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Ten Rupees plus Tip

It doesnt take much to please a boy like Ali. A pat on the back, a benevolent smile followed by a thank

you, the occasional tip from the generous customer, and a myriad of such small things could make Alis

day. At least this was what he told himself each night as he lay down to sleep under the Mumbai night

sky.

Born into the slums, Mustafa Ali was a waiter in one of the many nondescript shops in the city. Running

errands around the shop, he made a sum total of ten rupees a day plus tips. Ten rupees plus tip, when

the world around him was complaining of inflation, rising prices, fuel prices and food prices Ali made

ten rupees plus tip, and yet, did not utter a word of complaint. He had no desire for more. He saw all the

rich with a disinterested gaze, almost sneering at their worries. For all the money they made did not

make them happy. It gave them sleepless nights, it made them paranoid, and the more money they got,

the more they lusted after it.

So it was very surprising when on that Friday evening, the babu in the black suit left a briefcase near the

shop before he climbed into his car and left. What was more surprising was that no one seemed to

notice such an out-of-place thing like a briefcase at a tea shop. Towards the end of the day, when the

shop was closing and Ali was relieved of his duties, curiosity got the better of him. No matter how much

of the world you may have seen, you can never suppress the 10-year-old in you. Picking up the bag

gingerly, Ali took it back home with him. One dim yellow light was all that gave sight in the utter

darkness around, and Ali was under it fiddling with the briefcase, trying to get it open. After a

considerable time of fiddling with it, he managed to break open the lock and opened the briefcase.

When you earn 10 rupees a day, and spend most of it on survival, it is very difficult to see a lot of money

together at the same time. Till date, the greatest amount Ali had seen was five hundred rupees when a

customer didnt have change for a chai. So when he saw five lakh rupees in that briefcase, he could only

do so much from screaming out in surprise. Almost instinctively he shut the briefcase and glanced warily

around, checking if anyone had spotted him. Once convinced, he ran back to his flyover home and hid

himself in the darkness. That night he couldnt sleep. Clutching the briefcase tightly, he sat through the

night. As the first rays of dawn broke through and light crept into his home, Ali was broken out of his

trance. Dreams of grandeur had marred his vision the night before, dreams of being free, free like in the

stories his grandmother had told him, before he had lost her to insanity and a car accident.

Perhaps it was the roar of traffic above, or perhaps because he was too engrossed in his fantasy, Ali did

not hear the blaring horn and the sirens that were coming closer. He did not hear when they stopped

under the flyover and he did not hear when three men in uniform and one man who looked like his

master ran towards him. It is only when they tried to take his bag away that he was jolted into his

senses. And like all 10-year-olds with perennial hope, he clung on to that one object that he believed

would make the difference in his life. And again, like most 10-year olds born to families below the

poverty line, his hope was crushed and he was thrown aside to join his ilk.

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Ali watched as they took his briefcase away, money and all, and he was left with what he always had and

once cherished the starry night sky, the fun under the shower from the broken pipeline, the great

pleasure on that generous tip and the occasional visits to the beach. All those things for which he was

grateful, all those things that made him believe that he needed nothing more, all those things that made

him pity the rich, were now the reasons for which he hated his life. He never owned the money. He

never could call it his own; yet when he saw it go away, he felt robbed, as if it were his earnings that

were being taken away.

Twenty days after the incident, Mustafa Ali got a two rupee tip and he was happy. And like all 10-year-

olds of any social class, he calmly forgot that he ever had such great money. It all became a thing of the

distant past, a great dream that he had once seen.

Life was the same for him every day, ten rupees plus tip was what he still got and 10 rupees plus tip was

enough.