The Tiffin (12 page)

chapter fifteen

“ARRE SAALA GADHERA,” RUSTOM called out. “Why such a long face? You'll put me out of business, boy! And stop scrubbing that table; you've already taken six inches off the Formica.”

Kunal looked up from the table he had been wiping over and over for the last five minutes. “Sorry,” he said and tried to look cheerful.

“Oh please,” said Rustom, spreading his hands in mock horror. “If that horrible thing you just did was meant to be a smile, I'd rather you didn't.”

“Sorry,” Kunal repeated. “You want me to help out in the kitchen?”

“You stay right here where I can keep an eye on you,” said Rustom. “You'll curdle the milk with one look,
gadhera
!”

“Whatever you say,” said Kunal. “But why do you keep calling me that? What does
gadhera
mean?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Kunal shrugged. “Just asking,” he said, “but if you'd rather go on abusing me using words I don't know ...”

“Okay, you can stop with the melodrama,” Rustom cut in. “It means donkey.”

“
What
— you've been calling me a donkey all this while? Why?”

“What's wrong with it?” said Rustom. “They're hardworking and trustworthy animals.”

Kunal shook his head and walked away, aware that Rustom had paid him a backhanded compliment. He knew the proprietor was trying to cheer him up, but he was not in the mood to be happy. Late-afternoon sunshine poured into Sunshine, but it couldn't reach his black thoughts. It had been three days since the notes had gone out. She still hadn't contacted him.What had he expected? That his mother would take the next train to Andheri Station and sweep him into her arms?

He scrunched up the rag in his fist. Yes, that was exactly what he had hoped for, prayed for.

After Sethji's taunts and brutal beatings he thought he could bear any kind of pain. How wrong he was.

A customer wandered into the shop and sat down. Kunal went up to him immediately, glad for something to do. The man ordered tea and a cream cake. Kunal waited at the kitchen counter, his thoughts drifting once more. Vinayak had been right. His mother had abandoned him deliberately. Mrs. Seth had also been right when she'd said that he would never find her.

Why hadn't he listened to them? Now, thanks to his stupid plan, he had hurt the dabbawallas. How they must hate him at this moment.

The kitchen helper put a wedge of cake on the pickup counter, its surface covered with frozen waves of pink cream and, alongside it, a steaming glass of tea. Kunal took them over to the customer, wrote the bill on a small chit of paper, and put it on the table.

“I'll have a tea, please,” said a familiar voice.

Kunal whipped around. There was Vinayak by the window, a newspaper spread out on the table. A sense of déjà vu swept over him. How often had he seen Vinayak exactly this way while he worked at Bombay Bahar.This old man had been the one bright spot in his day. Now, Vinayak must hate him for embarrassing him in front of the dabbawalla community.

“Just tea?” asked Kunal. “Something to eat? Maybe a mutton pattie? They're fresh.”

Vinayak shook his head. “Just tea, thanks.” His expression was calm, and yet his eyes shone as if he was trying hard to keep a secret from spilling out.

“Right away,” said Kunal, and he hurried to the counter.

“Where's my bill?” asked Vinayak when Kunal brought his tea a few moments later.

“This one's on me,” said Kunal.

“Thank you. Can you sit for a moment?”

Kunal looked around. The restaurant was almost empty except for the one customer who had ordered the cake and tea. He was digging into it with gusto, pink cream flecking his thick black moustache. Kunal perched on the edge of a chair.

“I know you're upset — about the notes, and with me,” said Vinayak.

“Why should I be?” said Kunal. He avoided looking into those eyes, which could see straight into his heart. He stared at the scratched countertop instead. Some of the cuts ran so deep, repairing them would be impossible. Rustom would have to replace the entire tabletop. If only he could do the same: throw away his old life — scratches, scars, and all. Get a brand new one — a happy one.

“I know you wanted to find your family,” said Vinayak. “I understand that because I want mine back too, so badly I can taste it. But wanting does not guarantee getting.”

