The Tiffin (9 page)

chapter eleven

THE COMFORTABLE AROMAS of food enveloped Kunal in their warm embrace as he sat with Vinayak at a table in Sunshine, waiting for their dinner.

“Can you please stop looking as if someone just died?” said Vinayak.

“I was so sure they would let me join,” said Kunal. “How could they be so heartless?”

“But I did tell you it was unlikely, no?” said Vinayak.“Surely it didn't come as a complete surprise.”

Kunal shrugged. “So now what? How do I earn a living? I can't live forever on what Mrs. Seth gave me and I don't want to be a burden on you.”

“Don't ever say that again,” said Vinayak quietly. “Besides, I've already made arrangements to get you a job.” He winked at Kunal, but didn't elaborate.

“What is it?” asked Kunal, not the least bit happy with the news. He wanted to be a dabbawalla. Nothing else would do. He could think of no other way to find his mother.

“Uh-uh,” said Vinayak, shaking his head and smiling. “You'll have to wait just a little bit longer.”

“Tell me now!” said Kunal. “Mrs. Seth was always hiding things from me; she hid the most important information of all. Why do people do that?”

“There you go, being dramatic again,” said Vinayak. “Calm down, I only wanted to give you a nice surprise. I was going to tell you after dinner.”

Before Kunal could ask more questions, their food arrived and along with it the massive proprietor. He lowered his bulk into a chair, which groaned in protest. Fragrant steam rose from mutton cutlets sandwiched in a bun. Kunal looked at it without much appetite.

“So,” said Rustom, “this is the boy you were talking about. Kunal, isn't it?”

Vinayak nodded as he pushed a plate towards Kunal and started on his own meal.

Rustom's large hand shot out suddenly and he squeezed Kunal's biceps. “He doesn't look like he can last one hour on the job,” he said, “let alone a whole day.”

“I've seen him work at the dhaba, which supplied my customers' tiffin lunches,” said Vinayak through a mouthful of food. “He's a fast worker and very good.And he can last a whole day, maybe more! Ummm, this cutlet is good, Rustom.”

“What job?” asked Kunal, looking from one to the other.

“Hmmm,” said Rustom. “Not too bright, either.” But there was a twinkle in his eye.

Vinayak put down his bun and swallowed the mouthful. “I've asked Rustom to hire you.Think you can do it?”

“I used to work a ten-hour shift,” said Kunal. “I can do it.” He watched Rustom carefully, his stomach in knots. Till this afternoon he had been jobless and now he had the chance to get a decent job and to earn a livelihood.

“Let's see if you're up to it,” said Rustom, thumping the table with his palm. “I'm off tomorrow so you can start the day after.”

“Seriously?” asked Kunal. He looked from Vinayak to Rustom. “You mean that?”

“Oh yes, I do,” said the proprietor. “One more thing: I look after my boys and feed them well, but I work them hard.”

“I won't let you down,” said Kunal.

“Good!” said Rustom. “You start work at sharp seven in the morning. I'll pay you fifty rupees a month.You work six days a week and you get one weekday off. We all work Saturdays and Sundays since they're the busiest. If you fall sick, I take it out of your pay. Any questions?”

“Yes,” said Kunal.

“I was just being polite,
gadhera
,” said Rustom getting to his feet. “Make it quick.”

“Can I work the afternoon shift instead of the morning?” said Kunal.

“Why?”

“I'd like to go with Vinayakji to the station every morning. You know, just to help out with the tiffins. I hope you don't mind,” Kunal said, glancing at Vinayak.

Vinayak's face was unreadable but he gave a brief nod. “I'm okay with it if your new employer is.”

“All right then,” said Rustom. “Afternoon shift it is. Come in at noon and work till midnight. Got it?”

“Thank you,” said Kunal. “Er ... one last thing: what's a
gadhera
?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” Rustom called over his shoulder. He hurried to his usual spot behind the counter where customers were starting to line up.

Vinayak was chomping on the last of his bun thoughtfully.

“Thank you,Vinayakji.”

“It's the least I could do,” said Vinayak. “Plus, it's a job you know well, so it shouldn't be a problem. Right?”

