Many years ago, around around 1970 I guess, I was in the back, passenger part, of an Afghan truck. I don't remember where I was going. Doesn't matter. I was sitting on a wooden bench along one side of the truck. On the bench on the other side was a woman holding a baby (with a husband or brother next to her). The woman wore a chadri (burka); she was covered from head to foot. The baby began crying. The woman raised the chadri enough to suckle the baby. My eye caught sight of the mother's breast. I quickly looked away. Then I sneaked one more glance. In this natural, universal act of motherhood and babyhood I had seen the breast of a woman whose body was otherwise hidden from me. The truck was quiet. The passengers were content that the baby was in the arms of its mother sucking for nourishment and contentment. I felt content too.
