The Tiffin (4 page)

chapter four

KUNAL GLANCED UP AND DOWN the busy street as people brushed past in both directions. No one paid him the slightest attention.

He read the note — 12 Pandit Road. Not too far from Mangal Lane, the street all the waiters had been talking about. He set off at a fast clip and reached a side street. Should he take the shortcut today? It would shave a few minutes off the delivery time. He hesitated. What if the hulk kept his word and was lying in wait for him? Kunal shook his head; he was just being silly.

Long fingers of shadow poked into the narrow alley. A stray dog nosed through a pile of putrid garbage. Darkness pooled in doorways of houses that were scrunched up against each other from one end of the alley to the other. Kunal took a deep breath and started walking.

He had reached halfway when something skittered past his legs. He stumbled. A black rat as large as a kitten disappeared into the shadows. He shuddered and walked faster, trying not to jerk the packet of food too much.

That's when he heard two sounds simultaneously: heavy footsteps approaching from behind and the rattle of metal wheels on asphalt. He froze, remembering the beggar who haunted the dhaba and his nightmares. He was one of Abdulla's boys. His legs had been cut off when he had been very young to make him more pitiable. He navigated the streets of Bombay on a wooden platform fitted with wheels, and delighted in waggling the disfigured stumps under the nose of anyone who wouldn't part with a rupee.

Kunal looked back. Cars and scooters, parked two deep in the narrow alley, obstructed his view of the entrance. He crouched behind the nearest car and peered out, pulse racing, mouth dry. The hot and humid air sat heavily on his shoulders.The whir of approaching wheels ricocheted off the walls, punctuated by a steady crunch of footsteps. Were they in this street or the next? The lanes were so close in this part of the city it was impossible to tell.

Suddenly, Kunal didn't want to find out. He jumped to his feet and sprinted the remainder of the way, bursting onto the main road on the other side, almost knocking a passerby off her feet.

“Ooof!” the woman yelped. “Watch where you're going!”

“Sorry,” said Kunal. He clutched the packet of food to his chest, gasping for breath.

“What's the matter?” said the woman in a soft, calming voice. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

People streamed past, bumping into them, cursing occasionally. Kunal did not answer. Instead, he peered into the deep gloom of the lane he'd just exited. No one came out of the shadows.The woman followed his gaze.

“Is someone chasing you, boy? Do you want me to call the police?”

Kunal gulped in the warm night air, feeling foolish. At this rate he'd be jumping at shadows and sounds for the rest of his life. He had to learn to control his fears before they started to control him. He managed a weak smile. “It's nothing. I'm sorry!”

The woman watched him for a moment longer and then walked away shaking her head.

Kunal waited at the curb, staring at the wet road pulsing amber, red, and green with the changing traffic lights. He crossed as soon as it was safe, and ran all the way to Pandit Road.

THE CUSTOMER HAD BEEN SLIGHTLY annoyed at the delay, but Kunal had made up a fatal accident, peppered it liberally with gruesome descriptions, and narrated it to the wide-eyed man who accepted the delivery. He had even managed to wangle a small tip and a lot of sympathy. Not bad for delivering cold food ... late!

His footsteps slowed as soon as he neared Mangal Lane.This place was all the older boys talked about lately — a gaudy pink house halfway down the lane that contained beautiful treasures within its damp walls. He knew they were talking about girls, though he'd never been inside. Only once had Sethji allowed him to accompany another waiter to deliver food to Mangal Lane and that was only because the order had been too large for one person to carry. The boy had made him wait at the doorstep while he went inside.

Should he go back to the dhaba, or stop and take a peek? At least then he would know exactly what made the boys so animated, maybe even join in the conversation.

He knew he was very late. The thought jabbed him like a warning finger in the chest. He had to get back to the dhaba or Sethji would beat him to pulp, but an invisible line was reeling him in. What
was
it that made the other boys' eyes sparkle? Why were they always fighting among themselves for deliveries to Mangal Lane? He had to find out.