Kunal stared out the window.

“You think you have it rough, Kunal? Feeling sorry for yourself? Snap out of it! You have your health, a job, and me.Things could be worse. Far, far worse.” Vinayak's voice had dropped to a whisper.

“You never told me what happened.Who did you lose?” said Kunal. He was quite sure Vinayak would avoid telling him yet again.

“My wife
and
my son,” said Vinayak quietly. “He was only ten when he died.”

Kunal gripped the edge of the table, staring at that deeply lined face. His wife and son! How unbearable that must be. “How ... when ...,” he asked, his voice cracking as the enormity of the news sunk in.

“Twelve years ago,” said Vinayak. He ran his finger around the rim of the glass of tea. Around and around and around. “They were taking a rickshaw to the head office where we were supposed to meet.” Vinayak looked up, his face pale. “You see, I hated it when they were late. I'd get very annoyed with them. Punctuality was ingrained in me; it was my life's mission as a dabbawalla. And so, to avoid my anger, my wife decided to take a rickshaw.”

Around and around went Vinayak's finger.The glass squeaked. Car horns blared outside. Kunal sat quietly waiting for Vinayak to continue. What a heavy burden he'd been carrying all by himself for the last twelve years.

“Then?” said Kunal.

“The rickshaw collided head-on with a truck. No one survived.”

He said it in a matter-of-fact voice. His finger trembled as it traversed the rim of the glass. A drop of water fell into the tea, setting up ripples on its surface. Vinayak pushed the glass away and looked out the window, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“I'm so sorry,” said Kunal. And he was. Both their lives had changed, irrevocably, twelve years ago. He had lost his family without knowing it, but how much worse it must have been for Vinayak to have loved and then lost them. He just couldn't find the words to take away the pain that filled the old man's eyes. How badly he must want them back, but that didn't mean he'd get them back. Ever. And that is what Vinayak had been trying to tell him about his mother.

“I'm sorry too,” said Vinayak after a long moment. “Sorry that you'll never see your family. But there is something I want to ask you. I've been thinking about it for a few days.You don't have to give me an answer right away. Just think about it, okay?”

Kunal squeezed Vinayak's hand.“Whatever it is,Vinayakji,” he said, “you have only to ask.”

“I'd like you to stay with me. For good.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

This was so unexpected that it was Kunal's turn to look away as his mind groped for words that just wouldn't come to him. It was like trying to catch smoke. Vinayak had said this was a temporary arrangement. Now, Kunal had a chance at a permanent home and a father.

Kunal looked atVinayak. He'd never seen him that way.And what about his real mother? Should he abandon the idea to look for her, just as she had abandoned him?

“If you think about it, we're both in search of the same thing, aren't we?” said Vinayak.“When I saw you four years ago at the dhaba, you reminded me of my lost son.You're so like him. Kunal, are you all right? I'm sorry if I've upset you ...”

Kunal shook his head, blushing deeply. “No, no, I'm not upset. It's just that ... you see, I wasn't expecting ... but thank you. I-I'm so ...”

“KUNAL!”

Rustom's paper flew into the air and both Vinayak and Kunal shot to their feet.

Nikhil burst into the restaurant out of breath. His eyes sparkled and he couldn't stop grinning.

“Oi, junglee!” yelled Rustom. “Did you have to make such a dramatic entrance? You almost gave me a heart attack,” he said.

Nikhil ignored him and ran up to Kunal. “We've ...,” he gasped, “we've found her! At least, we think we have.”

“Found whom?” asked Kunal, his pulse racing, though he knew Nikhil could only be referring to one person.

“Your mother! We found her!”

Kunal shook his head. “You're not pulling my leg, are you? Tell me this isn't some joke.”

“No, no, NO!” said Nikhil. He grasped Kunal by the shoulders and shook him hard. “You remember those extra notes you gave me?”

Kunal nodded. He shot a glance atVinayak, who was listening intently.

