Power Lunch (Part 2)

Most of Zainab's friends had gone home from the party by now. Just a couple of aunts remained as well as Sakina's close friends who always helped clear up after Ahmed family events.They had been in the middle of collecting stray plates or glasses from the living room or straightening cushions when they heard a tiny yelp. Everyone abandoned their tasks thinking maybe Zainab had experienced a contraction or two.Instead they found Sakina in the middle of one of her rants.

" I cannot believe these ludicrous dabbawallahs," she was exclaiming, the tips of her ears reddening.

Kirsten wondered what she had started. "Come on Sakina, we all thought Zainab was about to go into labor or something. Are you seriously having a fit about a tiffin box?"

Sakina smoothed down her dress and rested her head on her chin.
"I just read a mind-blowing statistic," she said, as though that explained her explosive behavior. "Apparently the dabbawallah system is so close to being flawless that only a ridiculous one in seven flippin million lunchboxes go to the wrong person. Even Harvard studied it. They have some type of code with markings and numbers to make sure the right husband gets the box from the right housewife made in the right home"

The remaining guests were smiling.

"Precisely, " said Sakina. "This in a country where NOTHING goes right. One in seven million."

"Beti, I think you are being a little hard on the place, "attempted Sakina's mother.

Sakina shook her head. " Ammi, I was born in that sprawling sub-continent.You know my heart will always belong there. "

Zainab had put up her feet on a footstool and embraced the impromptu post lunch theater. Her mother would probably be clueless as a grandmother and future babysitter but she was unbeatable on the soapbox."

"Yes, Nanijan, you know how Mom makes us go there every few years- says 'soak up the heritage, guys,appreciate the wisdom and culture, guys. She's obsessed with it."

Sakina gave her daughter a tiny grateful smile. " All of this gives me the right to hold up my hands in desperation and wonder.  It is an overwhelming mass of corruption, over-population, a government that does not care about its people and mind-boggling poverty. But, hey, people get their home cooked lunches on time."

"Yes," Zainab agreed. Imagine if they could run the country the way they run the dabbawallah industry. "Priorities and motivation, that's all."

Sakina nodded and wondered if her audience could handle one more anecdote.
"You know, " she said, looking around at her nieces' faces. "This all reminded me of an incident from my teaching days."

The remaining guests were sprawled across sofas and floor cushions. Zero resistance.

"Well as you know I started out my teaching career in a California public school. That state deserves its reputation for being a utopia of tolerance and multi culturalism. When Ramadan came around, the other teachers would be very concerned about students not eating around me at lunchtime and would offer to take my recess duty.I  told them it did not bother me. Deep down I knew. This was the city of San Francisco-a school for creative arts and drama. Most of the children brought culinary delights such as seaweed sandwiches or tofu salad. My moghal tummy did not even emit so much as a rumble."

Sakina's grandmother was scowling at the idea of such cuisine while a couple of other guests begged her to finish the tale.

"Well then soon after that I wanted Zainab to go to an Islamic school and I got a position teaching second grade there too. It was a very progressive place because the students were from diverse backgrounds. As far as lunch goes, they brought westernized fare such as PBJs or halal deli meats. One Ramadan, I  was having a particularly rough week, though. It was report card week which meant sleepless nights. When lunchtime came , I looked around to make sure everyone had remembered to bring something. There would be a sound of plastic lunchboxes snappping. One student was spreading nutella on cracker. Another had gulped down some minestrone soup from a small thermos.I usually took this time to tidy up but today I was so tired, I just put my feet up on a small stool and decided to plan the evening meal in my head . Suddenly  an unfamiliar smell wafted over to me.I began to wonder.
Was I just really hungry or was that cumin?

Sakina's mother had fallen asleep on a large armchair so Sakina lowered her voice to a whisper.

"This was the early nineties. There were no Indian takeout restaurants for miles around. I had to investigate.  There was this new student named Asif, so respectful but a little conservative. He always wore a topi on his loose locks and his pants were rolled up to his ankles. He was sitting at his desk, de-constructing a shiny metal apparatus. He flipped a little latch. This unleashed four medium sized bowls. I tell you ladies, heavenly fragrances were emanating from there. "

"Had he really brought an Indian tiffin box to school?" enquired Kirsten giggling through her green tea.

"Well, " explained Sakina as though she were writing a recipe book. "The first bowl contained appetizers: three mini potato and pea samosas resting together on a grease catching napkin. Then there was a bowl of spiced  dal and one with a couple of neatly folded chapatti, one of which Asif had picked up and was dipping uninhibitedly into the lentil pool. The last bowl contained a lone gulab jamun which sat in a sea of treacherous syrup."

"Oh, mom, my tummy's aching. What did you do to the poor thing?" asked Zainab.

"Well I approached the newbie. I remembered hearing something on the campus grapevine about Asif's mother being a convert from Hinduism. Leaving aside that people's polytheistic ways- they make the most delicious food on Earth as you know."

"Amen to that, sister, "said Kirsten, a life-long vegetarian. "Carry on, Sakina."

"There were still several hours until sunset and my stomach had been playing a sort of gastro intestinal symphony ever since the metallic show had begun. For crying out loud,  it was like that restaurant Mysore Delight in Asif's lunchbox. I could bear it no longer, I grabbed the newbie by his collar like some kind of playground bully. Listen, kid I told him. From tomorrow you bring a tuna sandwich. Asif blinked back at me, I'm sure he was shaking a little. He must have wondered what came over me. I was known for being the pushover teacher. Well he nodded but then he had to ask 'what is tuna, Miss?'  Can you believe it? Well I smoothed down his collar, regained my senses and said never mind, squirt."

"Mom, I didn't know you were so aggressive in your youth, " teased Zainab.

"Well the next morning when I was writing some math problems on the board in preparation for the first period I heard a knock on the door.  There stood my mini foodie student, accompanied by a tall lady wearing a polka dot hijab and niqab. She was holding two tiffin boxes. She had a hint of a Mumbai boarding school accent, tells me one of the boxes was for me. Inside all I could think was- hurrah for parochical schools."

Kirsten had not predicted her simple gift would have turned this shower into a story telling fest. "Honestly, what prompted me to buy Zainab this was because it was being advertized as an eco freindly lunchbox,  she said. " You never need to buy another one. Think of the zillions of disposable plastic tupperware boxes we use."

Sakina was not going to let Kirsten launch into another lecture about the environment.

"Like Zainab said," she concluded. "Priorities and motivation."