Kunal threaded his way through the crowds, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone who might recognize him and snitch to Sethji. Just as he walked past a bar selling bootleg liquor, a familiar mop of hair caught his eye. He stopped. Through the haze of smoke he could make out a profile — Vinayak! At a bar in Mangal Lane? The old man was arguing with the bartender, demanding another drink. The slurred voice was so different from the one he heard in the mornings that for a moment Kunal could only stand and gape. Someone pushed past him and staggered into the bar. Kunal did not wait to see any more. It was really none of his business.

He paused at the foot of the steps of the brothel. People jostled past, their eyes fixed on the myriad of women loitering in doorways and along the many balconies of the houses lining the street. Kids playing on the sidewalk called out to each other in shrill voices. Fragrances of food, cheap perfumes, and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Someone whistled at him. Kunal looked up and his heart skipped a beat. He had never laid eyes on a woman so pretty. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders and her kohl-lined eyes lit up with a smile that made him feel warm inside. The pallu of her bright red saree spilled over the railing.

Kunal gaped at her, his heart pounding.

“You, boy! What are you doing?” a gruff voice called out.

Kunal started. At the door was a man, short but powerfully built.The muscles of his arms bulged through the sleeves of his T-shirt. His callused hands were as large as the plates at the dhaba. There was no doubt; one sock from this brute would be enough to knock him out.

The thug sauntered up to Kunal. “What are you doing loitering here, go away!”

Kunal shook his head and gulped. “Who was that girl up there?” His eyes strayed upward again but the girl had vanished. His heart plummeted to his toes.

The thug grinned. “Chandni. She has that effect on anyone who lays eyes on her. Now get lost before I hand you your teeth. This is no place for children or beggars.”

Kunal turned and fled, making up his mind to return as soon as he could.

Cursing himself for being stupid enough to be caught, Kunal headed back to the dhaba at a smart clip, aware that he was beyond late. By Sethji's standards he was I'd-strangle-you-ifI-could kind of late. His mind ran over all the excuses he'd made up in the past.Which one would work today? Overhead, thunder rumbled and white-hot lightning ripped through the sky. Another storm.

Keeping to the shadows, he crept up to the dhaba, but one of the waiters — Sethji's favourite — spied him. The miserable sycophant tapped Sethji on the shoulder and pointed towards Kunal before retreating to the kitchen. By the time Kunal reached the entrance, Sethji was at the door, chewing on a mouthful of abuses he was dying to spit out. He grabbed a handful of Kunal's shirt and slapped him so hard his teeth rattled.

“What the hell took you so long?” said Sethji. “Did you have to feed the customer yourself?”

“Sorry,” said Kunal, putting on his well-practised hangdog look. “There was an accident near Pandit Road and the roads were closed so I had to find another way home and then I got lost —”

“Shut up!” snarled Sethji, smacking him once more before Kunal backed away, out of reach of his employer's lethal hands. “Where's my money?”

Kunal pulled the notes from his pocket and dropped them onto Sethji's palm. Sethji counted his change while Kunal stood silently on the sidewalk awaiting further instructions.

Something bumped against Kunal's leg. He glanced down and almost yelled out loud.The crippled child who had spooked him earlier, sat on a wooden platform fitted with wheels and gazed up at him with his good eye. The other one was just a hollow socket as if someone had scooped the eye out and thrown it away. A tin cup nestled between the stumps of his legs. How had he missed the rattle of wheels? Kunal's legs went wobbly and he reached out for the wall to steady himself.

“Spare a rupee. God will bless you,” said the boy in a nasal sing-song voice as he rattled the tin. He reached out to touch Kunal, who jumped out of the way, ashamed and horrified all at once.

“Get off with you!” yelled Sethji. “There's not a paisa to waste.You think this dhaba runs on fresh air?”

The boy held his ground. “Then will you give me money for information?”

Kunal forced himself to meet the boy's eye. There was no sadness, just a depth that Kunal never thought he'd see in a child younger than him. Not only had the beggar-boy accepted this life, he seemed to be enjoying the reaction he caused because of his disfigurement.