“But how will I search for my mother if I can't be a dabbawalla? Just when I've figured out exactly how to find her, I can't!”

Vinayak's face tightened. He said nothing.

“You will help me look for her,” said Kunal, quietly. “Won't you?”

“No.”

The bun slid out of Kunal's hands. “How can you say that? You know what this means to me. Of all people, I thought you were my friend, and would be willing to help.”

“Going down this path will only cause pain. I refuse to be a part of it.”

Kunal stared at Vinayak, unable to believe his ears.
My mother is alive. I have family. I'm not an orphan!
How could he find the right words to describe just how important this was to him? And why should he have to?

Vinayak was looking at him steadily almost as if he'd read his mind. “You know her name and you know why she left you with Mrs. Seth.That doesn't change anything.”

“Maybe something happened that made it impossible for her to come back,” said Kunal. “Her note said she loved me. That she'd be back in a week.”

“What note?” said Vinayak.

Kunal took a deep breath. He extracted his mother's note from his pocket and wordlessly handed it over. Vinayak read the note, folded it, and handed it back to him.

“How old are you?” said Vinayak quietly.

“Twelve.”

“Think about it for a moment. For twelve years your mother knew where you were because she left you there. Right?”

Kunal nodded.The mouthful he had just swallowed stuck in his throat.

“All this while she did not come to get you. And now you think that once you find her, she'll welcome with you with open arms?
No, she won't.
”

Kunal stared at Vinayak wishing he could break something and see it shatter into a million pieces. Why did Vinayak have to say stupid things like this? He was wrong, so very wrong. Kunal struggled to think clearly, but his mind had shut down. All he heard were Vinayak's words: No, she won't.

“It's late. If you're not going to finish your bun then we'd better go,” said Vinayak. He put some money on the table.

They rose and walked out of the restaurant.Vinayak waved goodbye to Rustom. Kunal could barely meet his eye. Outside, the air crackled with electricity.Thunderclouds plodded overhead, prodded on by flashes of lighting.

“More rain tomorrow,” said Vinayak with a deep sigh.“When all that water up there is down on the streets, you'll be dry and warm in Sunshine while my boys will be out in the floods delivering tiffins.You'll be happy you didn't get the job.”

Kunal glanced up into the ominous face of the sky. He would have cheerfully delivered tiffins in a typhoon in order to meet the woman who had brought him into the world. And ask her why she had abandoned him.

IT RAINED ALL NIGHT.The roads had disappeared under filthy brown water pockmarked with floating debris and dead rats. Buses and cars traversed the flooded roads, splashing the already soaked pedestrians. Everything in sight dripped.

And still it rained.

Kunal sloshed through knee-deep water stinking of raw sewage and entered Andheri Station, drenched from head to toe. Vinayak, who had used the only umbrella he possessed, was scarcely dryer. They stood just inside the entrance and squeezed the water from their clothes.The staccato drumbeat of rain on the station's tin roof was unusually loud.

“Today will be quite an interesting day,” said Vinayak. He closed the umbrella and propped it against a wall. “It will be a challenge to deliver the tiffins on time.”

“Will they manage?” asked Kunal, slicking back his hair, feeling a rivulet of cold water trickle down his neck. “With all this rain?”

“Most are old hands at it. A couple of the younger ones, probably Nikhil, may have difficulty. We'll see how it goes. Now stay out of the way today. I really can't handle any distractions.”

Kunal decided to do exactly as he was told. There was enough to keep him interested. Commuters hurried into the station, wiping their streaming faces with sodden handkerchiefs. The chai-walla was doing roaring business as were the samosa and vada sellers. The fragrances of the savoury fried foods wafted his way, making his mouth water.

Clean, shiny trains rattled in and out of the station. There were the usual mad dashes on slick asphalt at the edge of the station with the inevitable tumbles, red-faced embarrassment, and helping hands. Kunal watched them, all the while thinking, might his mother be on some platform, waiting for the train? Or would she be driving to work in a fancy car?

Dabbawallas were starting to pour in, laughing and swearing in the same breath. They had taken the weather in their stride and seemed all the more efficient as they sorted the boxes at top speed and then raced to help the next dripping fellow worker.

