The Tiffin (10 page)

chapter twelve

KUNAL LANDED WITH A thud in the narrow corridor between the two train tracks. Gravel and pebbles dug into his knees while the unceasing rain tattooed his back. The screeching of wheels on metal filled his ears as the trains swept off in opposite directions. Crouching low, he hugged the tiffin to his chest, praying he wouldn't be sucked under.The wind pulled at his clothes as the trains picked up speed. Kunal was almost flat on the ground, his face pressed to the gravel, breathing in the stench of urine, feces, and hot metal. The wind lessened and the vibrations died away and still he crouched. He hadn't the strength to sit up or even look around.

Strong arms pulled him to his feet. He opened his eyes.Two dabbawallas were on the track. They dragged him towards the platform. More hands reached out and pulled him up and still he did not let go off the tiffin — it seemed glued to his fingers.

The next moment Nikhil lunged at him and hugged him tight. “Thank you, thank you! You're the bravest person I have ever met.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” said Kunal. His voice sounded odd in his ears; high-pitched and shaky. But the truth was that no one else had jumped onto the tracks. He had. Nikhil grinned at him and Kunal managed a smile. It was just starting to sink in: he'd saved the last tiffin and the dabbawallas' record, single-handedly.

“I'd better take that tiffin now,” said Nikhil. “I'll catch the next train. I think we'll still be able to deliver it without too much of a delay, thanks to you.”

Kunal handed it over and Nikhil scampered off. He turned and came face to face with Vinayak. The smile died on his lips. Vinayak's face was bloodless. His blazing eyes still held vestiges of terror. The old man shook Kunal till his teeth rattled. “You stupid boy! That was the silliest and most dangerous thing I have ever seen in my life! Don't you ever stop to think before you act?” He swivelled on his heel and walked away.

Kunal stared at the dabbawallas who had stayed behind to help him.The rest had already boarded the ten a.m. train and were on their way to the city centre. “What did I do wrong? I helped Nikhil and saved your record and he's angry at me for that? Has he gone mad?”

“That was a brave thing to do, but really, the lives of our people are more important than our record,” one of them replied. “If anything had happened to you,Vinayak would never have forgiven himself. He's already lost too much. I thought you knew that.”

Then Kunal remembered Vinayak's reaction when he had run into the street a couple of days ago.The old man had lost someone dear to him — a fact Kunal had completely forgotten. What agony Vinayak must have gone through seeing him on the tracks.

He dropped to his knees, shivering and nauseous, as the enormity of what he had done sunk in. So many things could have gone wrong, and Vinayak would have been in greater trouble. A hot wave rose within him. He opened his mouth and a torrent of vomit shot out. Only when all of his breakfast was on the platform did he sit back. Someone handed him a glass of water. He took a sip and almost gagged.

“It's all right, you're safe,” said the voice he had been aching to hear.

Vinayak squatted beside him, rubbing his back. “Are you okay now or do you want to lie down?”

“I'm sorry, so very sorry,” said Kunal. He gazed into Vinayak's eyes.They had lost their livid look.

“Let's go back to the head office,” said Vinayak.“The seniors will want a report on this.”

“You've forgiven me, haven't you?” said Kunal as they walked out the station.

Vinayak was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I know you acted with the best of intentions. None of the men had the courage to do what you did. But I couldn't help thinking of someone else ... someone I loved dearly and lost.”

They were almost at the entrance.Vinayak stopped suddenly and clutched his chest. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

“Are you all right?” asked Kunal. “Do you want to sit down?” The old man's face looked as grey as the sky outside and Kunal felt sick just watching him.

Vinayak leaned against a wall. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Slowly, colour suffused his face and he opened them again. “Just had a bit of a shock,” he said. “I'm fine now.”

“Who were you reminded of?” asked Kunal. He wanted to know ... he had to know.

Vinayak did not answer. Avoiding Kunal's eyes, he straightened up and wiped his forehead with a trembling hand.

“Why won't you tell me?” said Kunal. “Am I not like a son to you?”

Vinayak looked at Kunal then, his eyes wet. “That is why I was so afraid for you ... for me, if I lost you. But now is not the time to talk about this. I'll tell you when we are both ready.”

Kunal hugged Vinayak. “I'm so sorry.”

Vinayak held him at arm's length. “Just stop and think before you act. All right? And please, don't ever jump onto train tracks again.”

Kunal nodded. “As long as no one drops tiffins on the tracks, I won't,” he replied.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Vinayak's face.

AS SOON AS THEY ENTERED the head office, the dabbawallas crowded round Kunal. They patted his back, tousled his hair, and a couple of them clasped his hands in their callused ones and pumped hard.

“That was amazing!”

“No one has ever shown this kind of commitment or bravery before.”

