that I found frustrating, or tamely accept defeat and return home to India, in shame and ignominy. So I packed a tent & sleeping bag in my backpack, and nutritious but not delicious food, non-fat dry milk, Tang, etc., and went and stood on the highway. In those days hitch-hiking used to be the standard way to travel for impoverished students, and obtaining rides was seldom difficult. On good days I did as many as 500 miles; and more often than not, at the end of it people invited me into their homes, to spend a night in comfort. I had taken $150 with me, and lived on that amount for about two and a half months, in Glacier Mountain Park, Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. And when I had 47 cents left in my pocket, I decided it was time to head back home. 
 
8 o'clock of a morning, therefore, found me standing on the highway outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming. And there I stood in the hot summer sun; eight changed to nine, nine became ten, and so by slow degrees it became five in the evening, and nary a car stopped! I was tired, hot, hungry and thirsty, for I generally ate the food in my backpack after I'd done a fair distance - believing that I deserved to eat only after there had been a certain "accomplishment" (even though that accomplishment was contingent on the kindness of others). And then, as the evening drew to a close, there came a cyclone! I saw a funnel form just a few feet in front of me, and I was truly scared! But it passed away harmlessly. Then, rain. But that stopped, too. Finally, as the dusk began to settle, and I had given up all hope of a ride, a car stopped.
 
I must interrupt my story a moment to tell you that I have ever since my childhood been a believing  sort of person - not the kind that would evangelize, ever; but I did then, and do today, have a very firm faith in a personal God, a God who I imagine surrounds me with His protection wherever I may be. And whenever I hitch-hiked, I imagined that He had spread out an intangible net that enveloped me, and the car that was drawing towards me; that He was in the heart of its driver, as well as in mine; that we were thus connected before we had met, that inexorably and inevitably we would meet, because it was thus arranged by God Himself, and meet in His presence, so that all would be well. 
 
I placed my backpack in the trunk, and sat down in the passenger seat. I thanked my benefactor and told him that his was the first car that had stopped since early morning, that I was very grateful. He said that there had been a crime in the area involving a hitch-hiker, so people were wary of giving rides to strangers. Anyway he must have surmised that I was hungry, for he drove in to a gas station, where there was a hamburger stand on the side, and handing me some change said, "Will you get me a hamburger while I get a fill-up? And buy one for yourself as well!" Of course I was only too happy to oblige. I got a ham-and-cheese for myself (beef being, as you may know, a great taboo, for Hindus hold the cow to be holy, to be worthy of care, love and protection); and an all-beef cheeseburger for mine host. As we drove off, I ate mine, and handed him his.
 
But he didn't take it. He said, "This one's meant for you, too." He added, "I knew you would have felt awkward accepting money from me to buy a couple of hamburgers just for yourself, so I deliberately asked you to buy one for me and one for you. But the fact is, they're both meant for you. I don't want any. You must eat this one as well!" He had resorted to a ruse that I might eat two hamburgers, instead of just one, without feeling small at having to accept money from a stranger for the purpose.
 
In the face of such generosity, so laden with the milk of human kindness, could I possibly have said, "But I don't eat beef!"? I felt that God was testing me. I was in a difficult situation: I didn't want to eat the hamburger, but neither did I wish to hurt the man's feelings. Would I violate my personal religion, and eat beef? Or would I violate the great love that had moved this man, and refuse his offering? I knew what I had to do. I tore off the greasy wrapper covering the hamburger, brought it out, and ate it slowly and with great deliberation, knowing without a doubt that the Great Arranger had meant this lesson to be learnt, that the spirit in which food is offered is more important than the food itself, that there is no sin in eating food offered with love, whatever that food may be. That day, for the first time in my life, I ate beef! But I felt that I had not committed a sin. He asked if we could stop at his home for a while, if I would like to have a shower, wash my clothes, cook an omelette for myself? I agreed with great alacrity. Then, over the omelette, when we had become thick friends, I told him that that was the first time in my life that I'd ever eaten beef. I explained to him why it was such a taboo in Hinduism. His eyes filled with tears, he felt so horrible! So I had to placate him! Then I went to have a long overdue shower, and when I came out, we went to all the bars in town, and tried every variety of brew that Wyoming had to offer.
 
The next morning, when he dropped me off on the highway, and after we had bidden each other goodbye, and he had sped away, imagine what I found? While I was in the shower, he had slipped out to the local grocery store, and filled my backpack up with a half-gallon carton of milk, one of orange juice, cheese, bread - and a large tin of ham (Spam, the Danish ham that used to come in those triangular tins, which you could open without a can opener.) He didn’t wait for me to find out. I couldn’t even thank him.
 
And when I reached my University (after many more adventures), I set to work on my Ph.D. with a will, and completed it, and lived happily ever after. In the matter of food the one difference in my life has been that I’ve stopped eating meat altogether – for all life is sacred.