“I wasn't able to distribute them all, so I kept them. I decided to hand them out to a couple of dabbawallas in the financial district who are quite friendly with their customers. I know ... don't look at me like that,Vinayakji ... I know it was against the rules, but I so desperately wanted to help Kunal. My friends requested their customers to circulate the notes within their offices. One of them who delivers tiffins to Mittal Towers just came back with the news. He said he was waiting by the elevator on the third floor when he noticed this well-dressed woman reading something and crying as if her heart would break. He felt sorry for her and asked if he could help. He happened to glance at what she was reading. It was your note, Kunal! She was reading your note and crying!”

“See, Vinayakji?” said Kunal. “I told you I'd find her. I was right after all.”

The afternoon sun illuminated the sickly pallor of Vinayak's face. He managed a small smile as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. “This is such exciting news, I have to sit down,” he said. He lowered himself into a chair, groaning softly.

Nikhil hadn't finished yet. He grabbed the glass of cold tea from the table and downed it in one gulp. “Thirsty,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Are you absolutely sure?” asked Kunal. He had a hard time keeping his voice steady. All of him was trembling. “This isn't some mistake, is it? Did he get her address, her number?

Nikhil shook his head. “
Arre baba
, wait! I'm coming to it.”

“Hurry up,” growled Kunal.

“My friend told her he'd been the one to distribute the notes. She was shocked. She asked him if he'd seen you. Unfortunately, you've not met him — he picks up his deliveries from another station — so he had to say no.”

Kunal couldn't breathe. She was asking about him. She cared. She still loved him!

“Where does she live? Did he get her number? Can I call her right now?”

Nikhil scratched his head. “That's where we have a problem.”

“What problem?” said Kunal. His stomach dropped. He was sure he was not going to like the answer.

“She didn't give her number, though my friend asked her a couple of times. He said she looked a bit scared.”

“I see,” said Kunal. But he didn't see at all.

“But she did say she'd come to see you,” said Nikhil. “Very soon!”

Kunal gripped the back of the chair, afraid his legs might give way at any moment. “Can you take me to see her?”

“We can go now if you like,” said Nikhil. “We still have an hour before the office closes and the receptionist should be able to find her easily.”

“Let's go,” said Kunal.

Just then there was a loud crash. Vinayak lay on the floor, drenched in sweat, clutching his chest.

chapter sixteen

KUNAL PEERED IN THROUGH the glass-panelled swinging doors of the triage area. Rows of green curtains hid the sick from anxious eyes. A lone doctor and two harried nurses scurried from one enclosed area to another, looking as pale and ill as the patients that were wheeled in and out.

Another screaming ambulance drew up at the doors of the emergency room. Kunal clapped his hands to his ears. Each time he heard the siren he remembered the interminable ride from Sunshine Restaurant to the hospital beside an unconscious Vinayak. He remembered clutching Vinayak's cold hands in a tight grip, as if he could prevent the unthinkable. His eyes had darted between the ambulance staff and Vinayak,expecting to hear the dreaded words at any moment. But Vinayak had held on and was still in there somewhere, fighting for his life.

More patients arrived; some came on their own and some were wheeled in by an attendant. A victim of a car accident was pushed through on a gurney. His face was smashed and bleeding. Kunal gagged and turned away, reaching for the nearest chair. He took deep breaths and shook his head, trying to dislodge the horror, the dizziness, and the panic that had his mind firmly in their grip.

“He'll be all right,” whispered Nikhil, and squeezed Kunal's shoulder. Kunal shrugged Nikhil's hand away and peeked through the glass again.

An hour ticked by, then two.A one-way tide of the sick and injured flowed past, but Kunal scarcely noticed. His eyes were glued to the swinging doors that led to the bowels of the hospital, and to Vinayak. Every time he approached the doors a stern male nurse sent him back to his seat.

“When he's ready to see someone, we'll let you know,” he'd said once. After that, his glare had deterred Kunal from asking for the umpteenth time if he could go in.

