Mohini sat stonily on the bench in the OPD section of the Government Medical College and Hospital in Nagpur’s Medical Square area. She gingerly caressed her wrists that were tied in a sling with a dupatta. Mohit, her son, had done it for her. He was in the eighth grade and had recently participated in a Boy Scout camp where they had taught him how to do first aid. He wanted to be a doctor when he grew up and Mohini wanted to make sure he had the means to achieve his dream. No matter what that would cost her.
Mohit looked at her nervously. He knew the sling was a temporary arrangement to lessen her pain. Nevertheless, it would not drive it away. Would it ever go away? For him at least, the pain was there since forever.
He was just six years old when he remembered seeing his father hit his mother for the first time. He saw his mother wince but had stood her ground. His father hit her again and kept on doing it till he saw her crumble to the ground. As he watched his father step over her and leave the room, little Mohit sat speechless. His tender mind could not comprehend what had just happened. He had crawled over to where his mother lay sobbing silently. When she had lifted her head, he had shrunk back on seeing the swollen eye and the trickle of blood oozing from the corner of her lips. His hands had turned red as he had crept up to wipe her tears that spilled over silently and mingled with the gore.
Baburao Bhonsle, Mohit’s father, was an orthodox Maharashtrian patriarch who loved being in control of everything. This desire to rule made him impervious and insensitive to the troubles he may be causing to people around him in a crude sort of a way. He cherished inflicting violence particularly on people who were weaker or smaller than him, in physical or economic status.
Since the first day when Mohit had witnessed his mother’s humiliation, he had always been there for her after his father left her bruised, wounded and humiliated. He wiped away her tears, soothed her with his gentle word and healed her wounds. He had joined the Boy Scout Camp only because they had advertised that they will be providing a session on how to provide First Aid.
“Mohini Bhonsle!”
The ward boy hollering out his mother’s name from the end of the corridor made them realise that the doctor was ready to see them. Mohit helped his mother walk towards the doctor’s chamber and pulled out the chair for her to sit.
“What is it this time?” asked Dr. Prakash Kale looking at them from over his spectacles. He was a middle-aged man and had been associated with the hospital for several years. Mohini was one of his regular patients and he had dressed many of her wounds. He had advised her to report these incidents of domestic violence to the police assuring her that Mohini’s husband would definitely be behind bars if she did. Mohini had just shivered and shook her head vehemently.
“He broke her wrist” said Mohit gritting his teeth even though Mohini looked at him admonishingly.
Dr.Kale came up to look at her wrist closely. He looked appreciatively at the sling and complimented Mohit when he heard it was done by him. Mohini beamed proudly despite her pain.
“So why did he do it?” asked Dr.Kale as he studied the X-Ray plates Mohit had got with him.
“She had forgotten to switch on the geyser before his bath” said Mohit angrily.
“What is wrong with you Mohit?” said Mohini “Why do you have to speak so much? Can’t you keep quiet?”
“Yes that is what he has been doing and look what that has got you” said Dr.Kale shaking his head as he prepared the plaster for her wrist.
“I am used to this Doctor Saab.” said Mohini sighing “It doesn’t bother me anymore” said Mohini.
“What doesn’t bother you?” asked Dr.Kale as he looked at Mohini with one eyebrow raised.
“Doesn’t it bother you that your son has to tolerate your insult and bear the pain of seeing you getting hurt every day. What sort of an example are you setting as parents?” he asked.
“Do I have a choice Doctor Saab. Where will I go if I leave him? What will happen to my son’s education? How will he achieve his dream of becoming a doctor if he cannot finish his education?” said Mohini.
“But what about you?” asked Dr. Kale trying to reason with her “You have a life too? Have you never thought about that?”
“I have stopped thinking about myself since a long time Doctor Saab. My only thoughts are now for Mohit. I cannot let anything happen to him. I cannot leave his father, no matter what happens to me.” said Mohini definitively.
Dr.Kale sighed. He had never been able to talk sense into this woman. Sometimes he thought she was a coward who could not take a stand for herself. Then again, he realised, it does require a lot of courage to bear all that she is forced to endure only because of someone you love. Probably, only a mother is capable of this.
