Tawa roti & truck drivers

The menu was simple, befitting the typical highway dhaba ambience. The spacious thatch-roofed eatery on the Panchgaon-Jamalpur Road, Gurugram, was empty, and the kitchen was silent. What’s the point of keeping the flame on with no customers?

Along with the veteran maintenance head, Pramod Kumar, who also doubles as a trainer I wandered around.

We ordered the usual truck driver, man pasand khana:

Tawa roti (because tandoori was unavailable, strangely!)
Dal makhni
Alu Mutter
Mooli (white radish)
Carrot
Mirchi (green chillies)

Everything fresh.

The dhaba owner (Yadav, something) waited till he counted 15 heads before gaslighting the stove. Two drivers joined late as we exited.

First came the salad katori. Never miss the salad in the North during winter. Farm fresh.

After 20 minutes, another plate of salad. Hunger compelled us to gobble up whatever was offered.

As the host, I arrived first and waited and waited for my guests.

Safe and timely delivery are moola mantras. Here, my flock failed miserably.

Despite the delay, I couldn’t help but admire their unwavering commitment to these two principles.

Lekin, we propose, and you know the rest.

The delay of drivers was due to a car parked outside the parking yard campus rammed into the wall and collapsed it.

Our men spend time extricating the poor fella from the debris.

They did not leave him unattended.

Good Samaritans.

Then came the dal makhni, and a few minutes later came the coriander leaves to be showered over it.

Still no sign of rotis.

One dhaba assistant came out of the kitchen to recount the heads.

3–4 tawa rotis equal one tandoori roti.

By the way, drivers eat a “substantial” khaana. Once a day, that is.

Truck drivers consuming four tandoori rotis should be unsurprising. Honestly, their pet pooja is genuine.

Watch them at the food counter next time you’re at a driver’s meeting. They don’t believe in “second helping.”

What if..

Hope you got the drift.

Gluttons? Nah.

Talking about food reminds me of the Tambrahm sampradhaya.

At the pitru srartham (annual parents’ remembrance day), the pandits conducting such ceremonies bring in “special eaters” to do the task. These gents are thorough professionals. They leave nothing for cows to whom the residue is fed on those occasions.

Besides, they are given “dakshina.”

It’s believed that feeding them is to satisfy the departed souls.

Anna danam. What a concept! Noble thoughts.

Perhaps these exposure and experience triggered the SAAPIDA VARINGALA! (Come and join me for lunch) events to engage drivers at the highway fuel outlets of Indian Oil & HPCL of late.

Nobody refuses an invite for food — lunch or dinner. At times, I also organized breakfast events with drivers.

The Upanishads mention food in special ways. I recollect chanting this Bhiruvalli portion for four years every Monday morning in the first hour at the Ramakrishna Mission-run Vivekananda College, Mylapore, during my pre-university and undergraduate years.

For a moment, forget the Upanishads. Even Saint Thiruvalluvar, often quoted by Budget makers of the Republic of India if they happen to be from Tamilnadu (many FMs were from my home state because they were ‘kanakkile puli’ — experts), used to keep a needle next to him at mealtime. For what? To pick up the fallen rice from the floor, dip it into the water tumbler for consumption. No famine at his time. Yet, the respect for food.

Chodo.

The lunch with drivers ended 90 minutes later. We trooped out.

I saw a dhaba assistant rushing out on his bike.

To buy atta? I wouldn’t be surprised if my team emptied his atta khazana with their elephantine appetite.

Tawa roti and truck drivers taught me a lot.

Patience. None grumbled about the long wait.

Maybe they are habituated through the long detention outside factory gates for unloading!

Nothing disturbs them. Great souls.

On another occasion, a decade ago, on a truck trip from Guwahati to Tinsukia in a car carrier, hunger forced us to park at an Indian Oil retail outlet, and the two drivers rolled rotis on their stoves. Don’t ask me where the kerosene came from! Certainly not from the fuel station! An hour later, a blanket was spread on the lawns beside the truck parked, and we had a hearty meal.

During the Nagpur-Pune road trip with a friend in an Innova many summers ago, we noticed a VRL truck on the roadside and found the driver busy cooking. Yes, we joined them in partaking in their tawa roti and sabzi. “Did you say you sat on the roadside and ate food?” asked my better half on my return home.

Two days after Christmas 2024, on a visit to the parking yard outside the Hyundai Motors India plant on the outskirts of Chennai, I peeped into one of the truck’s empty cargo bays. I found two drivers frying okra (bhindi) and kneading atta for tawa roti. What about some gravy? The previous night’s residual dal was there to be reheated. Simple living. By the way, truck drivers are the best cooks. Though invited, I declined the genuine offer of missing my flight home.

See what a simple date with drivers did to me!