“What kind of information?” said Sethji. “First tell me what it is and then I'll decide if it's worth anything.”

“Uh-uh,” said the beggar. “If I tell you, you won't pay me!” He rolled back and forth on the sidewalk.The sound grated on Kunal's nerves and he wanted to scream or throw something at that sly face.

“If you don't tell me, I'll break the remaining bones in your body,” said Sethji. He took a step towards the boy, breathing heavily.

“It's about one of your waiters, the big, tall guy,” said the boy, rolling backward hurriedly.

“What about him?” said Sethji, frowning. “He's out on a delivery.”

Kunal's heart scrabbled frantically in his chest. “Lalan!

You're talking about Lalan. Where is he?”

The boy rattled his tin cup and Kunal couldn't help but admire his guts. Even crippled and at a disadvantage, he did not miss an opportunity to milk the situation. Kunal groped in his pockets for a coin, found one, and threw it into the boy's tin. “Quick,” he said. “Tell me. Has something happened to him?”

“In the next alley. Some boys jumped him, most probably for his money,” said the beggar.

“Is he all right?” asked Kunal.

The boy shrugged. “You think I was going to wait around to find out?”

“I have to go to him,” said Kunal. “Please, Sethji.”

“Let him be, he'll come on his own,” Sethji replied.

“Please,” said Kunal. “He could be badly hurt. I have to go!”

“Stupid hulk,” muttered Sethji. “ Guzzling so much of my food, and still unable to take care of himself. Now I have to lose two boys at the busiest time of the evening.You'll put in an extra hour in the kitchen for this. Go, find that idiot!” He waved his hand and turned away.

Just then Lalan stepped into the light. “No need,” he said softly.

Kunal stared at him. Bright-red blood dripped steadily from Lalan's nose, streaking his filthy, torn shirt. A bruised eye was slowly turning purple in his pale face. Lalan staggered in and collapsed into Kunal's outstretched arms. Kunal grunted but managed to remain on his feet.

“Did they get all my money?” said Sethji. He glared at Lalan, making no move to help.

Lalan nodded, wincing with pain. Kunal tightened his grip on his friend's large frame

Sethji snorted. “This is coming out of your salary. Kunal, get him out of here before my customers see him and lose their appetites. Between the two of you, I'll go bankrupt.”

Kunal started to drag Lalan towards the back of the dhaba.

“You see how lucky you are that we took you in, you wretch?” said Sethji. He smacked Kunal's head as he shuffled past. “Give me any trouble and I'll sell you to the Beggar King, Abdulla. Only then you'll realize how comfortable a life you've been leading.”

chapter five

ANOTHER WET DAY WAS BREATHING its last. The rain had driven everyone indoors, if only for a cup of tea, and by eight o'clock in the evening the dhaba was at its peak of chaos.

Kunal gazed at the packed dining room through thick clouds of beedi smoke. Oil shone from the surfaces of the tables. The damp walls sucked up the light, making the room appear dimmer, and the floor was a palette of food stains. There was a large, reddish-brown patch near one of the tables — probably spilled sambar, but it looked like blood and reminded him of Lalan; the stained shirt, the swollen eye and broken nose. Kunal shuddered. It could easily have been him.

Someone slapped him on the shoulder.

“Stop daydreaming,” said Mrs. Seth. “There are loads of orders waiting to be served.” She barked out directions to the waiters with military precision. No one had a moment's rest.

At the pickup counter, Kunal searched for the table number under a plate of steaming chicken biryani.A hot ladle seared his knuckles and he cried out loud. And there was Badri, his face framed by the grimy window. “Did that hurt?” he said. “So sorry! My hand slipped.”

Kunal stepped back, rubbing his hand. “Which table ordered the biryani?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “I can't find the number.” Seeing Badri reminded him of the nightmare he'd been having. About the tiffins full of eyes, Badri's eyes that were always trained on him. Something bad was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones.