“Oi, Moray,” said Vinayak to a dabbawalla who'd just come in. “Where's Nikhil?”

Moray lowered the carrier to the floor and wiped his face. His white kurta pyjama was plastered to his body, and splattered with mud.

“I haven't seen him yet,” said Moray.

“This is his first monsoon collecting the tiffins on his own,” said Vinayak. “I hope he had the sense to start the collection early. His route has eight boxes that have to be redistributed. The train schedules are going to be a mess today.”

“He'll make it,” Moray replied. “We still have ten minutes before our train comes in.”

Vinayak checked his watch and started sorting the tiffins in Moray's carrier while the dabbawalla attempted to wring the water out of his clothes. Kunal moved closer.

“Kunal, isn't it?” said Moray, noticing him for the first time.

“Yes.”

“Sure is bad out there.” Moray jerked his head towards the silver sheet of water cascading off the station's roof and onto the tracks. “This weather tests the mettle of even the best dabbawalla. It's a challenge to deliver the food hot, and on time!”

“Have you lost any tiffins?” asked Kunal. “It's a really bad thing to happen, right?'

“Right,” said Moray. “No one likes to be the one to mar our record of nearly one hundred percent accuracy, but sometimes accidents do happen. Luckily, I've never lost a tiffin.” He finished wiping himself and knelt beside Vinayak to help with the sorting. “But an almost fatal incident occurred last year. An open manhole just outside Charni Road Station was covered up by the flood waters.The dabbawalla wading through chest-deep water obviously didn't see it, and walked straight into it. He would have been swept away into the sewers if it had not been for the carrier. It saved his life!”

“I remember that one,” said Vinayak. He looked up momentarily. “It was Suresh, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” said Moray. “The tiffins fell off, but the carrier landed across the manhole and gave him something to hold on to. Passersby who had seen him go down immediately helped him out. He collected all the tiffins and went about the delivery as he'd been trained. Then he came back to the office and cried like a baby. Amazing boy!”

Kunal listened to the story, his eyes not leaving Moray's face. The dabbawallas took their job seriously, upholding the tradition and their impeccable track record as a team. Once again something twisted inside him. They were all so close, like a family.They even had stories they could recount.They belonged, whereas he had a past he wanted to forget and belonged to no one.

Vinayak stood up. “Nikhil's late.”

Automatically, Kunal's eyes went to the clock on the station wall; a white-faced dial with strict black numbers and stiff hands.

Five minutes to ten.

A dabbawalla came up to them. “The tracks are starting to get flooded,” he said. “If it gets too bad, the next train will be delayed and so will the tiffins.We'd better make sure all of us are on this one.Who's missing?”

Vinayak did not answer. Instead he paced the floor, took off his Gandhi cap, smoothed the band and put it back on. He looked at the clock again.

“Nikhil,” said Kunal, when he saw that the dabbawalla was still waiting for an answer.

The dabbawalla nodded and looked up at the clock. Kunal glanced up too.

Four minutes to ten.

The dabbawallas stood up in readiness. Vinayak gave last-minute instructions. Two of them were to help sort Nikhil's carrier as soon as he came in. He glanced at the entrance for what seemed like the hundredth time. So did Kunal.

Three minutes to ten.

The commuters surged forward. A nasal voice announced the arrival of the ten a.m. train to Churchgate. Dubey appeared out of the crowd.

“I have two boxes missing from one of your team members, bound for Bandra.Where the hell are they?”

“They'll be here,” said Vinayak in a calm voice. “We're waiting for Nikhil. It's his first time collecting the tiffins in such heavy rain, but I'm confident he'll make it.”

“Even if he does, you'll never sort them by the time the train comes in. You should have had a senior take over the route today,” said Dubey. “Not a very smart section leader, are you?”

The tan on Vinayak's face deepened. He had just opened his mouth when someone yelled, “There he is! Nikhil's arrived!”

All heads swivelled to the entrance. A carrier was moving towards them slowly through the milling crowds. Everyone's eyes were glued to it.

The hands of the clock ticked into position and it started chiming out the hours.

The sound seemed to galvanize Nikhil. He sped through the crowds towards the edge of the platform where there were fewer people.

