The Truptee Restaurant Case
Posted by Subhendu on December 13, 2009
From within the Studds helmet, the sound of the bike actually appeared muffled. These new high CC bikes are amazing with their pickup, silencers and control. I was speeding at 65 mph. Palm Beach Road was well lit at 3 AM in the morning, I thought.
It had been a hectic day, I remembered. Anyone related in any way to the IT industry would understand the pains during a software implementation. Today was one such day. In the last one year of my association with the current team of mine, we had made one thing sure -partying every weekend even though we were under the radar consistently and were crushed under thousand pascals of pressure. I had a brilliant team and each backed up the other. I felt lucky working with them. Issues just disappeared when my team and I sat over any such for an hour. When I was on the bike after the last piece of code was executed live, my team had opted voluntarily to watch over issues, all night.
I looked into the concave mirrors. Could see only a couple of high speed bikers and zazzy cars in the trail. Software buffs, I thought.
I was already hearing the sounds from my intestine. How long would a 30 metre tube inside stomach last with 2 pieces of family size Dominos. My eyes hungrily scanned through the transparent glass of the helmet for a light in the roadside. Which restaurant would be open at 3 AM in the morning. but, strangely, Mumbai is different. Like NY which claims to be the city which never sleeps, Mumbai does not fall much behind. When I took the final turn near Suryansh Apartment, I was just searching for the tag Open on the doors of Truptee. And I found it. The restaurant is just near the corner, barely 100 meters away from my apartment.
Mrs. Sawant was a lady in her late fifties. Her husband died of some disease which the doctors could not diagnose. Her only son, now thirty some, had married and settled in States. Like most parents of our generation, Mrs Sawant could not just adjust with the climate, surroundings and people in the states. She was not very comfortable speaking English and never cared to learn. No Nick, What will I do learning English at this age..I am happy here knowing that my son is happy there. She had come back to Mumbai after staying for 3 months with her only son, daughter in law and Silvy, their daughter. And she never forgot to thank her husband for having had the wisdom to buy this place for her. When her husband actually had bought this restaurant space, they had had a serious fight….I knew it all.
After all, when one grows old, all you need is companionship. Money is not a matter. Property is not a matter. Parents take so much care of their children. When a kid is born, the mother keeps awake to see the child sleep in peace. When the kids starts to crawl, mothers are so happy. Kids ask the same questions a thousand times – where does the crow live, mama? Mama, where does the wind come from? Where do the clouds come from? Who is throwing water from above? ..Parents never get tired. When the kids want something and they cant express, they cry. We all have cried for something or the other in childhood. Somehow we forget all of it when we grow up. But mothers are always there to understand, just that we fail to understand that they also need something. They don’t demand as we did. We cried loudly and they cry silently. Mrs. Sawant had asked her son to come back. But he now is a father too and Silvy could not adjust here in India. So, he denied. I would not blame her son nor Mrs. Sawant. She just wept silently.
She looked at me as her son. She used to wait for me so that I don’t go to sleep, hungry. Strange chemistry. Home away from home for both of us. She never accepted money when I wanted to pay the bill after the meal. She just wanted someone to hear her story. And I was never tired hearing. I missed my family too and everytime I went to Truptee, I got a stronger resolve to go back home, spend time with my mother. And indeed, my resignation had this as one of the reasons.
I counted the days. 11 more days to go home.