Govind walked down the lane a couple of times, working off the steam of disappointment. He had been rejected yet again for the job he had applied because he did not have the right qualifications. And any attempt to start something on his own also became difficult due to the lack of the right papers and permissions.
As he took a turn, he felt hungry. He looked around to see if there were any food stalls and could find none. He stood at one corner and observed the people who passed by. He did the same at various points. Finally, he felt he had found what he could do - set up a food cart that would cater to the workers of the nearby mall. He started offering a simple fare, expecting only the cleaners and helpers to use it from. But as even the white collar employees started frequenting his stall, he added dishes and found his clientele increasing even further. He had to extend hours, as now people working on all three shifts sought his stall out. He employed two boys to assist him with the expanding business.
"Dada, will you also do home delivery?" one customer asked one day. "I live two streets away and have all my three meals with you. But on holidays, I am at a loss. I feel too lazy to come all the way. Charge a little extra," he suggested.
Govind thought, why not? He felt quite proud that his service was in such demand and was not about to let go of an opportunity to expand. But he was a cautious businessman too. "You are the only one, thakur! I can't afford an extra pair of hands just for one person?" he insinuated.
"Arrey! Just send out a handbill and see the response! I am sure half this mall will want to order from you on weekends!" the man assured Govind. "Handbill?" Govind asked, wondering if the expense would be too much.
"I will create one for you, don't worry!" the man offered and went about getting a small note ready with Govind's stall name, some of the dishes on offer with the price and the contact number to place the order. Right enough, Govind realised that there was demand not only from his own regular clients but those working in nearby offices too. His fleet-on-street extended to three, and they were constantly run off their feet.
He even got interviewed. "What gave you the idea of starting this?" the young girl asked and he proudly narrated his research techniques and how he had arrived at the decision. "Did you get the proper permission?" she asked sweetly.
"Who needs it, madam? There is a need, and I am fulfilling that," he replied smartly. "Look at the people I am feeding!" he said. "In fact, how do I post an advertisement in your paper? I can deliver up to 5 km radius."
The lady said, "I will send my sales person."
His name and face appeared in the paper and he got it blown up, and pinned it up on the wall behind.
The constables who usually had lunch or dinner at his stall came that afternoon too. "Getting written up in the paper and all, big man!" they teased him.
He laughed modestly. "All thanks to you," and silently handed them a plate of his best dishes. They polished it off and returned the plate with a big grin.
Next morning, he beamed at his image beaming from the picture and felt doubly enthused about his business. "Shall I call the stall Popular foods?" he asked his assistants, who willingly nodded. He was rudely shaken from such pleasanr reveries when the police came minus the smiles. "Hey, what do you think? Is this your private property? Conning the public and usurping the footpath!" they shouted and started tearing down the pin up.
"Sir, what happened! I have made the best masala dosa today..."
"Bribing us!" they shouted and knocked on a simmering pot. "This should be gone by evening. We are getting complaints from the residents that your stall is blocking traffic. You don't even have permission, and you have admitted that in paper. Now the residents are after us to evict you! Do the needful before we turn rough!"
Govind stood with the crumpled paper, his face a picture of puzzlement. "But..." he started.
"No buts. Just be off!" he was chased from the spot. He thought that once tempers cooled, he could return, but everytime he made the attempt, he was chased away.
He looked at the blank wall behind him. Till fame got to him, he had been safe, he thought ironically as he packed up his things.
As he took a turn, he felt hungry. He looked around to see if there were any food stalls and could find none. He stood at one corner and observed the people who passed by. He did the same at various points. Finally, he felt he had found what he could do - set up a food cart that would cater to the workers of the nearby mall. He started offering a simple fare, expecting only the cleaners and helpers to use it from. But as even the white collar employees started frequenting his stall, he added dishes and found his clientele increasing even further. He had to extend hours, as now people working on all three shifts sought his stall out. He employed two boys to assist him with the expanding business.
"Dada, will you also do home delivery?" one customer asked one day. "I live two streets away and have all my three meals with you. But on holidays, I am at a loss. I feel too lazy to come all the way. Charge a little extra," he suggested.
Govind thought, why not? He felt quite proud that his service was in such demand and was not about to let go of an opportunity to expand. But he was a cautious businessman too. "You are the only one, thakur! I can't afford an extra pair of hands just for one person?" he insinuated.
"Arrey! Just send out a handbill and see the response! I am sure half this mall will want to order from you on weekends!" the man assured Govind. "Handbill?" Govind asked, wondering if the expense would be too much.
"I will create one for you, don't worry!" the man offered and went about getting a small note ready with Govind's stall name, some of the dishes on offer with the price and the contact number to place the order. Right enough, Govind realised that there was demand not only from his own regular clients but those working in nearby offices too. His fleet-on-street extended to three, and they were constantly run off their feet.
He even got interviewed. "What gave you the idea of starting this?" the young girl asked and he proudly narrated his research techniques and how he had arrived at the decision. "Did you get the proper permission?" she asked sweetly.
"Who needs it, madam? There is a need, and I am fulfilling that," he replied smartly. "Look at the people I am feeding!" he said. "In fact, how do I post an advertisement in your paper? I can deliver up to 5 km radius."
The lady said, "I will send my sales person."
His name and face appeared in the paper and he got it blown up, and pinned it up on the wall behind.
The constables who usually had lunch or dinner at his stall came that afternoon too. "Getting written up in the paper and all, big man!" they teased him.
He laughed modestly. "All thanks to you," and silently handed them a plate of his best dishes. They polished it off and returned the plate with a big grin.
Next morning, he beamed at his image beaming from the picture and felt doubly enthused about his business. "Shall I call the stall Popular foods?" he asked his assistants, who willingly nodded. He was rudely shaken from such pleasanr reveries when the police came minus the smiles. "Hey, what do you think? Is this your private property? Conning the public and usurping the footpath!" they shouted and started tearing down the pin up.
"Sir, what happened! I have made the best masala dosa today..."
"Bribing us!" they shouted and knocked on a simmering pot. "This should be gone by evening. We are getting complaints from the residents that your stall is blocking traffic. You don't even have permission, and you have admitted that in paper. Now the residents are after us to evict you! Do the needful before we turn rough!"
Govind stood with the crumpled paper, his face a picture of puzzlement. "But..." he started.
"No buts. Just be off!" he was chased from the spot. He thought that once tempers cooled, he could return, but everytime he made the attempt, he was chased away.
He looked at the blank wall behind him. Till fame got to him, he had been safe, he thought ironically as he packed up his things.
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