Once the plaster was done, he wrote down a few instructions for her. A list of few dos and don’ts most of which he knew would not be followed. He handed over the prescription to Mohit and asked him to make sure she gives the hand proper rest. Thankfully it was the left hand but knowing Mohini, he knew even that part of the instruction may not be followed. They thanked the doctor and walked out of the hospital.
“Let’s leave the house and Baba, Ai” Mohit said suddenly. They were walking towards the autorickshaw stand.
“Mohit!” said Mohini looking at him stunned “Do you even know what you are saying? Where do you think we will go? What will we eat?”
“We will manage Ai. I will take up some work.” said Mohit stubbornly
“And what about your education?” asked Mohini sternly.
“I could also appear for the exam in private” said Mohit.
Mohini simply stared at him before bursting into laughter. Mohit sighed. He knew he was always fighting a losing battle when he discussed this with his mother. She would not budge from her decision. He just hoped when she did decide to do what he said, it would not be too late.
Luck, however, was in Mohit’s favour as he was to find out a few days later.
Baburao stormed into his room one evening when Mohit was preparing for his final examination. He stood near the door with one hand on his hips and the other curling his moustaches. Mohit looked up with a scowl.
Baburao had a tall burly structure. He had a large square face that was crowned with a mop of thick curly hair. Thick bushy sideburns, big wide-spaced eyes and thick lips that were covered with a bushy handlebar moustache gave his face a villainous look, an attribute he truly lived up to through his actions. He was proud of his well-cared for moustache and was often seen curling them affectionately. People who knew Baburao would know that when he stood looking at someone in that posture, it meant that he was about to change a lot of things in the other person’s life. Mohit lowered his gaze completely ignoring him and continued with his work.
“You!” Baburao shouted at Mohit “When is this exam of yours getting over?” he asked
“End of this week” said Mohit not looking at him. He always kept his conversation with his father to the bare minimum.
“Good!” said Baburao “After that you are coming with me to Jamshedpur. I am going to get you started on business. Enough of studies for you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mohit looking at him stunned.
“I need help with my business. You will start on my Jamshedpur factory. Learn the ropes there and then move back here to help me”
“But I don’t want to join your business” said Mohit angrily.
“Not join my business?” asked Baburao sneeringly “What do you want to do then? Sit at home and make rotis in the kitchen like your mother?”
“If required, yes. Even that is better than joining your crooked business.” said Mohit shortly.
“Crooked is it? And what exactly do you think you will do by learning kitchen art?” sniggered his father.
“At least I will not be dependent on others to make my food, like you” said Mohit flashing an angry look at him.
“How dare you?” hollered Baburao. His nostrils flared up in anger and his eyes had become two round balls of fire. Mohit knew this look too well. He had seen him look like this just before he hit his mother. He looked at him defiantly daring his father to hit him too.
Baburao looked at his son. He was almost about to strike him when something in his look made him change his mind. It was only later that Mohit wished he had hit him. It would have at least saved his mother the ordeal he inflicted on her later.
That night Mohit stuffed his head in the pillow to hide his mother’s shrieks of agony as his father vent his anger on her. He had tried to intervene but realised that his father, anticipating that he might try to save her, had locked the room from inside.
After that night, Mohit could never face his mother. He felt it was all because of him that she had to suffer. He would leave early for school and hide himself in his room all the while he was home, pretending to study. His mother never questioned him. However, he did notice that she was unusually quiet. He wondered if she knew the real reason why Mohit had dared to answer back. There was an unwritten rule in the house that no one answers back to Baburao. His word is law and everybody must abide by it.
On the night before his last exam, Mohit heard a light tap on his door. He looked up startled. He was surprised to find his mother standing outside. She moved in swiftly and closed the door behind her.
“Listen Mohit, I will pick you up from school tomorrow. As soon as your your exam is over, come out through the back door. I will be waiting near the Neem tree. Keep your bag packed tonight. I will take it with me. Tomorrow, we will be leaving this house Mohit.”
“Ai?” said Mohit stunned “Are you sure?”
“I have never been so sure of myself ever” said Mohini “He has ruined my life. I will not let him ruin yours too.” said Mohini with a determined lift to her chin.
