The Tiffin (5 page)

chapter six

KUNAL STOOD SHIVERING IN THE NARROW corridor of the chawl on the third floor and looked around him.The courtyard he had just crossed was pockmarked with hollows of darkness. A solitary streetlight at the entrance illuminated slashes of silver rain. Barely anyone was about on the streets; but, more important, no one had followed him. He turned back to face the door with the large black five on it.

Did he dare knock? Would Vinayak be happy or annoyed to see him? Kunal put his ear to the door and heard the clink of a glass but no voices. He took a deep breath and knocked. Someone stood up. There was a crash. Then footsteps. The door flew open, bathing him in yellow light.The stink of cheap alcohol greeted him before Vinayak did.

“Vinayakji?” said Kunal. He moved closer.

The old man peered at him, swaying slightly. “Kunal? What are you doing here?”

“I want to stay the night with you,” said Kunal. “Please, may I come in?” A sneeze shook him from head to toe.

“Come in, come in,” said Vinayak.“How silly of me to keep you standing outside in this miserable weather.” His tongue slipped over the words as if they were coated with grease.
So different from his crisp speech in the mornings
, Kunal thought.

Vinayak's room was stark. A single naked bulb hung from the centre of the room. White-washed walls encircled them, except for a large damp spot under the window where water had seeped in. A rickety table with two chairs stood in a corner of the room facing an L-shaped counter that might have been a kitchenette at one time but was now bare. One chair was overturned and Kunal immediately righted it.

There was a door at the back of the room and a wooden cupboard beside it. Near the leg of the only cot in the room was a bottle of amber liquid and a half-filled glass.

Vinayak unhooked a towel from behind the door and threw it at him. “Dry yourself. I'll get you some clothes.” He walked unsteadily to the cupboard and pulled out a white kurta and pyjamas. “The bathroom's right through this door.”

“Thank you,” said Kunal. He hurried into the bathroom, towelling his hair. His wet shorts and shirt clung to him, raising goosebumps.

Moments later, dry and warm in oversized clothes, he squatted on the floor in front of Vinayak.

“Kunal, my friend, life is tough,” said Vinayak. He rotated his glass, staring at the liquid that swirled perilously close to the rim. “You need three things to survive in this crazy city of ours — family, friends, and money.”

Kunal's stomach clenched. He had none of the things Vinayak had just mentioned. No family, no friends, and not a single rupee.

“But why are you drinking?” said Kunal. “I thought you had everything.” This was a side of Vinayak he had never seen before and wished he didn't have to. He preferred the morning version of the old man.

“Ahhhh, it's a long story,” said Vinayak. He looked out the window. Kunal followed his gaze, and watched the rain splash on the windowsill. “Some day I'll share it. But for now, tell me, why are you here?”

“I've run away and I'm not going back,” said Kunal. “Please don't make me.”

Vinayak slurped the amber liquid. “Kunal, no one can make you do anything you don't want to. Remember that. Life is too short —”

Kunal cut in, sensing a rambling speech coming up. “May I stay here for a few days? Could you help me find a job? As a dabbawalla?

Vinayak drained the remaining liquid in one swallow and shuddered as if he'd just downed bitter medicine. He leaned forward and shoved the glass under the cot, almost toppling with the effort. “We could try. But I must warn you, the dabbawallas only recruit from their own community.” His bleary eyes tried to focus on Kunal as he spoke.

“They won't give anyone else a chance?” asked Kunal. “Even if the person is willing to work hard?”

“I really don't know,” said Vinayak with a huge yawn.“We'll see. But don't worry your head about it now. You have me, and I'm sure you've got a little saved up from all those tips at the dhaba, right? I'll find you a job even if it takes some time.

“But you're so high up in the organization,” said Kunal. “Surely they'll listen to you.”

Vinayak eyes were suddenly moist. He reached out a trembling hand and stroked Kunal's cheek. It was so unexpected that Kunal drew back, regretting it almost instantly. This was the first time anyone had touched him this way — gently. He swallowed the lump that constricted his throat.

“I'll help you in any way I can, my ...” Vinayak didn't finish the sentence. His eyelids started to droop. He lay down on his cot.“Very tired.Talk ... morning.”

