The Tiffin (11 page)
Dear Anahita,
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You left something with Mrs. Seth twelve years ago. Why didn't you come back for it? What happened? I must know. If nothing else, you owe me an explanation.
Â
Kunal
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PS: I'm not at the dhaba anymore. I'm with Vinayak at the dabbawalla chawl at 51, Janpath Lane in Andheri, third floor, room five. I'm the boy with the green eyes.
Kunal stared at the note. His deepest desire stared back at him. He folded the page.Waited a whole minute.Then he unfolded it and tried to read it once again, trying to imagine his mother reading it. He had deliberately not given too much detail so that a stranger reading it would not know what it was about. No one would understand the note except his mother. And green eyes were so rare in Bombay, she was sure to recognize him when they met.
But would she respond? Or would she crumple his plea into a ball and throw it away? There was only one way to find out and that was to send out as many as possible, and hope.
He had the sudden urge to read the note his mother had written all those years ago. He pulled it out from under the mattress and laid it alongside his own, comparing her neat handwriting with his large, ill-formed letters. All those years ago she too had written a note, put it in a tiffin, and sent it to his father. Now, twelve years later, he was doing the same. But her note hadn't reached his father. Was his note doomed to failure too?
A cold hand clutched at his heart and he held his head in his hands trying to rid himself of the feeling of utter futility.This time it had to work. His mother had sent one note. He was going to send many, as many as he could write.
Should he wait to show this note to Vinayak? He decided not to, not when time was so short and he had but one chance to send them out. Kunal pulled the notebooks apart and started copying out the wording. Five, ten, fifteen notes piled up beside him.After a while the words were emblazoned across his mind's eye so that he did not need to copy them. His hand moved automatically across the blank page.
The door opened and Kunal looked up with a start. Vinayak stepped into the room with a parcel that gave off the most delectable fragrance. “Lunchtime,” he said.
Kunal stood up massaging his cramped fingers. “Oh good! I'm so hungry I could eat an elephant.”
“Sorry, you'll have to make do with a goat!” said Vinayak.
Kunal stared at him blankly till he noticed the twinkle in the old man's eye. “Oh, I see,” he said, glancing at the parcel of food that Vinayak held aloft. Kunal smiled. If Vinayak was joking it meant he'd accepted Kunal's plan.
“How did you fare with the notes?”
“Seventeen,” said Kunal with a mournful look.
“I'll help you after lunch.”
Kunal smiled gratefully as they sat down to a delicious lunch of mutton biryani and raita.After they had eaten,Vinayak put on his glasses and picked up a note. He scanned the page quickly and slumped in his chair.
“What do you think?” asked Kunal. “Will she come?”
Vinayak sighed deeply. “Kunal, this is a good letter, cleverly written, too. But you realize that this may not work, don't you? Someone who left you all those years ago is not going to come back just because you wrote a touching note, no matter how badly you want them to.”
Kunal felt the familiar tug of anger and sadness in his chest. Why did Vinayak always have to dampen his spirits? He finally had a chance to find his mother and all he was getting from Vinayak was endless caution and gloom.What was wrong with this old man?
“You belong somewhere, to the dabbawalla community,” said Kunal, trying not to snap. “Is it so wrong for me to want to belong somewhere too?”
“If there was any hope in it, I would have encouraged you, Kunal. But this is useless and I wish you would trust me and believe me when I tell you this is a really bad idea, and a waste of time and money.”
Trust
.That treacherous word again. He thought of Mrs. Seth and all the lies she'd told him, and though he knew now they were for his own good, he'd been betrayed. Had he known about the letter, he would have started the search for his mother much sooner. He remembered the conversation with Lalan in the stinking dishwashing room when he told Kunal he was leaving for good. No, he was not going to trust anyone but himself. Ever again.
“I'm going ahead, with or without your help,” said Kunal. “If you can't encourage me, then please don't say anything at all.”
Vinayak looked at him for a long moment. “All right, Kunal. I can see you're determined to see this through,” he said. “I promised to help and so I shall.” Without another word he pulled the pile of blank pages towards him and started copying out the note.
