The Tiffin by Mahtab Narsimhan

note from someone who loved him. He wondered how his father must have felt receiving the love notes from his mother, writing a reply, and sending it back.
    That was it!
    He thought his heart would burst with joy. He wanted to yell it out loud:
he knew exactly how to search for his mother
. He clapped his hand on his mouth and glanced at Vinayak, but the old man did not look his way.
    He would write as many notes as possible and stuff them into the thousands of tiffins that were delivered daily in the financial district. One of them was bound to reach the right Anahita Patel. But first he had to become a dabbawalla; only then would they listen to him. Speak up,Vinayak, he prayed silently.
Ask them about me. Now.
    Vinayak spoke up, almost as if he had heard Kunal’s fervent prayer. “I have a request,” he said, looking at the seniors.
    â€œGo ahead,Vinayak.”
    â€œI’d like to ask that this boy, Kunal,” said Vinayak, touching him lightly on the shoulder, “be allowed to become a dabbawalla. He is young but an honest and hard worker. I can personally vouch for that. His training will be my responsibility.Will the Association give me permission to do so?”
    Not even a murmur disturbed the still air in the room.
    â€œVinayak,” said Hari, “you know that we only induct members from our own community. Who is this boy’s family? Is he a Maharashtrian?”
    â€œHow does that matter?” a shrill voice said.
    All eyes focused on Kunal and he realized the voice had been his. He thought he would burst into flames.
    Hari was looking at him with a stern expression. Suhas’s mouth puckered up some more, and Param ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. No one said a word.
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Kunal, “but why is family important? I’m a hard worker. I’ve been delivering food for years at a dhaba and I can learn quickly. Are all the members from your community excellent workers? Has no one let you down? Ever?”
    The silence took on a strained quality.
    â€œThat is not your place to question and it’s none of your business,” said Hari. He looked as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “You cannot join us till we know your family background, and even then it is a matter subject to discussion. We can’t let just anybody become a dabbawalla; we have a reputation to protect.”
    â€œAnd that’s why I’m asking for this job: so I can find my family — my mother,” said Kunal. “Please help me. Say yes!”
    â€œThat’s enough,” said Hari. “This is no place for children who like throwing tantrums. Vinayak, from now on you will come alone to the meetings. If I want drama, I can watch a Hindi movie.The meeting is over.”
    Kunal stared at the seniors as they filed out of the room. It emptied rapidly once they were gone. Some stayed behind to talk to Vinayak. Nikhil stopped for a moment and squeezed his shoulder.Then he too was gone.
    Kunal’s euphoria from a few moments ago evaporated. He’d never be able to send those notes and find his mother. He was doomed to be an orphan for the rest of his life.The unfairness of it all was like a boulder on his chest. He marched out of the room, not bothering to wait for Vinayak.

chapter eleven
    THE COMFORTABLE AROMAS of food enveloped Kunal in their warm embrace as he sat with Vinayak at a table in Sunshine, waiting for their dinner.
    â€œCan you please stop looking as if someone just died?” said Vinayak.
    â€œI was so sure they would let me join,” said Kunal. “How could they be so heartless?”
    â€œBut I did tell you it was unlikely, no?” said Vinayak.“Surely it didn’t come as a complete surprise.”
    Kunal shrugged. “So now what? How do I earn a living? I can’t live forever on what Mrs. Seth gave me and I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
    â€œDon’t ever say that