“Thank you, Vinayakji,” said Kunal. “You won't regret it. I promise. I'll work hard.” He stopped.

Vinayak was already snoring. Kunal realized he had known this man for four years and yet, he really did not know him at all. He had no idea what Vinayak was like when he was not working. But it had been this tired old man who had taught him to read and write by smuggling an alphabet book and writing paper to him, and always looking out for him. His anxiety subsided a bit.Vinayak couldn't be all that bad, even if he was fond of drinking every night.

Kunal wandered over to the window, too wound up to sleep.

How could he have been so stupid? He had left the dhaba without any money or his mother's bangle, still hidden under his mattress.Would Mrs. Seth throw it out when she found it? The thought was unbearable!

Around him, the lights in the chawl were going out, one by one. A spray of rain bathed his hot face. He knew what he had to do. He had to go back not only to get some money, but also the only keepsake his mother had left for him. And he had to do it tonight.

He glanced at the snoring figure. He could go to the dhaba, grab what he needed, and be back within an hour. Vinayak would never know. Kunal changed back into his wet clothes, hating their cold and damp embrace. He tiptoed to the door and pulled it open.The rain had slowed to a drizzle.The street appeared soft and blurry, almost beautiful, in the diffused lamplight. He stepped out, feeling as if he were walking into a dream sequence of a Bollywood movie, shut the door, and ran all the way back to Sethji's.

BY THE TIME KUNAL REACHED the dhaba, the rain had stopped. It was an hour before midnight and the dhaba was emptying slowly.

From the shadow of a building across the street, Kunal watched Sethji ingratiate himself with the customers as he counted the money and handed back their change. He was extremely witty and funny at this moment and Kunal and all the waiters knew it was because he was short-changing the customers and hoping to distract them. If Sethji could get away with even ten paise per customer, he'd be several rupees richer by the end of the day. Of course, not all the customers were daft. Some counted their change before leaving and demanded their correct due.

Kunal squatted on the doorstep trying to ignore the aroma of biryani, curry, and fresh naan that wafted towards him from across the street. He regretted donating the food to that stray now, but what was done was done. Instead, he focused on his plan to get the money owed to him. He had worked in the dhaba since he could stand on his feet — at first in the kitchen peeling potatoes or cleaning up, and then as a waiter. He leaned back against the door, remembering countless evenings on his hands and knees, scrubbing the filthy floors, the stink of soap and phenyl sharp in his nose. He had laboured for the Seths for years, but they had never paid him. Sometimes they let him keep the tips, but those occasions were few and far between.

He was going to raid the cash register and take what was due to him. Just to be fair, he deducted a bit for food and lodging. Even with that, the Seths owed him thousands of rupees. He doubted the cash register would hold that much, but on a good day it would have at least two thousand. He had once observed Sethji putting another little bundle of notes in the drawer below the cash register. He meant to take that too.

That should be more than enough to tide him over till Vinayak found him a job.

A foul-smelling beggar lurched past, probably looking for a place to sleep. Kunal wrinkled his nose and shrank further into the shadow, wishing closing time would come soon. He would have just a few minutes when Sethji went to the kitchen to discuss the next day's menu with Badri and keep an eye on the evening shift of waiters so that they didn't eat too much of the leftovers, which could be served to customers the next day. At this time the cash register was unattended and the dhaba would be empty.

Just the thought of it made his throat dry. He had never stolen anything in his life — not even food on the days the Seths had punished him for some minor infraction. But he told himself that if he took what was owed to him, it wasn't stealing. The other waiters got paid. All he was doing was paying himself.

Almost midnight. The last customer walked out of the dhaba without checking his change. Sethji called out an extra cheery goodbye. He'd probably got away with twenty paisa of this man's change. Kunal wiped his sweaty hands on his almost dry clothes and crossed the road at a sprint.

He hid behind a large mound of garbage on the sidewalk, his heart pounding.
He'll do the same thing he does each night and you'll have at least five minutes to get the money and run. Nothing simpler.

