The Tiffin by Mahtab Narsimhan

Author:Mahtab Narsimhan [Narsimhan, Mahtab]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9781770860391
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2011-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

THE HEAD OFFICE OF the Dabbawalla Association was a twenty-minute walk from the station on the first floor of a dilapidated structure that seemed to be standing only because it was propped up by buildings on either side.They climbed a gloomy wooden staircase lit by low-watt bulbs at irregular intervals. The dirty white wall running alongside was adorned with paan spatters. It seemed as if someone had celebrated Holi on the staircase with only one colour: red.

The room was filled with dabbawallas and everyone was talking at the same time. Kunal heard snatches of conversation: discussions about wages, train schedules, and starting a petition to have their own compartment in trains at peak delivery times. The stench of sweat, beedis, and paan thickened the stagnant air in the room.

Kunal positioned himself near a window trying to gulp in a lungful of clean air.Vinayak greeted many men and listened to the discussions quietly.When he did offer an opinion, everyone paid attention and no one interrupted.A few moments later, a tiny man with thick glasses shuffled into the room. He looked so ancient, Kunal wondered how he had the energy to walk.

“That’s the head of the Association — Hari,” said Vinayak. “He’s the one we need permission from.”

Hari clapped his hands once and the murmur died down immediately. He settled himself at a round table flanked by two men; one who looked like a shrivelled prune and a younger man with salt-and-pepper hair.

“Who are the other two?” said Kunal.

“The older man is Suhas and the one with the greying hair is Param,” whispered Vinayak.“Those three make up the senior management of the Association.”

Kunal nodded, staring at them. They were the key to finding his mother. The trio looked around the room, missing nothing. He felt their eyes rest on him for a few seconds before moving on.

“What’s on the agenda today?” asked Hari. His voice sounded like the crackling of old newspaper.

“Can we raise the monthly delivery fee?” someone asked. “These days, a hundred rupees per month is just not enough to survive on. Prices of everything have gone through the roof.”

“No, we can’t,” replied Param. “We’ll lose a lot of customers. There’s a private company that has started a similar service.They are waiting for the first opportunity to steal our customers and the low price we charge is to our advantage.”

“Many customers are using the tiffin as a message service,” the first dabbawalla said. “There are at least three women on my route who put notes in their tiffins; sometimes a grocery list or other instructions for their husbands. They save a few rupees on the phone call they’d have to make otherwise. Surely they wouldn’t mind paying a little extra for that convenience?”

Kunal’s ears perked up. A message in a tiffin? “It’s their box,” said Suhas. “They can put whatever they like in it, be it food or a note.As long as the weight is not beyond normal, we will deliver it — on time! Remember our motto: Work is Worship.

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