The Tiffin Read Online Free Page A

bring the boxes back.
    Kunal brought the heavy tiffins to the entrance two at a time. Vinayak was waiting by the door, his Gandhi cap covering a black mop of hair shot through with silver. The plastic cape thrown over his shoulders was really just a large garbage bag slit along one side. It was still pouring and the pavement was slick and shiny. A slow-moving river of umbrellas bobbed past.Water gushed noisily into the gutter.The honking of traffic was steadily growing louder.Vinayak arranged the tiffins within the carrier.
    â€œCan I help you sort them?” asked Kunal. “Will you show me how?” He had asked this question often in the past but Vinayak had always been in a hurry to get to the station as soon as the tiffins were filled. He looked at the old man hopefully.
    Vinayak glanced at his watch, then back at Kunal, an unfathomable expression in his eyes. “All right.” He picked up one rain-shiny box and moved closer to Kunal.

    â€œThis number-letter combination at the bottom is the most important part; it’s the destination station, building, and floor. So ‘9 AI 12’ means this tiffin is to be delivered to the twelfth floor of the Air India Building at Nariman Point, which is area code nine. The number three in the centre means this has to go to Churchgate. Clear so far?”
    Kunal nodded. “And the letters VLP and E?”
    â€œI see you’ve been practising your reading,” said Vinayak.“Very good! That is the originating address of the tiffin,” continued Vinayak. “We have to make sure the tiffin gets back too, right? So VLP is Vile Parle and the E stands for Hanuman Road within that area. Lesson over for today. I had better get going.”
    â€œYou didn’t tell me about the red circle,” said Kunal.
    Vinayak laughed. “Looks like you’re planning to deliver a tiffin right now. It’s for easy identification at Churchgate when the teams have to pick up their boxes for deliveries.They’re all colour-coded. Simple, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes,” said Kunal. “I think I could learn this quite easily.”
    Vinayak ruffled his hair with a wet hand. “An intelligent boy like you? Of course you could, Kunal, but now I must run or I’ll miss the train. They’re our lifeline. And if we’re late, our customers have to wait, or go hungry. No dabbawalla can afford to let that happen.”
    â€œThank you for speaking up for me,” said Kunal. “I have no one else who will.”
    Vinayak stared at him for a long moment from under the plastic cape.Water dripped from the tip of his nose but he barely noticed it.The rain came down harder, beating on the aluminum tiffins that lay between them, splashing onto his bare toes. Kunal wished he could climb into the carrier and be whisked away by Vinayak, never to return.
    â€œThis happens often, does it not?” said Vinayak.
    Kunal thought of all the instances when Sethji had humiliated him, yelled at him in front of a roomful of customers. He’d never once treated Kunal with kindness. He blinked furiously to keep from crying.
    â€œIf things ever get too bad here, you come to me. Okay?”
    â€œYou really mean that?” asked Kunal. He searched Vinayak’s face. Was he serious? In all the years he had known Vinayak, this was the first time he had made such an offer.
    â€œYes,” said the dabbawalla.
    â€œBut how will I know where to find you?”
    â€œI live in the chawl at 51, Janpath Lane. I’m on the third floor, room number five.”
    Kunal frowned, trying to memorize the address. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Sethji glaring at him and tapping his watch.
    â€œI have to go,” said Kunal.
    â€œHere, I’ll write it down for you,” said Vinayak. He ducked into the dhaba and quickly scribbled the address on a page of his small notebook, tore it out and gave it to Kunal. “It’s not too far from