The corner table at Deepa Food House is never vacant. Placed by the large window, it has two chairs facing the busy street below and a two seats facing the cramped interiors. It has seen make-ups and break-ups, shuddered under thundering fists, been pitted at places with sharp forks in the hands of belligerent kids and has offered a sheltering haven to distraught individuals. This corner table has stories to share!
But today we are looking at Chandrappa. He is really happy. You know that from the way he runs a hand over his thick hair and flattens it neatly into place. He does that often when he has tremendous news to share. And today he is practically bursting with a sense of achievement.
He is going to meet his son at the corner table. Chandrappa runs his hand over his hair as he thinks of Kumara. His bright boy.
‘So good at so many things. Studies well, sings songs on his silly keyboard, is good to his grandparents, so well-behaved. I have done a good job as a parent’, he says aloud.
What he fails to say aloud is, ‘I am not like my father’. His father was stern and silent. Like Vamana the small brahmin in the Dashavatara story his father has placed his feet firmly on his one big dream and trampled it. But Chandrappa was not going to bear a grudge. See how nicely he has noticed that Appa’s spectacles are cracked and got new ones made. Chandrappa stops at the opticals to collect the repaired spectacles.
The lawyer’s office that he works in is a block away. He has walked all the way and is hot and sweaty. But he does not mind.Another short walk and he will be at Deepa Food House. He will order the mini-tiffin. One for him and one for Kumara. A long sigh of missed milestones escapes from him.
His Appa had said gruffly, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Hotel-votel business-visness is not for us. My friend Srinivasa the Lawyer has offered you a job, despite your poor SSLC marks. Be grateful. How long will I bear the burden of feeding you all?’
And that is why a place like this could not be his. He recalls bitterly. His father had not even bought him a bicycle to reach school. He always had muddy feet and then they scolded him for that too. But he is not like that. When Kumara had to join Gopi-Master’s Maths classes he got him a Scooty. Second hand! But so what!
Srinivasa Sir was a good man. With every rise in his stature, Chandrappa was given a reasonable raise too. And now Chandrappa with two daughters and a son was living a decent life.
The stairs seemed grubbier than usual, perhaps because the lights were dim. He quickly claimed the corner table. He could watch the street from here. Kumara was late and Chandrappa was impatient to share the news.
‘Two mini tiffins and two coffee’ Chandrappa placed the food order. He glared into the street. ‘Where was Kumara? Really! Young men these days. No respect only!’
Chandrappa took out his large checkered handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his sweaty face. The AC does not seem to be working! He patted his hair again and was surprised to see Kumara sitting quietly opposite to him.
‘When did you come? I did not see’
‘Just now Appa. I see you got Ajja’s spectacles’
‘Yes. and I have something for you too. And look, our favourite mini-tiffin is here.’ Masala dosa roasted to perfection, two soft idlis and a spoon of sweet rava kesari.
‘Heavenly!’ said Chandrappa, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the taste and digging in with his fingers. Kumara spooned a bite of idli and dipped it into the steaming sambar.
With a gleam of success in his eyes, Chandrappa said, ‘Our Srinivasa Lawyer Sir has spoken to people. We got a seat for you at Vijaya Engineering College. No capitation fee also. Imagine! With your 55% in PUC I was really wondering what to do. Lawyer Sir is like God. We must be ever grateful…’
His words were lost as Kumara put down his spoon and spluttered…
‘Appa! I want to take a break from my studies. I need to understand myself. I got a position in the Seeti-Hodi (Whistle-on) Rock Band.’
‘What rubbish are you talking about? Do you know how I have struggled to put you into tuitions and good school. Now you are saying Band. What’s this?’
‘Appa! You have never paid attention. Even my keyboard is borrowed. Have you ever listened to me playing? I don’t want to study. I want to be in a band. I can earn also…And I did not want mini-tiffin. I wanted poori-potato. You never listen.’
Chandrappa watched as Kumara got up and walked away.
Kumara returned to the table. They finished the mini-tiffin silently. ‘Come’ he said sulkily. Chandrappa sat behind him on the scooty and they rode home together.
We are not who we thought we were.
The wind made his hair fly and Chandrappa tried hard to keep his hair in place.
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