All too soon it was time for Kunal to report to work at Sunshine. He almost wished he had waited a few days before accepting the job but he had spent the last of his money on the notebooks. He needed more and fast, so that he could contribute to the meals and other expenses, even though he knew Vinayak didn't expect it.
“I'll be back at midnight,” said Kunal.
Vinayak nodded. “Be careful when you're returning at night. Keep to the main roads.”
“Of course,” said Kunal.
Lalan's battered face still haunted his dreams.
THE CLIMB TO THE third floor seemed like he was scaling Mount Everest. Panting hard and tired to his very core, Kunal stepped into the corridor. Light spilled from room number five where a crowd milled around near the entrance.A mound of chappals littered the doorway and the dabbawallas were probing it with their feet, trying to find their respective pairs. Kunal's heart galloped and his tiredness vanished. Why the crowd? Had something happened to Vinayak?
He raced along the narrow corridor.“What happened? Why are all of you here?”
“Kunal's back,” one of the dabbawallas sang out. “Our very own Amitabh Bachchan is here.” More people trickled out of the room, laughing and joking.
“Are you having a party without me?” said Kunal. He tried to peek into the room but there were too many people in the corridor, blocking the doorway.
“Yes,” said Nikhil who'd just walked out. “But it's over now. Good night.” He had a huge grin on his face.
“Oh,” said Kunal, glad his face was in the shadows.
“Bye, see you tomorrow,” said Moray.
“Good night,” another called out.
“Good morning!” someone else corrected.
Kunal flattened himself against the wall as the men filed past, smiling. His guts twisted. They'd obviously had a great time while he was away. He did not belong to their family and they hadn't included him in their celebrations. With any luck he'd have someone of his own, soon. Then he wouldn't need any of them, or Vinayak, ever again.
Finally, Kunal was able to enter the room. He stopped in the doorway, aghast. Instead of the remains of a party, piles of paper covered every surface, even the floor.Vinayak sat on the cot massaging his hand. He saw Kunal and managed a smile that looked more like a grimace.
“How was the first day?”
“What's this?” squeaked Kunal.
“Notes,” said Vinayak. “They all wanted to help.”
“But I thought most of them hadn't learned to write,” said Kunal.
“Yes, but they can copy out letters,” said Vinayak.
For a moment, Kunal could only stare into Vinayak's red-rimmed eyes. Then he whirled around and ran back outside. The dabbawallas were still in sight; black shadows gliding across the courtyard and scattering as they went â some heading to other sections of the chawl and some towards the main street.
“THANK YOU!” yelled Kunal, waving frantically. “Thanks a lot!”
“You're welcome,” a chorus of voices replied. “Any time!”
Lights came on in some of the darkened rooms of the chawl. A few choice curses flew at him.
“Oi, it's one a.m. Go to sleep or I'll come up there and put you to sleep.”
“Shut up, stupid!”
Kunal hurried back inside, unable to stop smiling. His tiredness had vanished completely. He looked at the notes again, flitting from one pile to another, running his finger along its height.
“This is ... this is unbelievable,” he said. “There must be hundreds here!”
“Yes,” said Vinayak.
“Thank you,” said Kunal. His voice trembled. “They must have helped because you asked them.”
Vinayak gave a tired smile. “Not all of them.You have a few loyal followers too.”
Kunal picked up one of the notes. The handwriting was shaky but legible.There was also a PPS that read,
If you know an Anahita Patel in finance, please pass this note to her.
“This is brilliant,” said Kunal. “This little bit at the end. There can't be too many Anahita Patels who are financial analysts downtown.”
“Yes,” said Vinayak. “That was Nikhil's idea. We added that line to all the notes you'd written too.”
Kunal lay down, too excited to sleep.Tomorrow hundreds of these would be on their way to find his mother. And one would reach her. How could it not? His face turned warm when he remembered that he'd cursed the dabbawallas for not including him in their party when all along, he'd been the virtual guest of honour.
He made a promise to himself; no matter where he was, how rich and successful he became, he would never forget the dabbawallas, or their kindness.
“WAKE UP, KUNAL,” said Vinayak.“We'd better get to the station extra early today.”