Just then the kitchen helper appeared in the window, “Why are you standing there admiring the biryani? It's for table two. Go!”

Kunal delivered the biryani, barely aware of what he was doing. His mind thrashed wildly, an animal caught in a trap. How was he going to protect himself? Who could he turn to for help or advice?

Mrs. Seth? No; even if he convinced her that there was more to Badri than met the eye she didn't have the courage to stand up to her husband.

Vinayak? He only came to the dhaba for a brief time in the mornings. He wouldn't be of much help.

Lalan! Of course, he should have thought of him right away. After he'd served one more customer, Kunal loitered in the corridor which reeked of raw onions and stale spices. A few minutes later, Lalan walked in with a mountain of dirty plates and a colourful face — a black eye that was almost swollen shut and jaundice-yellow bruises adorning his jaws and cheeks.

“That looks really bad,” said Kunal. “Couldn't you have taken a couple of days off?”

“I can't afford to,” said Lalan. He spoke softly, barely opening his mouth. “You know how many family members I have to feed? I need my wages. Every last paisa of it.”

Kunal nodded, wishing he was one of them. He would willingly have gone hungry just to belong to a family. He would have happily given up his own wages too, if he'd ever been paid.

“I have something important to tell you, Lalan.”

“Now? Can't it wait? Mrs. Seth's in a bad mood.”

Kunal shook his head.

“Okay, let's talk quickly,” said Lalan. “I have something to tell you too.” He glanced at Kunal then looked away. Kunal's stomach dropped.This seemed serious.

Lalan ducked into a deserted room beside the swinging kitchen doors that was used for washing up soiled pots and pans and dumped the dishes into the sink. Kunal followed, wrinkling his nose.The stink in there was nauseating.

“You go first,” said Kunal, searching his friend's face for a clue.

“I'm leaving,” said Lalan.

Kunal exhaled audibly, the tightness in his chest loosening. “Is that it? Of course you should,” said Kunal. “You look terrible. But before you go can you
please
warn Badri to stop staring at me? He's acting very funny lately and I don't like it.” Kunal stopped, realizing how stupid this must sound, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Badri was bad news.And out of all the waiters who worked in the dhaba, he was the unlucky one that Badri had decided to stalk.

Lalan was quiet for a moment. Outside, the noise continued unabated.The swinging door squeaked incessantly as waiters hurried to and from the kitchen, the helper's voice rose and fell as he called out the orders that were ready for pickup, and Mrs. Seth's military staccato filled in the gaps.

Lalan shook his head slightly and winced.

“Sorry,” said Kunal. “I shouldn't be asking this of you today. Not when you're in so much pain. Go home; I'll handle Badri till you get back. But when you do, you've got to help get him off my back. Okay?”

Lalan still did not smile.The bubble of fear in Kunal's chest expanded.

“You don't understand, Kunal. I'm leaving for good.”

Kunal stared into Lalan's good eye. “You're joking,” he said. “Please tell me you're joking.”

Lalan put his hands on Kunal's shoulder and squeezed. “Sorry, my friend. But my father has found a better paying job for me. I can't stay here, especially after this.” Lalan touched his face lightly. “Sethji barely feeds us crumbs and makes it look like he's doing us a big favour. And he refuses to pay up for his waiters' protection to the local gang.That's why they attack us at random and steal his money. Be extra careful while making deliveries. Okay?”

“You can't leave, Lalan,” said Kunal. “You can't leave me here alone.” He started to blubber and turned away, clutching the edge of the filthy sink. A large brown cockroach scooted out of the way.

He felt Lalan's breath on the back of his neck. “I have to, Kunal. I've made up my mind.”

“I won't survive,” whispered Kunal. He wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve. “The rest of the waiters hate me. I've never been one of them. They'll gang up on me and make my life miserable.You know what I mean —”

Lalan turned him around. “You will survive. You have to. Now stop being an idiot and start acting your age.”

“Get lost,” snapped Kunal. “You're deserting me! You have no right to tell me anything now.”