Kunal perched at the edge of a chair, his head in his hands, staring at the tiled floor flecked with brown.They looked like spots of dried blood. He looked away. Had Vinayak died and no one wanted to convey the news to him? Or maybe they'd forgotten someone had accompanied the old man to the hospital and was waiting for news. They certainly had their hands full with the living ones who poured into the hospital like the monsoon floods.

Kunal imagined leaving the hospital and going back alone to the empty room in the chawl.Vinayak had become so much a part of his life that to think of carrying on without him made his throat ache.

Unable to sit still any longer, Kunal marched over to the registration desk. A slim nurse with extremely dark skin, dressed in a starched white saree, was frantically doing paperwork. She barely glanced up as Kunal approached.

“I want to see Vinayak,” he said in what he hoped was a polite yet firm voice.

The phone rang. The nurse answered it. “No, don't bring any more here.The beds are full.Take them to Jaslok Hospital. They have ten beds left.”

Kunal glared at her.

“Maybe we should come back later,” said Nikhil. “She looks really busy.”

“Shut up,” said Kunal. “They can't ignore us forever. And if you don't want to be here, then go home and inform the others.”

Nikhil's face coloured and Kunal felt a pang. He was taking out his anger on the wrong person. It should be this nurse or the doctor who refused to tell him what was going on.

“I'm busy,” she said, not even looking at them. “Go back to your seat and we'll —”

“At least tell me if Vinayak is alive or dead!” shouted Kunal, thumping his fist on the desk.The words spilled out along with his tears, neither of which he could hold back any longer.

The nurse looked up then and her face softened. “Isn't there anyone else with you? Your parents?”

Kunal shook his head afraid that the sobs crowding his throat would overpower his words.

“Vinayak,” said the nurse consulting a file. “You're talking about the old man in the white kurta pyjama who was brought in a few hours ago, right?”

“Yes,” said Nikhil.

She picked up the phone, dialled a number, and murmured into the mouthpiece.The siren of another approaching ambulance drowned out her whisper. She replaced the receiver and looked at them, her eyes serious.

“How are you related to the patient? Only family is allowed to see him.”

Kunal took a deep breath. “I'm his son, his only family,” he said. He had never been so sure of anything.

“Oh.”

“So can I see him?”

The nurse stood up and came round the desk. She beckoned and led them to the swinging doors where the male attendant stood guard. Kunal gripped Nikhil's arm tightly as they followed her.

“Vinayak's son,” said Nikhil with a slight smile. “We'll get to see him now.”

Kunal did not reply.

“Take them to the icu. Patient's name is Vinayak Gogte. Heart attack,” said the nurse.

“Thank you,” said Kunal. “Thank you so much. But he's all right, isn't he? He'll live?”

“You will have to ask the doctor about that,” she said.

“Why can't you tell us?” demanded Kunal. “You spoke to someone inside — you must know.”

The nurse's expression hardened. “Because I'm not allowed to.”

“He's just worried,” Nikhil piped in.“Sorry.And thank you, miss.”

The nurse nodded and walked back to her desk. They followed the attendant deeper and deeper into the hospital, the chaos of the emergency room fading away with each step. The smell of antiseptic grew stronger and the only sounds now were the buzz and hum of machinery. After walking through a labyrinth of bleached corridors bathed in stark white light, they reached another set of doors with the letters icu painted in bold black.

“What does that mean?” asked Nikhil, hanging back a little.

“Intensive Care Unit,” replied the attendant. “It's where the very ill patients stay until they're better.”

Kunal's heart slammed against his ribs. “So now what?” he said. “Can we go in and look for him?”

Before the attendant could reply, the doors swung open and a tall man in a white coat stepped out.

“These two are here to see Vinayak Gogte,” said the attendant.

The doctor consulted the clipboard he was carrying. “Are either of you related to him?” he asked.

