Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemist's
shop he had his 'establishment'. At eight in the evening you would not see him,
and again at ten you would see nothing, but between those times he arrived, sold
his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, 'Lucky fellow! He has
hardly an hour's work a day and he pockets ten rupees - even graduates are unable
to earn that! Three hundred rupees a month!' He felt irritated when he heard such
glib remarks and said, 'What these folks do not see is that I sit before the oven
practically all day frying all this ...'
At
about 8.15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he
had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big
tray balanced on his head with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the
crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand and a couple of portable legs for mounting
his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies' worth of kerosene
every day, and kept it near at hand, since he had to guard a lot of loose cash
and a variety of miscellaneous articles. He
always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening
show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until
he arrived and did business, but he did not let that bother him unduly. In fact,
he felt generous enough to say, 'Let the poor rat do his business when I am not
there.' This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute
before the arrival of the prince among caterers.
Though
so much probing was going on, he knew exactly who was taking what. He knew by
an extaordinary sense which of the jukta drivers was picking up chappatis
at a given moment - he could even mention the license number. He knew that the
stained hand nervously coming up was that of a youngster who polished the shoes
of passers-by. And he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestler's arm
searching for the perfect duck's egg. His custom was drawn from the population
swarming the pavement: the boot polish boys, for instance, who wandered to and
fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting 'Polish, sir, polish!'
Rama had a soft spot for them.
It
rent his heart to see their hungry hollow eyes. It pained him to see the rags
they wore. And it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which
they came to him. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show, that
was impossible. He measured out heir half-glass of coffee correct to a fraction
of an inch, but they could cling to the glass for as long as they liked.
He
lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing
into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home.
She snatched from his hand all the ecumbrances and counted the cash immediately.
After
dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept. He had dreams
of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying he
was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately
in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. The health officer no doubt
came and said, 'You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy
it some day... Take care!'
Rama
no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation,
but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish
on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse
for it. | | |
A
Rama prepared a limited quantity of snacks for sale, but even then he had to carry
back remnants. He consumed some of it himself, and the rest he warmed up and brought
out for sale the next day.
B All the coppers that men and women
of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately
came to him at the end of the day. He put all his money into a little cloth bag
dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night
show had started at the theatre.
C No one could walk past his
display without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed
and big but melted in one's mouth; dosais, white, round, and limp, looking
like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin you could lift fifty of them on
a little finger; duck's eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and
perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate alluminium pot in which
he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.
D
His customers liked him. They said in admiration, 'Is there another place where
you can get six pies and four chappatis for one anna?' They sat around
his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute,
because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine, and accept their stuff
after proper scrutiny.
E They gloated over it. 'Five rupees invested
in the morning has produced another five...' They ruminated on the exquisite mystery
of this multiplication. Then it was put back for further investment on the morrow
and the gains carefully separated and put away in a little wooden box.
F But he was a kindly man in private. 'How the customers survive the food,
I can't understand. I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons,
with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind.'
G He
got up when the cock in the next house crowed. Sometimes it had a habit of waking
up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. 'Why has the cock lost his
normal sleep?' Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss.
Whether it three o'clock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up
and start his day.
H When he saw some customer haggling, he felt
like shouting, 'Give the poor fellow a little more. Don't begrudge it. If you
pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati.' |
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