The Tiffin by Mahtab Narsimhan

crashed against the parapet, drenching him. He shuddered and spat out a mouthful of salt water.
    â€œThis is Marine Drive, Kunal, and the first rule of standing so close to the water is ‘keep your mouth shut!’” said Vinayak, laughing. He pointed to the buildings in the distance. “That tall building is the Hotel Oberoi Towers. And that one, with the circle on top, is the Air India Building. He faced the opposite direction. “And if we go that way, we can see the Gateway of India and the Taj Mahal Hotel. So, which way do you want to go?”
    â€œFinancial district.That’s all I’d like to see today,” said Kunal.
    Vinayak looked at him curiously, but thankfully did not ask any questions. Kunal volunteered no answers.
    A cool wind swept up from the water. People hurried past, clutching umbrellas. Vendors were busy unfurling scraps of plastic and draping their food and wares in anticipation of the imminent downpour.The sea turned darker, more violent.
    They passed a vendor in a plastic cape and hat, selling cornon-the-cob. His small coal stove was perched on a stand and protected from the wind by a blackened piece of tin folded all around it. Two gunnysacks lay at his feet, one filled with the raw fruit and the other with husks.The sweet smell of cooked >corn perfumed the air.
    â€œWant to try one?” asked Vinayak. “They’re delicious.”
    Kunal shook his head as the first fat drops of rain spattered the sidewalk. People scattered across the street to the doorways of buildings, to bus stands, to any shelter they could find. Vinayak grabbed his hand and they raced to the nearest bus stand. They squeezed in with a dozen or so people already standing there. Kunal watched the ocean hiss and swell in front of him. The cluster of buildings in the distance was almost obscured by the veil of water. Somewhere in that little corner of Bombay was his mother. How was he going to find her?
    As suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped. The sky cleared to a beaming blue and a light breeze tickled the surface of the sparkling water.
    They resumed walking along the steaming sidewalk and reached the financial district a short while later.Vinayak wound his way through it, street by street, pointing out the buildings the alphanumeric codes on the tiffins represented. Kunal trailed Vinayak quietly. It suddenly dawned on him: this area was vast, block upon block of space, buildings packed together as densely as the compartments on the local train during peak hours. It would be difficult — impossible — to find his mother here.
    Vinayak gave him a gentle nudge. “You’d better pick up your chin. It’s sweeping the sidewalk.”
    â€œWhat d’you mean?” said Kunal. He hated that Vinayak could read him so accurately.
    â€œMost dabbawallas have six months of training to go through before they can make a delivery on their own.You’ll have to worry about it only if you’re accepted.”
    Kunal wanted to tell Vinayak why it was so important for him to be accepted; that his future depended on being able to find his mother. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Maybe some other time. He did not feel like explaining just yet. He stared at the dusty sidewalk. Had his mother ever walked here? Was he treading in her footsteps?
    For lunch they went to a street vendor and bought a Bombay sandwich — layered with boiled potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, and green chutney.
    As the day dribbled away, they turned once more towards the waterfront. Just before they emerged from the huddle of buildings,Vinayak said,“Close your eyes; I have a surprise for you.”
    Kunal promptly obeyed.Vinayak planted his hands on Kunal’s shoulders and propelled him forward a few steps. “You can look now.”
    Kunal opened his eyes and his jaw dropped.Across the street at the water’s edge, a row of glowing streetlights ran along the sidewalk, gently