The dabba (boxed
lunch) is back in my life after more than two decades and brought many memories
of school. For the last 12 years, I cooked my own breakfast and lunch and
dinner every day. I ate cold lunch at my desk or microwaved food made the previous
day. I continued the tradition here because I love cooking my meals and have
major control issues with anyone taking over my house or kitchen.
And then, the knight in shining armor aka the dabba-waala showed
up with his contact number and rang the doorbell. I still ignored him for
a month. But the day I missed lunch because of deadlines and ended up chewing
on raw bell peppers, I decided, enough is enough. I called the dabba-walla.
Sure enough, he was
right on time with my lunch, freshly cooked and piping hot. Rice. Ruti. Dal.
Curry. I had forgotten what it feels like to have a freshly cooked, piping hot
meal delivered at work or home in a proper stainless steel dabba, sans cheap
plastic. The food was heavenly. I had tears in my eyes.
Later that evening,
when the dabba-waala came to pick up his box, he started gossiping in true
Indian style. This must be his idea of bonding with the customers to make
lifelong business connections. I didn't even ask him to sit, but he never took
the cue. He stood in my office and gossiped away. I learned more about my
colleagues through him than I would have cared to. I now know whose husband
emigrated to Canada, what does the Dean like to eat every day, whose parents
are visiting this summer, and where are so-and-so currently road-tripping. He
tempered privacy in smoking hot oil and threw it out of the window.
No one who comes in
contact with you in India will leave without telling you something about someone
you did not need to know. Every time the driver picks me up from the airport, I
learn which of my colleagues are currently traveling and what airline. This is
so India!
Lunch: 80 INR/$1.14
Gossip: FREE
sunshine
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