Meenakshi S Tiffin

Muthal Tiffin

Subah ka paanch baje ka alaram mere liye alarm kam, ek tarah ka dhakka hota hai. Chennai ki hawa mein abhi bhi raat ki nammi hoti hai. Window ke bahar auto ka pehla horn, kahin door temple bell ki halki si awaaz, aur andar kitchen mein gas ka sannaata—sab milke din shuru kar dete hain.

Main, Meenakshi, 41 saal ki, pehle apna chehra paani se dhoti hoon, phir baal tight jooda bana leti hoon. Tiffin carrier ko har subah kapde se ponchna meri aadat nahi, meri aadha saans hai. Steel pe haath pherta hoon toh thanda metal mujhe yaad dilata hai ki din ka bojh abhi uthaya nahi, bas shuru hua hai.

Rice cooker mein chawal, pressure cooker mein sambar, ek kadai mein beans poriyal. Dosai ka batter raat ko hi thanda karke rakha tha. Mere haath kitchen mein bina soche kaam karte hain. Kabhi kabhi lagta hai, mere haath mere dimaag se zyada yaad rakhte hain.

Peeche se mere husband ki khansi aati hai. Woh bedroom ke kone mein baithe-baithe newspaper palat rahe hote hain, jaise duniya unki permission se chal rahi ho.

“Abhi bhi shuru nahi kiya?” woh bolte hain, bina meri taraf dekhe.

Main aloo ka masala palat rahi hoti hoon. “Ho gaya.”

“Roz ka hi drama hai,” woh dheere se bolte hain. Itna dheere ki sun bhi loon toh jawab na de sakun, aur itna seedha ki lag jaye.

Main kuch nahi kehti. Aadat ho gayi hai. Ghar ke andar meri awaaz ka volume hamesha low rakha gaya hai, jaise main koi mehmaan hoon, ghar ki malik nahi.

Mere husband ko mera kaam pasand nahi. Unke liye main “tiffin wali” hoon. Naam se bulana unhe kabhi yaad nahi rehta, ya shayad zarurat nahi lagti. Kabhi kabhi woh bolte hain, “Pados ki auratein ghar sambhalti hain. Tu sadak pe lunch baant rahi hai.”

Main unse puchhna chahti hoon—ghar sambhalne ke liye paisa kis ped par ugta hai? Par phir yaad aata hai, jawab se zyada unhe meri chup achhi lagti hai. Toh main chutney ke liye coconut grate karti rehti hoon.

Mera route fixed hai. First stop—Mylapore side ka ek apartment. Phir ek clinic, phir Anna Salai ke paas office building. Har jagah alag log, alag smells, alag expressions. Par sabko ek cheez chahiye hoti hai: time pe, garam, aur khane layak khana.

Tiffin carrier ke andar sirf lunch nahi hota. Usmein meri subah hoti hai. Meri neend ka hisaab, mere pairon ka dard, mere ghar ka maun, aur kabhi-kabhi mera gussa bhi.

Main carrier ka lid band karti hoon. Steel ka click mere din ki first victory hoti hai.

“Main nikalti hoon,” main bolti hoon.

Koi jawab nahi aata. Bas newspaper ka khad-khad aur gas ki halki si hiss.

Main chali jaati hoon.

Sambar Ka Raaz

Dr. Priya ke office ka reception hamesha thoda sa overbright lagta hai. White lights, polished floor, aur air conditioner ki aisi thandak jaise yahan insaan nahi, files saans leti hain.

Main tiffin dene aati hoon toh receptionist mujhe pehchanti hai. “Aunty, Dr. Priya ke liye na?”

Main bas sar hila deti hoon. Aunty. Pehle pehle yeh shabd mujhe ajeeb lagta tha. Phir samajh aaya—kuch log aunty bolke bhi izzat de dete hain, kuch log name bolke bhi nahi.

Dr. Priya khud cabin se bahar nikalti hain. 33 ki hongi, par aankhon mein thakaan aur softness dono hain. Safed coat ke upar dupatta neatly fold kiya hua, baal bun mein.

“Meenakshi akka,” woh muskurake bolti hain. “Aaj sambar ki smell lift tak aa gayi.”

Main hansi rok nahi paati. “Aaj thoda imli zyada daal diya. Aapko pasand hai na.”

“Pasand?” woh carrier lete hue bolti hain. “Mujhe toh yaad ho gaya tha ki Monday ko aapka sambar mera mood theek kar deta hai.”

Main unke cabin mein kabhi kabhi do minute ruk jaati hoon, jab line kam ho. Woh hamesha puchhti hain, “Khaana khaya?”

Main pehle jhooth bolti thi. “Haan, khaya.”

Phir ek din unhone seedha mere haath dekhe—dry, cracked, haldi ke rang ke saath. “Aapne khud khaya ya sirf sabko khilaya?”

Us din main chup reh gayi thi. Unhone lunch box khola, pehla spoon uthaya, aur bina kisi formality ke bola, “Bahut achha hai. Sach mein. Aapka sambar mein balance hai. Na zyada khatta, na bhari. Jaise koi dhyaan se bol raha ho.”

Main unki baat samajhne ki koshish karti thi. Khaane ki tareef toh bahut log karte hain. Par woh tareef nahi thi, pehchaan thi.

Aaj bhi unhone pehla bite liya aur aankh thodi badi kar li. “Hmm. Yeh hai. Ismein curry leaves roast ki hui lag rahi hain. Aur aapne tamarind ko kaise manage kiya? Itna round taste kaise?”

Main thoda sharma gayi. “Meri amma sikhaya tha. Bolti thi sambar ko gussa nahi, patience chahiye.”

Priya has di. “Bilkul. Same medicine.”

Phir unka chehra thoda serious hua. “Meenakshi akka, aapne kabhi socha hai ki aapka kaam kitna important hai?”

Main carrier ka lid pakad kar rahi. “Important? Bas lunch pahunchana hai, madam.”

“Bas?” woh dheere se boli. “Aap logon ke beech mein ghar ka taste le jaati hain. Office mein log thak jaate hain, irritate ho jaate hain, ya kabhi kabhi ek decent lunch hi unka din bachata hai. Aur aap woh laati hain.”

Maine nazar neeche kar li. Praise mujhe hamesha thoda uncomfortable lagta tha. Jaise koi achanak roshni daal de aur main apne haath dekhne lagun.

Priya ne softly kaha, “Aap supplier nahi ho. Aap connection ho.”

Us line ne mere andar kuch hilaya. Connection. Main itne saalon se bas saman samajh ke chalti rahi thi—packet, carrier, route, delivery. Par connection? Shayad isliye log lunch ke saath apni halat bhi bata dete hain. Kyunki khana sirf pet nahi, insaan ko bhi chhoo leta hai.

“Madam,” main bas itna bol paayi, “aap bahut bolti hain.”

Woh muskura di. “Aur aap kam, isliye main bol leti hoon.”

Main first time unke office se nikalte waqt peeth thodi seedhi karke chali.

Kutty’s Notes