Lalan sighed. “Don't be mad at me, Kunal. I wish I could take you with me. But I can't. You'll have to learn to trust only yourself. It's the only way to survive in this city.”

Kunal hated him for that second. He wanted to smash Lalan's good eye so that it would not gaze at him with such pity. “Who else knows you're leaving?” he asked. “Have you told anyone yet?”

“A couple of boys in the kitchen know, so Badri probably knows, too,” said Lalan. “Why?”

That explained why Badri had become bolder. Kunal felt like a moth caught in a fist that was rapidly closing. “So I'm the last person to know, and you call yourself a friend?” said Kunal. He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I-I wanted to tell you ... properly,” said Lalan. “I'm sorry.”

“I have to go,” mumbled Kunal and fled.

“Wait ...,” Lalan called out. Kunal ignored him.

He escaped through the back door into the alley and stood under the awning gulping in lungfuls of air, heavily laden with the smell of rotting garbage. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.The rain was heavier than ever and within minutes his face was bathed in a cool mist.

Lalan was leaving. The betrayal twisted his gut. His friend was abandoning him. His own family wouldn't ever do this. He thought of his mother's glass bangle tucked safely under his mattress and wished he had it with him right now, just for something to hold on to.

“Hey idiot! Stop admiring the garbage. Sethji's looking for you,” the kitchen helper called out from the doorway. “Delivery.”

Kunal wiped his face hastily and walked straight through to the front. Sethji glared at him as soon as he reached the counter. “Taking a break during your work time, henh? You'll work an extra hour tonight; help Badri clean up the kitchen.”

The fist clenched tighter, crushing him. He could barely breathe.

“Where am I taking this?” said Kunal.

Sethji handed him a piece of paper with an address. Kunal snatched it from his hand without looking at it. He was desperate to flee the dhaba, escape these four walls that had meant nothing but pain and humiliation to him. He picked up the food and walked out into the pouring rain.

When he was out of sight of the dhaba, Kunal paused and looked at the piece of paper in his hand. It was rapidly becoming soggy, but he didn't care.

“
I'm leaving for good
.” Lalan's voice echoed in his head.

He shivered. He was on his own now.With the waiters.And Sethji. And Badri.

The rain fell in thick, warm sheets. Kunal looked at the paper again; a wet wad on his palm. He spread his fingers and let the paper wash away.As the flecks of white hurtled through a rivulet of water running along the sidewalk and disappeared into the sewers of Bombay, he was filled with a sense of foreboding.

He couldn't stay on at the dhaba. He had to leave. He knew this with a certainty he had not felt in a long time. He couldn't roam the streets, either. If Lalan, large as he was, could get brutally beaten up, what chance did he have? He looked around. People rushed past, intent on getting out of the pouring rain. Kunal felt eyes on him.Were they real or in his mind? He had to keep moving. One sign of weakness and they'd take him down.

There was only one other option. Ever since Vinayak had given his address, Kunal had kept it in his pocket, wrapped in a bit of plastic for a rainy day. And that day had arrived. But even as he made his decision, the image of Vinayak in the bar popped into his head. He pushed it away; he had nowhere else to go. It was that or life on the streets.

Kunal headed to the nearest alley. A mangy dog, with fur plastered to its thin body, rooted around in the corners for scraps. He whistled. It looked up. Kunal knelt and undid the package of food. The dog sniffed the air and sidled up cautiously. It came closer, licking its lips.Then it let out a small whine and wagged its tail.

“Come on,” urged Kunal. “I won't hurt you.”

The dog stayed out of reach, eyeing the food and then Kunal. Drool glistened at the corners of its mouth but it did not come any closer.
I know how you feel
, thought Kunal.
Better to be cautious than stupid. Trust no one
. He stood up and stepped away from the food. The dog shuffled closer, still eyeing him warily.

“Enjoy,” said Kunal, and he walked away. When he glanced back, the dog was scarfing twenty rupees worth of Sethji's food with gusto.

Kunal smiled.