“Or this kind of stupidity,” someone piped in. Kunal was sure that had been Dubey.

“Our track record remains unmarred, for now!”

“Shabaash.”

Kunal smiled and thanked each person. The senior members came up to him. Hari looked him in the eye.

“That was a good thing you did for us all,” he said. “Though, from what I hear, it could have been a disaster.The Association would rather lose a tiffin than a life. Remember that the next time you feel the need to act like Amitabh Bachchan.”

“I'm sorry, Hariji,” said Kunal. “But I couldn't think of anything but saving the tiffins. Doesn't rule twenty-three of the dabbawalla code state that no customer shall go hungry?”

Hari stared at him for a long minute. “I can see that you have an excellent work ethic and a keen interest in being one of us.”

He turned to Suhas and Param who were flanking him, and whispered something.They nodded and he turned back.

“We have decided to grant your wish.”

Kunal gaped at Hari, then at Vinayak.

“You wanted to be a dabbawalla,” said Hari. “You have our permission.You can start with us tomorrow.”

Loud cheering filled the room.

Kunal was quiet. At last, the words he had longed to hear. He would become a dabbawalla, though it would take almost six months of training before he could deliver the tiffins on his own. That was too long a time to wait for what he had to do right now.

The senior dabbawalla was staring at him perplexed. “Aren't you happy? Isn't that what you asked for the last time we saw you?”

Kunal took a deep breath. “There's something I want even more.”

Only the whirring of the fan disturbed the silence in the room.

“I want your help to find my mother.”

chapter thirteen

“WHAT?” SAID HARI. FOR a moment he almost looked sorry that he had started this conversation. He glanced at the other two, who had moved closer.

“How do you propose we do that?” asked Param.

Kunal glanced at Vinayak who hadn't said a word. His eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into their sockets and the lines on his face were more prominent than ever. It was clear Vinayak hated this idea. But now was his chance, maybe his only chance to find his family and belong to someone.

“The other day I heard you all talking about customers putting notes in their tiffins,” said Kunal. He was so excited that the words spilled out of his mouth. “I'd like to send out notes addressed to my mother in all the tiffins delivered to the financial district. That's where she works. One of those notes will surely reach her. I'll have my family again and then ... then ... er ... I can join you.” His voice trailed off. Once he had found her, he hoped he wouldn't need to continue working fulltime.

“Out of the question,” said Hari. A deep scowl replaced his normally benign expression. “We can't jeopardize the integrity of our service just to find your mother. The customers will be annoyed.”

His words deflated the bubble of joy within Kunal. “But you said you wanted to repay me.Well, this is what I want.”

“The request is ridiculous,” said Suhas. He crossed his arms and glared at Kunal. “Vinayak, knock some sense into this boy. He's asking us to tamper with our customers' tiffins.”

A murmur rose around him, steadily growing louder as it circled the room.

“This is the only thing I want,” said Kunal. “I have a job already. All I want is my family.”

“Kunal, be reasonable,” said Hari. “You have no idea what you're asking of us. It's too much. We want to reward your bravery but this is ... it's ...”

They all spoke at once, drowning out Hari's words.

“You weren't there!” someone said. “You didn't see how he jumped onto the tracks and not only helped Nikhil to safety, but also retrieved the last tiffin. If it hadn't been for him, we would have had at least eight customer complaints by now, not to mention all the damaged tiffins.We'd have to replace those.”

“If the train had hit the carrier lying across the tracks, we would have had to contend with the Railway Authorities too,” said Vinayak quietly. “Kunal has saved us a lot of trouble and expense. And yet, I'm not sure if this is the right way to repay him.”

Kunal stared at Vinayak, unable to believe he'd just said that, knowing how important it was to him. His chest ached, as if someone had punched him hard.

“Let him send the notes,” someone said. “I don't think it's such a big deal. In fact some of our customers might even think it a great kindness, helping someone locate their family.”

Agreement and dissent echoed through the room and it took the seniors a full five minutes to quiet everyone down.

“Let's take a vote,” said Hari. His eyes swept the room. “Before you raise your hands, be aware that many more customers will object to their property being misused, compared to those who would have complained about losing their tiffins.”

Dubey raised his hand. Kunal's stomach dropped when Hari nodded.

“My esteemed colleagues,” said Dubey. “Don't you see how wrong this is? Today it's a note, tomorrow something else. Where will it end? If you want to reward this orphan, give him clothes, some money. But please don't suggest that we play with our livelihood.”

“I don't want your money,” said Kunal. “I want my family. He looked around the room at the serious faces. His future was in their hands. If they said no and voted with Dubey, he'd never have this chance again. “Please, all I'm asking is for permission to send out a few notes on one day. One day. I know she's here, she's close. If there's no reply, I won't ask again.”