“I'm his son,” said Kunal. The words rolled off his lips smoothly this time and he felt no hesitation — just a deep sense of how right the word
son
felt.

“He's had a severe heart attack, but he's stable now.We've done all we can to make him comfortable,” said the doctor. “But we'll need to watch him for a couple of days. Go home and rest.You can see him tomorrow.”

“Can I see him now?” said Kunal. “I've been waiting for hours. Please, Doctor?”

The doctor hesitated.

“Just one look so I know he's all right, and then I'll go. I promise.”

The doctor nodded. “All right, but only one of you can go in. Just for a couple of minutes.” He ducked his head inside the door and called out softly for a nurse.

Kunal could only bob his head in thanks, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd embarrass himself and disturb every occupant of the icu.The doctor patted his shoulder and strode away.

“I'll wait here,” said Nikhil, and once again Kunal nodded.

He followed the nurse through the swinging doors. As he passed each curtained area he heard the whoosh and hiss of machines, a rattle of breath, the creak of a bed. The nurse stopped before a cubicle at the very end of the room. She grasped the curtain and looked at him.

“Don't be scared by what you see; it's normal,” she said. Her words made his pulse race. What was he about to see? She drew back the curtain. It folded on itself with a whirring sound that seemed too loud in the surrounding buzz.

Kunal stared at his friend lying in the hospital bed and shuddered. There was so much more bed than Vinayak. Tubes and wires were attached to his chest and arms, and huge machines behind him hummed and beeped. It seemed like it was sucking the life out of him rather than keeping him alive.

“I'm going to check on another patient. I'll be back in a couple of minutes,” the nurse whispered. “Don't touch anything. If he wakes, don't let him talk; he's very weak.”

Kunal barely heard her. All he could think of was the last conversation they had had, the look in Vinayak's eyes when he had asked Kunal to stay with him for good. He approached the bed cautiously. There was a medicinal smell in the room that made him uneasy. It was freezing. Kunal's heart thudded so loudly, he hoped it wouldn't wake Vinayak.

He sat at the edge of the bed. Vinayak's eyes fluttered and Kunal jerked to his feet, staring at him. The machine hissed and a green dot bounced across a screen on the wall above Vinayak's bed. It was the only thing in here that seemed happy. Vinayak's eyes remained closed.

Kunal was overcome by his need to touch the old man, to feel his warm skin under his fingertips. Kunal reached out and traced the veins in Vinayak's hand, which stood out in sharp relief. A needle stuck out of one, held in place by white gauze taped to it.This must really hurt, he thought. He heard a soft groan and looked up.Vinayak was awake and watching him.

The crushing weight on Kunal's chest lightened. He took a deep breath. “How are you?”

“Okay,” whispered Vinayak. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing under the wrinkled skin of his throat. He looked so fragile. “Kunal, I ...”

“Shhhh.” Kunal put a finger on Vinayak's lips.Their warmth was so reassuring that Kunal almost lost his composure. He peered round the curtain. “Please, don't say any more. The nurse will get angry with me.You're supposed to rest.”

“Go ...” Vinayak whispered. “Mother.”

Kunal looked deep into Vinayak's eyes. What he saw terrified him.They were the eyes of a person who had decided to give up. On him. On everything.

He moved closer to Vinayak and knelt by the bed, willing the old man to look into his eyes, his heart, like he used to. “I'm not going anywhere,” said Kunal. “You said you wanted me to stay with you for good. I'm holding you to that promise.”

Vinayak closed his eyes and his breathing deepened, but not before Kunal noticed that the spark had returned. The fight was back on.

He stood up as soon as he heard footsteps approaching. The nurse drew the curtains around Vinayak and then walked Kunal out of the icu quietly.

“How is he doing?” asked Nikhil.They had left the hospital and were walking along the street, which still had a fair bit of pedestrian traffic.

“All right,” said Kunal, a large grin on his face. “He woke up briefly and went back to sleep. But he's going to be fine, just fine.”