The Tiffin Read Online Free Page B

here. If you ran, you’d get to me within ten minutes.”
    â€œThank you,” said Kunal. He tucked the note into his pocket and watched Vinayak hoist the carrier on to his head with an expertise that spoke of years of practice.With a little nod, Vinayak loped away, the black garbage bag flapping behind him.
    THE REST OF THE DAY went by in a blur of heat, food, and flies. A tide of people surged and ebbed through Bombay Bahar. Kunal ate a meal of watery dal, rice, and mutton bones with the other waiters standing in the kitchen during a brief lull. The food seemed to sink straight to his feet and leak away, leaving him no more than a shell of skin and bone. There wasn’t enough food for a second helping, or enough time, either. And he was definitely not accepting any food from Badri, no matter how starved he was.
    The next wave of hungry customers descended and Kunal was at their table, polishing the Formica with a greasy rag and taking their order.
    At five in the evening, he got a break for a couple of hours. A new shift of boys poured in. The first batch was off. Some went home or to other jobs. For Kunal there was no escape. He had to report back downstairs at seven o’clock. He hobbled up to his room, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep almost instantly. But not before he extracted the green glass bangle that had once belonged to his mother, run his fingers over its smooth surface for the millionth time, and tucked it away safely under the mattress, out of reach of Sethji’s grubby hands.
    A FAIR WOMAN WITH GREEN eyes stood in front of him. An angel ... surely his mother. She was so beautiful that Kunal could barely look at her. His heart ached with pride and joy. She opened her arms wide and called out to him ...“KUNAL!”
    The word exploded in his dreams and jarred him awake. He sat up, heart pounding, and glanced out the window. Darkness had softened the shabby appearance of the houses opposite. Here and there the soft glow of a lamp shone through. In other windows the harsh, unforgiving glare of a tube light spilled out. Rain still pattered on his windowsill, mixed with the sounds of the traffic and the buzz of chatter from the dhaba below. He got out of bed and switched on the light. On the walls around him were damp patches in grotesque shapes. Sometimes he would lie there and stare at the watermarks; he’d see a dog with its teeth bared, or a pair of splayed hands reaching out to strangle him, or a spider, waiting to pounce.Today the walls just wept.
    â€œDon’t make me come up!”
    They’re really missing me
, thought Kunal as he splashed his face in the tiny bathroom just outside his room. He ran a damp hand through his hair, brushed his teeth with his finger, and was ready to face the world.
    He walked downstairs and his eyes went straight to the clock. Seven-thirty. He was in trouble.
    â€œWhy can’t you be on time?” Mrs. Seth said as soon as she saw him. “Don’t you know better by now?”
    â€œSorry,” mumbled Kunal.
    â€œGo serve table ten, and for God’s sake, stay out of trouble,” she said. Their eyes met and he glimpsed something there ... but it was gone in an instant. Mrs. Seth hurried into the kitchen, wiping her sweaty face with her dupatta.
    Kunal went straight to the pickup counter covered with plates of food, each crowned with a halo of flies. Under each plate was a chit with a table number. He found the number ten, barely visible because of the orange oil saturating the paper, and hurried with the steaming plate of sambar and rice to a scruffy customer scratching his long hair, flecked with dandruff.
    â€œIf this food is as tasty as you look ...,” the man said, leering at Kunal.
    Kunal ignored him, plunked the food on the table and sidled along the periphery of the room back to the counter. It was a roundabout route, but a lot safer in the evening when some of the more rowdy customers came in. Most of