No one uttered a word.The silence was more ominous than the buzz earlier.

Kunal was utterly exhausted. All his strength seemed to have evaporated in the muggy heat of the room. “I've got your answer,” he said, looking around at the faces staring at him. “I think I'll go.”

“Give us a moment,” said Hari. He led his colleagues to a corner and they had a hurried discussion in whispers.

Vinayak was staring out the window and Kunal joined him.

“I know you think this is a bad idea,” said Kunal. He couldn't keep the bitterness or disappointment out of his voice.

“Yes,” said Vinayak, not looking at him. “You still have time to retract it. Ask for something else or become a dabbawalla. That's a much better future for you.”

“No,” said Kunal. He gripped the windowsill tightly. “My future is with my family. It's the only thing I want.”

Slowly,Vinayak faced Kunal and put his hands on his shoulders. “Be careful what you wish for, Kunal. Sometimes you might get it, only to realize it was not at all what you wanted.”

“All those in favour of letting Kunal send out the notes, raise your hand,” said Hari.

Kunal glanced around the room, blood roaring in his ears. Hands started rising. One third of the room. Half the room. Three-quarters of the room.Almost everyone had raised their hands except Dubey and his team members.Vinayak still had his hands behind his back.

“What about you?” Dubey asked Hari.

Hari looked steadily at him for a moment and then at Kunal.With infuriating slowness he raised his hand.A jubilant cry went around the room and Hari smiled. Kunal beamed back.

chapter fourteen

VINAYAK WAS QUIET ON the way home and Kunal did not try and draw him out. He wanted to tell his news to every passerby, yell it out to the overcast sky and clusters of buildings huddled around him. He had to be content with humming the tune of a Hindi song he'd heard on the radio.

At the stationery store that evening, Kunal spent every rupee he had on notebooks, pencils, and erasers. Back at the chawl, he riffled through the pages, revelling in their newness, their inky fragrance. He caressed the lined pages; one of these would surely reach his mother. She might place her hand on the page he was touching it now. They'd meet, she would beg for his forgiveness and she'd ask him to come back with her. They would be a happy family. He'd start going to school and learning interesting things, and he'd have a proper job for once.

The rest of his life neatly mapped out, he fell asleep.

KUNAL AWOKE TO THE sound of a pigeon cooing. He sat up from his makeshift bed on the floor and bounded to the window. A clear blue sky stretched before him. The tattered remains of the kite in the tree had all but disappeared in yesterday's deluge, except for a very small red scrap that fluttered in the light breeze. His plan was going to work — he knew it.

The cot behind him creaked. Kunal turned around.Vinayak was already halfway to the bathroom, evidently still annoyed with him. Kunal felt the urge to run up to the old man and tell him to be happy because he was — deliriously so. But even before he could take a step, the door shut with a soft click. Kunal turned back to the window.The red scrap waved cheerily. He smiled. Nothing could spoil his mood today.

“So, have you decided what you're going to say in the note?” asked Vinayak. He was almost ready to go to the station. “I'm assuming you'll want to stay back and write them.”

“Yes. I have to start work with Rustom this afternoon, so I'd better work this morning.”

Vinayak nodded. “I'll be back at lunch time to help you.”

“Thank you.”

Kunal watched Vinayak cross the courtyard. The moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, the swiftly moving crowd engulfed him and bore him away.

What could he write that would make his mother come back? Should he plead? Be harsh? Guilt her into coming to see him? Thank God Vinayak had taught him to read and write. All those hours of hard work would come in handy now, even though he was the very person against this idea.

Kunal sat down with a clean piece of lined paper and a sharpened pencil.

“Dear Miss Patel,” he wrote. Paused. No, it was too formal. He was writing to his mother, not a school teacher. He erased it.

“Dear Mother,” he wrote. Stopped. No, too familiar. She might not like it. He started to erase the words. Stopped. What if he was erasing her right out of his life? He ran his finger over the words, now barely visible on the lined page. Would he ever get a chance to speak them out loud?

Kunal stared at the blank page, snatched up the pencil again and started writing.

“Dear Anahita,” he wrote.Yes.This sounded right. Casual, not too friendly or distant. Now what? This is your son, please come and get me? This was so much harder than he had imagined.

He wandered over to the window. The crowd at the communal tap had swelled. The little boy he had seen on his first morning at the chawl was running around again, his mother in hot pursuit with a mug of water. Their laughter wafted up to him, along with the fragrance of freshly boiled rice.The shrill whistle of a pressure cooker pierced the muted buzz of radio commentary and conversation around him. He hadn't written one note and the inhabitants of the chawl were already preparing for lunch.

He strode back to the desk and started writing, not pausing to think, letting his heart seep onto the page through his fingertips