Kunal opened his eyes and sat up.A brilliant slab of sunshine lay by the window, neatly sliced into bars. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
Kunal jumped to his feet and made another circuit of the room, touching the notes. Yesterday hadn't been a dream. “I still can't believe it,” he said.
“You'll believe it when you're lugging them all the way to the station,” said Vinayak. “Let's get going.”
“How many are there?” said Kunal
“I lost count after three hundred,” said Vinayak. “But it's just a little over that figure.”
“But ... but I didn't buy enough notebooks,” said Kunal. Even as he said that, he knew. Vinayak had paid for the extra books. “How will I ever repay you?”
“I'll think of something,” said Vinayak. “You can be sure of that.”
When Kunal hurried out of the bathroom, ready to face the day, the notes were already by the door in six large plastic bags.
“We should be able to manage these,” said Vinayak, picking up three bags effortlessly. “Right?”
Kunal scooped up the other three, feeling his shoulders sag with the strain, and followed Vinayak. The streets looked clean and even the beggars seemed less pathetic on this bright and sunny morning. He smiled at everyone he passed and got glares in return. He didn't care.
At the station they waited at their usual spot. As each dabbawalla walked in,Vinayak counted the number of tiffins in his carrier and handed him the exact number of notes with instructions to put them on top of the tiffins, inside the aluminum cases, before sorting them.This way, the notes would be the first thing the customers would see when they opened their lunch boxes that afternoon.
The excitement was palpable as everyone took part in Kunal's “project” with gusto â everyone except sour-faced Dubey and his team, who huddled and whispered among themselves. Dubey glanced over a couple of times and shook his head. He'd announced just moments before that his team would not distribute the notes and if any of the tiffins he was delivering had them, he'd throw them out.
“What if my mother happens to be working in the building that Dubey's team is delivering to?” said Kunal. “She won't get the notes because his team won't take them.”
“Stop it, Kunal. It will do you no good thinking of the âifs' and âbuts,'” said Vinayak.“Anyway, most of the financial district deliveries are made by my people and many others who want to help. So stop worrying and start distributing.”
Kunal flitted nervously from one carrier to another, opening the aluminum cases to check if his note was right on top.
“You'd better stop doing that,” said Moray. “The food will get cold.Then we'll really have upset customers.”
“Sorry,” said Kunal. Heat crept up his neck. He was getting carried away, and the last thing he wanted was for the customers to complain about cold food.
“We'll find her, don't you worry!” said Moray. “She can't escape us ... the dabbawallas are everywhere and Bombay is our backyard!”
Kunal looked at Moray, a lump in his throat. How willingly he and the others had jumped in to help him. These were friends to whom he'd be indebted for life, whether the plan succeeded or not.
A crackly voice announced the arrival of the ten a.m. train to Churchgate and the dabbawallas hoisted the carriers onto their heads, readying themselves for the usual mad dash.
Kunal stood aside and riffled through the remaining notes trying to stay still. He couldn't. He paced, glancing at the clock, the crowds, and the carriers, wishing he could fast-forward the hour to three in the afternoon when the dabbawallas would be returning, hopefully one of them bearing good news. The wait hadn't even begun and already it was unbearable.
Nikhil came up to Kunal. “Let me have those extra notes. I'll pass them on to some of my friends at the interconnecting stations.We'll find her,” he said with a wink.
Kunal gave him a bear hug. After Lalan, he had been so afraid to let anyone get close, but Nikhil, with his friendliness and good nature, had been irresistible. Kunal was going to miss him the most when he left. “Thanks,” he said, and he gave the notes to Nikhil.
“Mention not!” Nikhil tucked the notes into the front of his shirt, hoisted the carrier on his head and hurried off towards the platform.
The train chugged into the station.The dabbawallas boarded several compartments, then waved to him as the train slid out of the station and picked up speed.Vinayak stood beside him, his arm around Kunal's shoulder.
Kunal stared at the receding taillights of the train. It had begun. In less than two hours a large number of Bombayites would be reading his note and he prayed one of them would be his mother.
THERE WAS SOMETHING TERRIBLY wrong with the clock at Sunshine. It was running so slow that Kunal wondered if the batteries were dying. Once the lunchtime rush died down, he would tell Rustom about it, maybe go and buy new batteries.
