Situated few metres away from Coimbatore railway station, on the way to Ukkadam, is the city’s famous seventy-year-old Royal Cinema. And then, a bit further, a fuel station of Bharat Petroleum. Yesterday afternoon, having strolled the roads near town hall and railway station for long, I was quite hungry. And as I was walking I found lot of people surrounding a cart right in front of this fuel station. All of them were either drinking or eating. Seeing the crowd I guessed that the food there would be tasty. I stopped there to have a closer look.
Sweating profusely, a short and dark man was selling, in his wooden four-wheeled cart, sharbat, lemon soda, butter milk, kambu kool(bajra porridge), and cut fruits. I asked for a tumbler of kambu kool. It was tasting good. And, as usual as in all other roadside carts sellingkambu kool, there was a variety of deep fried delicacies like colouredpappadams and chillies, and pickles. For those who do not know, all these are kept in plates in the front side, and come for free along with the drink. So that I could have more of these I asked for another cup of kambu kool.
With more people asking for refills like me, and more customers coming, the man’s hands were working throughout – chopping onions to be put in the kool, squeezing lime for the sharbats, cutting watermelon and pineapple, and washing the used tumblers.
As I was drinking kool and eating spicy fried chillies, I noticed a customer having pineapple and speaking very casually to the man, addressing him as bhai. He might perhaps be his regular customer, I thought. As soon as he was done with his plate of pineapple, the man gave him a small cut of watermelon and said, “have this.” The customer refused politely. “No, no. Have this no problem,” the man insisted. The customer ate the watermelon, paid ten Rupees and left. I thought that my guess was right; it was indeed a regular customer! Why else would he get that watermelon piece for free.
Soon, I finished my second round of kool and placed the empty glass tumbler on one side of the cart where all used tumblers were being placed, and washed my hands. The man, within no time, filled butter milk up to the half of my tumbler and said, “drink little butter milk too.” It was really sunny and I thought that a butter milk topping would really be good. I drank that and asked him for the total amount that I had to pay. Twenty Rupees, he said. The butter milk was for free! I was quite amazed. I was eating from there for the first time. As I took out the money from my wallet I was thinking that my earlier guess could well be wrong; free toppings was not for regular customers alone!
I decided that I should stand near the cart and observe if this was happening with all customers. For over thirty minutes that I stood there, I could see that all customers who took refills or had more than one dish (Every single thing served there was for ten Rupees each) was getting something for free. I found that to be a superb business tactic. A small, low investment roadside cart selling such things could hardly come out with something better. But that was not all.
The man, albeit being extremely busy serving his customers, would keep a close watch on the people walking past his cart. If he could find any person taking a look at his cart, he would establish an eye contact with him, gently smile, and, nod his head to welcome him.
When his customers had all gone he noticed me standing there. He asked me what time it was. Two, I said. He hurriedly started pushing his cart forward. I rushed along with him and asked, “where are you going?” “Carnatic Theatre would be issuing tickets for the afternoon show. I will get good business there,” came his quick reply. The theatre was some 70 metres from where his cart originally stood. “I had more customers this afternoon. Else I should have been there by 1.45 PM. That is when the ticket sales start.” I was WOW-ed and wanted to know more about him. There were few more shops in front of the theatre and if he was not walking that 70 metres the business would go to the other shops only, not him.
“Since when have you been running this business here,” I queried. “Many years,” he said. How many years, I persisted. “My father had started this here. May be 100 years now. In my childhood I used to come here to help him. When he passed away I took over,” he said. What is your name, anna (elder brother), I asked him. Muthu Muhammmed, he replied.
As soon as we reached Carnatic Theatre the ticket sales had already begun. Few who had got their tickets were standing outside for the entry to be opened. As soon as he set his cart, three came asking forsharbat.
What an enterprising man, I wondered, and walked away bidding him goodbye.
(This article first appeared on The Yatra Diaries)
