The Tiffin by Mahtab Narsimhan Page A

curving towards the horizon.
    â€œThat, Kunal, is called the Queen’s Necklace,” said Vinayak softly.
    â€œI never knew streetlights could look so beautiful,” Kunal said, unable to tear his gaze away from the graceful arc of lights against the backdrop of the blue-black ocean. “I could stand here forever.”
    Vinayak smiled. “I felt the same way when I first saw them. Still do.”
    They stood quietly, side by side, at the tip of Marine Drive, where the sidewalk ran out and the sea, speckled with golden lights, began. The gentle lapping of the water, the gradually deepening evening, and the smell of salt air filled Kunal’s senses, pushing out the worry. There had to be a way to find his mother and, if he thought hard enough, it would come to him.
    Kunal was quiet on the train ride back home.
    â€œWhat’s up?” said Vinayak. “Too much thinking is not good for one’s health.”
    â€œHow long can I stay with you?” asked Kunal.
    â€œAs long as it takes to get you on your feet,” said Vinayak. “That is my promise to you.”
    As Kunal closed his eyes that night, the day played itself out again, ending with the breathtaking vision of the streetlights.

chapter ten
    ON MONDAY MORNING KUNAL hurried to the station with Vinayak. The stand outside was almost full of cycles in various stages of being devoured by rust. The three-wheeled rickshaws, like giant black and yellow bugs, lined up patiently, awaiting passengers. Many a bare foot or arm stuck out of the vehicles as their drivers caught up on sleep.
    Inside the station, chaos was starting to pick up.Announcements blared out at frequent intervals. Kunal got a whiff of fresh ink as they passed the newspaper kiosk, their displays screaming out yet another calamity in bold headlines. Food smells were starting to waft over the commuters; batata wadas, aloo-poori, and bhajiyas. All mouth-wateringly delicious.
    Vinayak barely glanced around him as he strode towards their regular spot to await his team members. Here they would all converge and re-sort the tiffins before starting the next leg of their journey.Vinayak had given Kunal a standard-size Gandhi cap that flopped over his ears and covered his eyes. “Just so the dabbawallas don’t ask too many questions when they see you hanging around their tiffins,” Vinayak had explained. Kunal didn’t care that the cap didn’t fit and that he probably looked ridiculous in it. For the first time he would actually see how this was done, maybe get the chance to sort tiffins!
    Vinayak paced the small area, his eyes sweeping the length of the station. “Don’t you have to collect the tiffins from the dhaba anymore?” said Kunal.
    â€œI’ve taken on other responsibilities and requested the Association to send someone else for those tiffins,” said Vinayak. “I don’t think it would be wise for either of us to show our faces to Sethji.”
    â€œGood idea,” said Kunal. He could not help but think of Mrs. Seth. Hopefully she wasn’t in worse shape than he was. He touched his face. It was still tender, though the swelling had subsided.
    â€œAhhh, here they come,” said Vinayak. “Now, don’t get in the way and don’t touch anything. Just watch.”
    Dabbawallas poured into the station with their carriers, expertly manoeuvring around beggars, vendors, and commuters. Vinayak waited till they shed their heavy loads and immediately started sorting the tiffins, barely seeming to glance at the codes before putting them in the right carrier.
    A young boy, slightly older than Kunal, raced up to them, the carrier seesawing dangerously on his head.
    â€œNikhil!” said Vinayak looking up.“Good man, you’re almost on time.Try to get here five minutes earlier tomorrow. Quick now, we must get your tiffins sorted.You get started and I’ll send one of the men over to help.”
    Nikhil slid