Noon. A customer beckoned to him and ordered something. Kunal could only think of the notes; all the tiffins would have been delivered by now.
“Hey, you idiot!” yelled the customer he had just served.
Kunal snapped out of his reverie. “What?”
“I'd ordered mutton cutlets, not an omelette.”
One p.m. Kunal dropped a cup of scalding tea steps away from the pickup counter. He had tripped while staring at a woman and trying to imagine what his mother would look like. Just a few drops landed on a customer sitting close by who nevertheless howled in protest. He shut up after Rustom offered him a cream cake on the house.
Two p.m. Kunal stood mesmerized by the hands of the clock. They didn't seem to be moving at all. He was sure the batteries had died. Someone smacked the back of his head. Kunal jumped almost a foot off the ground, thinking Sethji had found him.
“
Saala gadhera
,” said Rustom. “You've done nothing but stare at the clock all morning and mess up all your orders.You want to be fired?”
“I-I ...,” said Kunal. He stopped. How could he explain what was going on without sounding like a complete fool?
“You've never been this inattentive.What's the matter?”
Kunal decided to be completely honest. “I have to get to the station. The dabbawallas are helping me look for my mother today and they may have news.”
Rustom blew air out of his cheeks as he stared at Kunal. Then he sat down at the nearest vacant table. “Sit,” he said to Kunal.
Kunal obeyed, his eyes instinctively going to the clock again. 2:01.
“Does Vinayak know?” said Rustom.
“He's the one who helped me the most,” said Kunal. “Can I take the rest of the afternoon off and go to the station? I promise to make up the time tomorrow.”
“On one condition,” said Rustom. He was studying Kunal's face as if it were the
Midday
newspaper.
“Anything,” said Kunal. He stole another glance at the clock. 2:03.
“No matter what happens, I want you back at work tomorrow,” said Rustom. “All right?”
Kunal nodded. He'd agree to anything right now. He just wanted to get out.
“Then go!”
Kunal jumped to his feet and ran off before Rustom could change his mind. Only when he was halfway to the station, panting hard as he waited for the lights to change, did he realize what Rustom had really meant. If he wanted Kunal to report to work the next day, Rustom was already certain he wouldn't find his mother.
Kunal stood still, waiting for the walk sign.And when it did come on, he couldn't walk. He slumped against the telephone pole, staring at the busy road. Rustom was wrong. So was Vinayak. He would find her and she would take him to live with her.
Kunal raced into the station. His eyes shot to the clock as he skidded to a halt. Two-thirty. He still had half an hour before the dabbawallas would start coming back.There was a lone dabbawalla sitting on a bench facing the tracks. Kunal did not need to see his face to figure out who it was. He sat down beside Vinayak and waited.
Two forty-five. Kunal's stomach churned as the first train ground to a halt, bringing with it a whiff of day-old fish. The crowd parted easily to let a dozen fisherwomen through, with their baskets perched atop their heads and dripping foul-smelling water. Right behind them followed the first dabbawalla. Kunal ran up to him. The man shook his head before heading to the regular spot to await the others.The tiffins would be sorted in reverse now and returned to the owners. Kunal shuffled back to the bench.
“This is just the first one,” said Vinayak. “Don't be disheartened.”
Kunal took a deep breath. Two more trains went by. There were no dabbawallas in either. His heart spiralled down to his toes. He wanted to throw up, but reminded himself he'd had no lunch. A terrible fear gnawed at his stomach.
A dabbawalla whose route included the Air India building and the Bombay Stock Exchange got off the next train and hurried towards them with a grim expression. Right away Kunal knew: bad news.
“What is it?” asked Kunal even before the man could speak.
“Nothing on the notes, Kunal, but you and Vinayak have to go to the office right away.”
“Why?” asked Vinayak.
“Some customers have already telephoned the Association to complain about the notes. They claim this is advertising they're paying for,” continued the man, “and they're demanding a discount on their monthly fees.”
Fear ballooned inside him. He could barely breathe. Hari had warned them about this. And now it had really happened. Could people be so petty about a note?
Vinayak nodded. “We'll go right away.”
“No!” said Kunal. “I want to wait till all the dabbawallas get in.You go without me.”