“I overheard him planning to pick you up from school so that he can take you straight to the station. That is why we will escape through the back door. He will not be home tomorrow morning, so it will be easier for me to leave.”
“But what if he changes plans and decides to keep a watch on you.” asked Mohit with a worried look.
“I will take care of that. Don’t worry about all that. Focus on your exam.”
Mohit nodded. Before leaving, Mohini hugged her son and whispered softly “You are going to achieve your dreams Mohit. As long as I am alive, I will not let anyone trample them with their ruthless intents.”
As planned, Mohini was waiting for Mohit beneath the huge Neem tree at the rear end of the school. He noticed she had brought his bag that he had packed last night after she left. She was also carrying a smaller bag which probably had her stuff.
“But Ai?” asked Mohit as they hailed an autorickshaw “Where do we go now?”
“I don’t know Mohit” said Mohini “But first we need to visit the police station to make sure that Baburao Bhonsle is not able to bother us anymore.”
Mohit looked at his mother amazed. This was a new woman he was seeing. She was no longer the weak, battered and abused wife of Baburao Bhonsle. This was Mohini, a mother and a fighter and above all a woman with a voice.
As they got off at the police station, Mohini hesitated for a few moments. Mohit squeezed her hand to give her courage hoping she would not give up now after coming this far. Mohini smiled at him as they walked into the station to rectify the mistake called “Baburao Bhonsle” they had been forced to bear in their lives for all these years.
Mohini looked around at the small one bedroom ground floor apartment that Dr.Kale had helped them rent. It belonged to a friend of his who was looking for a tenant. He had suggested they move out of Nagpur, but Mohini had refused. She did not want to disturb Mohit in his senior years. Moreover, she did not understand why she should uproot herself from her comfort zone for the mistakes someone else has committed. If anybody needs to leave it must be Baburao, not them.
The house had a long balcony in front, one room, a toilet, a small hall and a kitchen. It was enough for the two of them.
Mohit’s school was closed after the term-end exam so he could help Mohini set up the house. There was not much to set up though as they did not have any furniture or clothes to arrange. Mohini had brought some money with her which she had saved from the household expense. She had also brought with her some jewelry which her mother had given during her wedding.
She sold some to pay Mohit’s school fees and buy a few basic essentials that were required to help them subsist. The rest she kept as reserve. However, she knew she needed a proper source of income in order to make ends meet or else even her reserve fund would soon be exhausted.
It was Mohit again who came to her rescue, albeit unknowingly. It was on one of his busy school days, when Mohini was packing his tiffin, Mohit asked her to pack an extra Dosa for his friend who was staying alone and had no one to cook tiffin for him. So, they had decided that each boy in their class would share their tiffin with him. Today it was Mohit’s turn.
“That is indeed thoughtful of you all,” said Mohini smiling at Mohit as she added an extra dollop of chutney for them to enjoy.
That night as they sat down for Dinner, Mohini stood stirring her bowl of sambhar thoughtfully. “What does your friend do for dinner?” she asked Mohit.
“Which friend?” Mohit asked surprised.
“The one with whom you shared your lunch today” said Mohini
“I don’t know!” shrugged Mohit “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking Mohit” said Mohini looking at her son with her eyes sparkling with excitement “What if your friend has a permanent arrangement for both lunch and dinner?”
“That will be great! But Ai, how will it be even possible? Who will serve him lunch and dinner?”
“I will” said Mohini simply.
“You?” Mohit looked at his mother surprised.
“Well, we have to do something Mohit. This is the only thing I can do well. Cook. I am sure your friends are going to love it.”
“But Ai, they cannot pay you a lot. How will you pull your daily costs?”
“I will keep the price of food very low. I think I can manage. Why don’t we give this a try? If it doesn’t work, we can always think of something else.”
Mohit thought about it for a while and his face brightened up.
“I think it is a fantastic idea. My friends love your Dosa and always tell me to get more. So now I can tell them that you will be making Dosas that they can buy and enjoy.”
“We will need to arrange for a space.” said Mohini her face clouding over as she thought of the rent she would have to shell out for the shop.
“Why don’t we use the front balcony Ai. It will be perfect you can easily serve from there and they could use the small ledge as a makeshift table.”
“But do you think Dr.Kale’s friend will agree to it?” asked Mohini doubtfully.