Sethji took his time counting the money and making notes in his little notebook, which he carried at all times. Kunal inhaled the pungent fumes of the rotting garbage and his eyes watered. Sweat glued his kurta to his back as he waited for Sethji to leave.

Sethji waddled out from behind the counter. Kunal tensed, ready to sprint. But Sethji didn't walk into the kitchen. He came towards the door and peered out into the darkness. Kunal almost stopped breathing. Did Sethji sense he was there? If he took a few more steps, he'd see Kunal crouched behind the garbage. Sweat poured into his eyes blinding him and he was starting to feel nauseous.
Go, please go
, Kunal prayed.

On cue, Sethji turned and walked into the kitchen. Kunal jumped to his feet and almost lost his balance. He was lightheaded with panic as he hurried towards the till, keeping low to the ground.The door to the kitchen swung gently in Sethji's wake and then it was still. Kunal raced behind the counter and opened the cash register. Piles of fifties, tens, and fives, lay in their compartments. Kunal had never seen so much money in his life.
Grab them now
, he told himself,
you can count them later
. He scooped up all the cash and stuffed it into his pocket, one eye trained on the kitchen door.

Kunal opened the drawer below and found another roll of notes. Someone up there was on his side today. This was a good haul; he was sure he had at least three thousand rupees and Sethji would never suspect him. He felt a pang as he realized the other waiters would bear the brunt of Sethji's wrath when he discovered he had been robbed, but dismissed it almost immediately. Other than Lalan, no one had ever cared about him, so why should he care about them?

Kunal hurried out from behind the counter and was at the entrance when a thought arrested his steps. His mother's bangle. Did he dare get that, too? He knew he had been incredibly lucky so far. He should run and get out now.While he still had the chance. But he hesitated, unable to leave behind the only thing that belonged to his mother.

At that moment the door swung open and Sethji walked into the room with his sycophant, Raju, trailing behind him like a dog.

“YOU!” snarled Sethji. “Where have you been all this while? You're coming back from the delivery just now?”

Kunal's legs were frozen. His brains were frozen. He was sure the guilt of his recent act was all over his face. Sethji's eyes strayed to the cash register. Kunal realized he had forgotten to shut it! Sethji bellowed and came at him with surprising speed. He lashed out and Kunal went sprawling onto the floor.

“Raju, I want you to get all the waiters and leave,” said Sethji in a very calm voice. “Use the back entrance. Go now!”

Raju nodded and turned away, but not before Kunal saw the huge grin plastered on his face. Once the kitchen door swung shut behind him, Sethji grabbed a handful of Kunal's shirt and pulled him to his feet.

“Please Sethji, I was only taking the wages due to me. Nothing more.The other waiters get paid and I —”

Sethji slapped him so hard, he tasted blood. “Shut up and empty your pockets.”

With shaking hands Kunal removed the bundles of notes and laid them on the counter. Sethji's black eyes were like stones as they observed him.
Why had he stopped? Why had he hesitated? He would have been halfway to Vinayak's by now
.

Sethji shoved Kunal so hard that down he went on the floor again, banging his head against a chair.Yet he could see Sethji clearly enough, and the expression on his employer's face chilled him to the core.

chapter seven

SETHJI KICKED KUNAL IN THE face. Kunal screamed, sure it had shattered into a million pieces. Blood flooded his mouth, spilling onto his shirt and the floor. He stared at the bright red pool in horror, almost overcome with the urge to vomit and faint at the same time.

Sethji pulled the shutter down and locked it. An impenetrable wall of steel now stood between him and freedom. Kunal watched Sethji, his heart banging against his rib cage. What would happen to him now?

Ignoring Kunal, Sethji stepped over to the counter, put the money back into the cash register and locked it, then bowed his head and prayed to the assorted figurines of deities displayed behind the counter. Kunal prayed too.

When Sethji had finished, he advanced on Kunal.The glint in his eye was unmistakable. Kunal slid backward till he reached a wall. He put up his hands to ward off the blows he knew were coming. “Please spare me,” he said. “The gods won't forgive you if you hurt someone deliberately.”

A slow smile spread across Sethji's face. “Don't you worry about me,” he said. “I've already asked for forgiveness for what I'm about to do.”

The walls closed in around Kunal.