227
Zeal Khurrana has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old ends his hour-long Burgundy subway commute to Jilipest one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner.
One winter November night, as Zeal steps off the train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening takes an unexpected turn. As he is walking toward the stairs, a teenage boy approaches him and pulls out a knife.
“Give me your money.”
“Okay. Here you go.” Zeal hands over his wallet to the kid pointing the knife at him with a shivering hand.
As the teen begins to walk away, Zeal says “Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you’re going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.”
The would-be robber looks at the would-be victim perplexedly.
“Why are you doing this?”
“If you’re willing to risk your freedom for a few rupees, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me … hey, you’re more than welcome.”
Zeal sits across the teen in a booth in his favorite restaurant and waves to greet the manager, the waiters, and even the chef who happens to be passing by.
“You know everyone here. Do you own this place?”
“No, I just eat here a lot.”
“But you are even nice to the dishwashers.”
“Well, haven’t you been taught that you should be nice to everybody?”
“Ummmm…. yeah, but I didn’t think that people really behaved that way.”
They finish their sumptuous meal in silence.
“What do you want out of life?” asks Zeal.
The kid does not reply — or he does not want to. He has a sad face.
The bill arrives and Zeal says “Look, you are going to have to pay for it since you have all my money and I can’t pay for this. Although, if you give me back my wallet, I’ll gladly treat you.”
The teen does not even think about it and gives the wallet back — it seems like he has been waiting to do it.
“I am left with 227 rupees after paying for dinner. Here. Take it. I feel this will help you somewhere. I don’t know.”
“I can’t give you anything in return of this.”
“You have a knife. Can I have it?”
“Yes.”
Zeal decides to walk home that night instead of taking an autorickshaw.
“You’re the type of person that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch.”, says his girlfriend, on the phone call.
“I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It’s as simple as it gets in this complicated world.” says Zeal as he blindly walks past a store that has a display of knives for sale, each one for rupees 227.