“I think he will. He seemed to be a nice person” said Mohit feeling positive.
“What do you think we should call it?” asked Mohini beginning to feel excited.
“Mohini’s Tiffin Service” said Mohit.
“No” said Mohini crinkling up her nose “sounds very pompous. Let’s call it
‘Annapurna Tiffin Service.’ It was my grandmother’s name.”
“Yes, it does sound much better.” said Mohit.
They got very busy over the next few days planning and preparing for their new venture. While Mohini got down to planning the menu and sourcing the raw materials, Mohit got busy with the promotion. He spread the news about ‘Annapurna Tiffin Service’ among his friends, who in turn spread it among their friends and so on. They decided to keep the menu simple so that costs could be kept low. They decided to start with Dosa and idli, the common favourite.
Soon their opening day arrived and Mohini prepared the Dosa batter with trepidation in her heart. Will she be able to make this work? If not, it would be back to the drawing board for them.
Her first customer arrived within moments of her opening shop. It was Mohit’s friend. The one for whom she had packed the extra Dosa. As Mohini rolled out the batter for him on the hot tawa, he chatted with her. His name was Chintan and he was so relieved she had opened this tiffin service for hapless boys like him who would either have to shell out a large amount in big restaurants or go hungry. He also told her between mouthful of Dosa that he had informed all his hostel mates about her tiffin service. They would be visiting her soon.
After Chintan left, Mohini waited patiently for the school lunch break when she was sure there would be some students. Sure enough a few arrived and promised to get more of their friends next day. Talking to these young boys, helped to rub off some of their positive spirit on her. She became increasingly confident that she had made the right decision.
As days passed, Annapurna Tiffin Service became a popular name among school students. They would crowd around Mohini’s balcony waiting to be served as she briskly handed out plates of hot crispy Dosa or soft spongy idli with a spoonful of her tangy and tasty coconut chutney on the side. She would engage in animated discussion with them as she watched them dig into their plates with a ferocious gusto.
Though her popularity increased, Mohini never changed the cost of her plates. She kept them at the same low price that she had started with.
Whenever Mohit asked her about this, she would always say, “Nobody should go back on an empty stomach from Annapurna Tiffin service. What if I increase the price and they cannot afford the food? The child will go back hungry. I can never do that.”
One morning, several months later, as Mohini was preparing the batter to prepare for her early morning customers, she noticed a man sitting on the opposite side of the road looking at her balcony longingly. He sat hunched up and his clothes were tattered and dirty. Mohini felt sorry for the man and thought he must be hungry. She decided she would go over and give him some food once it was ready. As she got busy during the day, Mohini forgot about the man. It was only when lunch time was over and she was cleaning up that Mohini remembered the man. She peered out from her balcony and found him still sitting in the same spot.
She quickly rolled out a dosa and spooned out a little bit of chutney on a plate and walked over to where the man was sitting on the other side of the road.
“Here have this. You have not had anything since morning?” she said smiling kindly at the man.
The man looked up and smiled hesitatingly. The smile froze on her lips as Mohini recognized Baburao. The wide-spaced eyes that once spewed venom looked back at her through a hazy blur. His thick bushy sidewhiskers had turned into thin wiry wisps that hung limply by the side of his face. The handlebar moustache with the absence of proper trimming had lost its lustre and looked like a scraggly growth of wiry hair covering his upper lip. His clothes were tattered, and his sandal was held together by safety pin. She should have felt pity but all it reminded her of was the years of hurt, pain and insult.
“I knew you would not refuse me Mohini” whispered Baburao hoarsely, his voice a weak shadow of the once deep hollering she was used to.
“Refuse you for what?” asked Mohini. She could make out that he had been on the streets for several days. However, she looked on indifferently. “Food and shelter. I have been without a bed to lie down in and food in my stomach for several days,” Baburao stretched his hands towards Mohini expectantly. Mohini, simply placed the food in his extended palms saying, “Annapurna Tiffin Service never refuses food to anyone.”
As Baburao stared at her blankly, Mohini turned away and walked towards her house without looking back. She felt a strange stirring in her heart as she realized she was finally at peace with herself.
Her lips lifted into a blissful smile that brightened the world around her, all over again.