“Stop it,” said Vinayak. His voice was ice-cold despite the muggy heat that enveloped them. “When Hari calls, we have to go. If anyone has news, they'll know where to find us.”
Instead of walking, they took a train to the head office. Kunal was quiet. A part of him knew Vinayak was right, and yet, he hated having to leave the station. What if one of them had found her? He wanted to go and see her right away. But what if she had accompanied the dabbawalla back to Andheri Station? He shook his head, trying to clear away the possibilities and questions that plagued him.
“Is this really very bad?” asked Kunal as they neared the building. “What will they do to me? It was my idea, after all.”
“Don't worry about it, Kunal. Hari did give you his permission; he even voted for you, remember?”
The climb up to the first floor seemed shorter than before, as if someone had magically whisked away a few stairs.
All too soon they were stepping into the office. Hari looked up from the discussion he had been having with the Suhas and Param. A few dabbawallas stood in groups, chatting. All eyes swivelled towards them. The silence in the room was thicker and heavier than the air before a thunderstorm.
“Customer complaints are pouring in by the minute,” said Hari without preamble. “How many notes were sent out?”
“A little over three hundred,” replied Vinayak after a moment's thought.
“Three hundred?” whispered Hari. He shook his head sorrowfully. “You mean we might get three hundred complaints? How could you write so many notes in such a short time?”
Kunal didn't say a word.
“I don't believe everyone is going to complain,” said Vinayak. “Who knows, some might even be sympathetic to Kunal's cause.”
“I wish I hadn't allowed it,” said Hari. He stared at Kunal. “I don't know what's going to happen. Those that have complained are demanding a discount. If word spreads, our entire customer base might want one. We just can't afford something like this.We're already charging rock-bottom prices.”
“But why?” asked Kunal. “They put notes into their tiffins too.What we did is no different.”
Hari frowned. “Let me put it this way: suppose you wrote a letter, sealed the envelope, put a stamp on, and mailed it. During its journey to the post office, the postman opened up your letter and stuck in a letter of his own and then mailed it.Would you be all right with that?”
Kunal shook his head.
“That's exactly what we've done.You're using the customer's envelope to mail your own letter.Without their permission.”
The crowd in the room had been steadily swelling.
Dubey marched in, furious and red-faced. He wagged a finger at Hari. “I told you all not to do it! I warned you this would happen and yet you allowed it. Now see the mess we're in?”
“You keep that finger of yours down,” snapped Hari. “I am still the senior-most member of this Association. No one points a finger at me.”
Glowering, Dubey lowered his hand. The seniors held a hurried discussion.After a few moments, Hari faced them again. There was immediate silence.
“The only way to appease the affected customers is to give them a twenty-five rupee discount on their delivery fee for next month.This way we won't lose anyone.”
An angry hiss circulated the room.
“We're already earning so little, how can we take a pay cut?”
“No way! We can't afford it.”
“We'll issue a public apology.They can take it or leave it.”
Kunal looked around at the motley faces; some old, some thin, many looking exhausted and haggard.These men worked very hard, carrying loads up to forty kilograms back and forth each day, for a meagre sum. He'd never looked beyond their uniforms but now, he took a good long look.These were poor men with large families to feed and because of his selfish request they might go hungry next month. A wave of shame washed over him; he had snatched food from their mouths.
“I'm so very sorry â,” he started to say, but Hari cut in.
“What's done is done, Kunal.You did not force us, we did it of our own free will and now we have to face the consequences. We shall all be a bit leaner and wiser next month. Param, issue an announcement to our customers about the discount.”
“Troublemaker!” spat Dubey. He stomped off with his sycophants.
Some of the dabbawallas drifted away, not meeting Kunal's eyes.Those who did gave him a small nod and walked away.A few came up to him and patted him on the back.
“Any luck with the notes?” he asked those who approached him. All he got was a shake of the head and a “Sorry.”
Within minutes the room was empty.
“Shall we go?” said Vinayak quietly.
Kunal shuffled to the door, then stopped and whirled round.
He couldn't stop the tears spilling out. “Aren't you going to tell me âI told you so'?”
“No,” said Vinayak quietly. He put an arm around Kunal. “Let's go home.”