“Move, MOVE!” Kunal heard him yell as he sprinted towards them.

Commuters jumped out of the way of this determined young boy with his unwieldy carrier who neither slowed nor swerved for anyone.

“Shabaash,” yelled Vinayak.“Faster.We can make it yet.”

Nikhil was but a few feet away from them when he slipped on the slick asphalt. The carrier jumped out of his hands, teetered at the edge of the platform and went over.

“NO!” shrieked Nikhil, lunging for it. He missed and it landed with a crash on the tracks, scattering tiffins like silver confetti.

The commuters crowded forward, watching the spectacle. The dabbawallas and Kunal raced as one towards Nikhil. He stared at them for a moment, then at his tiffins.Then he jumped.

“You idiot, come back up now!” roared Vinayak. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the platform, got down on all fours and reached out for Nikhil who was flinging the tiffins up onto the platform. The boy skilfully avoided Vinayak's attempt to grab him as he hopped over the shining tracks gathering the boxes.

“Come up NOW!” said Vinayak. “If I have to come down, I'll thrash you so hard you won't be able to use your backside for a month.”

“I can't spoil our record!” yelled Nikhil. “I can't let you down.” His voice was almost lost in the drumbeat of the rain.

Kunal looked at Nikhil's crazed face, streaming with rain as he feverishly worked to retrieve all the boxes. The heavy downpour made everything soft and hazy. Nikhil wiped his eyes frequently, searching for the remaining tiffins and keeping a lookout for the train. And then he suddenly realized: Nikhil reminded him of Lalan. And he looked just as scared as Lalan had the evening he'd been brutally beaten.

“Are you insane, Vinayak?” said Dubey. “Get that boy up here or you'll be the first section leader in history to lose a life instead of a tiffin.”

Vinayak turned pale. He dropped to his knees and Kunal knew exactly what he was about to do.

“I'll get him back,” said Kunal. Before he could change his mind or anyone could stop him, Kunal jumped onto the tracks.

“NO!” said Vinayak. “Not you too.”

“Nikhil,” said Kunal, trying to shut out the instructions that the dabbawallas and commuters were yelling out to them. “Help me with the carrier first. Hurry!”

They picked up the carrier and handed it to the waiting hands of the dabbawallas.

“The train's coming!” someone called out. “Get off the tracks.”

Kunal heard the mournful horn. The vibrations under his feet intensified.

“It's almost here,” yelled Kunal.

Nikhil froze, staring up the track. The clattering of the wheels was deafeningly loud now. The snub-nosed face of the train was getting clearer through the haze of rain and it was coming fast.

“Move!” yelled Kunal. “We can do it.”

Together they managed to retrieve the last two tiffins and fling them onto the platform.

“Leave the tiffins!”

“Come on, up!”

Kunal pushed Nikhil up first. A dozen waiting hands pulled him to safety.

“Kunal, hurry up and take my hand,” Vinayak screamed, leaning out as far as he could.

Kunal reached out for Vinayak's outstretched hand when a flash of silver caught his eye. A lone tiffin lay on a wooden sleeper of the track furthest away from them. His heart thumped.

“We missed one!” said Kunal, pointing. “There!”

“Leave it,” Vinayak pleaded. He leaned further out to grab Kunal. “It doesn't matter!”

But it did matter. Dubey stood at the platform's edge, smirking. Ignoring Vinayak's outstretched hand, Kunal whirled around and raced for the tiffin. The train thundered towards him. Kunal jumped and cleared the track seconds before the train slid past, obscuring Vinayak and the dabbawallas from view.

Kunal snatched up the last tiffin triumphantly. Vinayak's reputation and their record remained unmarred. Dubey could go to hell. He clutched the tiffin to his chest, wanting to laugh, wishing the others could see him. He hopped along the wooden sleepers towards the steps of the platform on the other side. He would take the bridge across and this tiffin could go in the next train.

Vibrations under his feet again. Staccato beat of steel on steel. Close and coming closer. He looked up, his heart pounding.

The brown and yellow face of a train heading in the opposite direction was almost upon him.Through the glass window in front of the train he caught sight of the driver's horrified face.

Once more he jumped.