GIVE. AND TAKE, TAKE, TAKE – Kailash Saraban

Lockdown 2.0. Everyone had problems.

And mine was this.

I was alone in our flat in a huge complex, while my mother was stuck in Srirangam. My cook and driver were locked up in their homes.

And most restaurants were shut.

Add to this a dwindling stock of Classic Milds and Maggi.

One day, during my morning saunter, I noticed that my Pan shop was open. The owner and I used to bond in Tamil big time.

In a low tone he said that an indefinite lockdown was happening soon.

And that cigarettes were banned during this period. So I should stock up soon.

Sensible advice, so asked him how many packs he had.

“Ten packs now and ten this evening”, he said.

By 5 that evening, I had more Classic Milds than all the Pan shops in south-east Bangalore.

Soon, I got a call from my supermarket guy asking me to come and stock up soon. Indefinite lockdown, he said.

I picked up approximately 78 packs of Maggi, 2 crates of Diet Coke, 40 packets of Monaco, every single cheese cube and slab of butter in the freezer, 2 cartons of 5 Star, 15 packs of Gits ready to eat food and even 3 packs of Mysore Pak which I loathe.

Got the stuff delivered home. The sheer quantity of it all was obscene. But the fear of impending starvation does strange things to your mind.

Lockdown started. And so did my routine.

Wake up, bathe, eat, Netflix, eat, sleep, eat, Netflix, eat, sleep. Ushered in my 50th this way, too.

By now, the thought of another Maggi lunch and Gits Pulao dinner made my insides do several pirouettes daily.

Add to this, food porn posted by friends on FB. Even a pic of a bowl of Khichdi evoked “Brooke Shields in The Blue Lagoon” type feelings in me.

Screw it. Matters were getting desperate. Something had to be done. But what? The answer was the doorbell. My buddy from another floor (BW), asking for a few smokes. I had a blinding epiphany. And this ensued:

BW: “Kailash, gimme 5 ciggies.”

ME “Sure. What’s for lunch?”

BW:”Kadhi Chawal.”

ME: ”Send 2 boxes of Kadhi Chawal and take 5 ciggies.”

BW: ”You serious?

ME: “Yes.”

BW: “Sending your food at 1.”

ME: “Take your ciggies then.”

BW: “Never seen a bigger bastard.”

ME: “Absolutely.”

This started it all. I started getting calls from strangers in the complex. Asking for smokes, Maggi etc.

One day, a lady even called if I had Cerelac to spare.

No.08807 was the busiest intercom in the complex. It was a simple business model really. Ciggies, Maggi etc. in lieu of home cooked food.

It was like my personal Swiggy. So wonderful. Friends and strangers calling and offering food through the day. In return for whatever they needed.

(Of course, my personal stash was separate).

Sometimes, I would be gently demanding. Like “ buddy, I would appreciate a nice Egg Curry today. Will give you something extra in return.” I would get it.

I started feeling like a watered down combination of Don Corleone and Velu Nayakar.

But every show has a finale. The lockdown was gradually lifted. Supermarket shelves were fully stocked. Most importantly, Pan shops were open.

Intercom No: 08807 became silent. The once cascading supply of food became a trickle. Back to Khakras, eggs. Maggi and Gits for sustenance.

Meanwhile, mom came home. And so did my cook and driver. My stash of food, my erstwhile currency, was equally divided between them.

(Here, let me mention that when mom is around, the house is strictly vegetarian. Eggs cooked by the maid, an exception. Even smoking at home is fine by her. But nothing pisses my mom off more than non veg food in the house ).

The doorbell rang. My neighbor, BW. Saying : “ Ye le Chicken Biryani and gimme my smokes. Oh! Namaste Aunty, when did you come? Hope you’re fine etc etc.” And went.

My mom looked as furious as Sunny Deol during the climax of Border and Damini. I quietly sent the Biryani to my guards downstairs.

And just like that, in an instant, my deviously and painstakingly created empire came crumbling down.