Authors: Piyush Jha
Samir walked back to Radheshyam. Trying hard to contain his excitement, he said, 'Radheshyam bhai, I think I will take time here. So, thank you very much for your help.'
Radheshyam smiled. 'If you need my help, Samir bhaiyya, you know where I am...and I also have to pay back your loan...'
Samir hugged him, 'Consider the loan repaid... In any case, I don't even remember it.'
They laughed. Samir waved as Radheshyam zipped off on the bike. Then he entered Gladioli Apartments.
◉
'ACP saheb, it is very important for me, please help me,' Raghu Nadar pleaded into the phone. He had just asked for a favour from ACP Ranadive, head of the cyber cell, Mumbai Crime Branch. Raghu wanted the ACP to track the location of Radheshyam's mobile phone.
After losing Samir and Radheshyam at the Mahim level crossing, Raghu first thought that he would just wait till Radheshyam got out of Dharavi and then call him again, but then he thought better of it. He didn't want either Radheshyam or Samir to find out that he had been following them and put them on their guard. Moreover, since Radheshyam's son was no longer his captive, the paanwala would not feel compelled to return Samir back to Raghu, safe and sound.
Raghu clicked his tongue in disgust. That Mantu may have by now called his father and tipped him off about Raghu's search for Samir. Radheshyam could have done any number of things, including hiding Samir at some unknown location. But Raghu surmised that if he could track down the men through Radheshyam's mobile phone, he could easily spring a trap and get them.
ACP Ranadive was not a charitable person. Normally, his first reaction on receiving such a request would be to ask if the police force belonged to the callers' baap. But this time, it was Raghu Nadar calling, the man who had helped get the ACP's laggard son admission into a prestigious engineering college in Navi Mumbai, that too, without paying any 'capitation' fee.
ACP Ranadive sighed and called out to his deputy: 'Borkar!' In a few seconds, Inspector Borkar sauntered in. He then tore out the piece of paper on which he had written Radheshyam's mobile number and handed it to Borkar. 'I want all the movements of this mobile phone for the past two hours'
Borkar took the paper slip and causally glanced at it. 'Whose number is it?'
'Your baap's!' ACP Ranadive exploded. 'Don't waste time, I want the full report within half an hour.'
◉
After the customary exclamations at Samir's troubles and the shedding of some tears, Aunty Gladys had laid out the red carpet for him. She had fed him chicken-and-spinach quiches and fresh Hungarian cake. Samir had initially protested, as he was anxious to know his past, but then, he realized that he had not eaten anything since the biscuits and water offered to him by the drug smugglers. He quickly gobbled up as much food as he could. Aunty Gladys made him wash down all the goodies with an ice-cold bottle of raspberry soda. Samir gladly drank the sweet, medicinal-tasting liquid and was grateful for the sugar kick it brought, along with its fizz.
Wiping his mouth and burping the last of the bubbles away, Samir was ready to hear his story. Gladys recalled how she had first met Samir, a newly married, young, up-and-coming leather goods entrepreneur. He had entered into an arrangement with her to rent the upper floor of Gladioli Cottage, the house that her dead husband had lovingly built for her. Samir had promised to restore the crumbling cottage to its former glory, and buy it in the future. Aunty Gladys had been happy, as she didn't want to sell the house to developers, who had been eyeing Sherly Village like a pack of hungry wolves. Samir and his pretty young wife, Bahaar, had moved in and brought a ray of sunshine into the widowed Aunty Gladys's lonely life.
Aunty Gladys had especially taken to Bahaar, Samir's young nymph-like wife. Bahaar had come into Samir's life on one of his business trips to Delhi. As a sales girl at a five-star boutique, she had sold Samir a designer tie, then a shirt and a suit. She would have sold him the entire shop, were it not for good sense prevailing on him at the last minute. Samir had asked her out on a date then and there. The initial spark between them had turned into a raging fire that could only be doused by marriage. For a while, after marriage, they had lived a quiet and happy life in Gladioli Cottage. The only disturbance that Aunty Gladys suffered due to them was the sounds of their incessant lovemaking.
And then, Babri Masjid was demolished. The secular foundations of Mumbai were rocked, riots erupted and chaos ruled.
One night, Samir had been summoned urgently to his factory in Dharavi to address some worker-related issues. He wouldn't have gone, had it not been for the large order of leather gloves that had to be executed for an American client. He ventured to his factory that night, never to return again... till this day.
Everyone had thought he was dead. Burnt alive. Bahaar had been heartbroken. She had mourned him intensely, refusing to go out of the house for months. Then she had told Aunty Gladys that she could not bear Samir's absence anymore. She had decided to go away as she couldn't live in Gladioli Cottage without Samir any longer. The home they had built together reminded her too much of him. Aunty Gladys had understood, had wished her well when she left. It had been almost nineteen years since then and Aunty Gladys had never heard from, or seen her, again.
Aunty Gladys paused in her story and wiped her eyes. A stunned Samir took a sip of water. She then picked up where she had left off.
Ten years later, she had succumbed to the machinations of a developer and Gladioli Cottage had turned into Gladioli Apartments. She had been relegated to her first-floor apartment, whose only respite was the balcony, where she spent most of her day. As for Bahaar, no one knew where she lived. However, a few years ago, Gladys's younger son, who was visiting from Canada, had bumped into Bahaar in Colaba one day. She had told him that she lived close by but didn't give her address. Samir's business partner, Rishi, who lived in Delhi and used to visit him and Bahaar every now and then, had also called on the phone once to check for some mail, but had not left any number to call back on.
◉
Dense grey smoke. Orange flames licking at his feet. Through the black haze beyond, a face appeared. Rishi. He seemed tense. Scared. 'Let me help you,' he said. He grabbed Samir by the shirt collars and dragged him through the blackness.
Outside, there was a cool wind blowing. Breathing would have been easier were it not for the cloth stuffed inside Samir's mouth. A hanndkerchief! He tried to spit it out, but couldn't. He drew in as much fresh air as he could through his nostrils.
Rishi looked back at the factory. He looked around. There was no one else. But there were voices coming from inside the factory. Angry. Violent. Ready to kill. Rishi suddenly noticed a truck parked nearby.
He dragged Samir to the truck, heaving him into the dark empty back of the truck. Samir lay flat on the vehicle's cold metallic floor.
Blackness. Blackness. Blackness.
The truck started moving. Samir opened his mouth to shout but no sound came out. He opened his eyes wide. Weak. Blackness again. Samir had rolled to one side of the moving truck. He grabbed at the canvas siding of the truck and pulled himself up. Through the peephole of the driver's cabin, he could see the driver concentrating on the black road. Samir tried shouting again but no sound emanated from his mouth. The handkerchief. Samir pulled out the hanky and...screamed.
The driver heard him. Shocked, he spun around. Through the peephole, he saw Samir's bleeding face and was aghast. The truck swerved. The driver had lost control. It spun off the road
and Samir was violently thrown out of the truck. Blackness again.
◉
'Rishi...Rishi saved my life,' said Samir, coming out of his thoughts.
Aunty Gladys was staring at him, a glass of water ready in her hands.
'Thank God you're fine. I thought you were having a stroke.' She handed the glass to him. He drank till the last drop.
'Sorry...my memory comes back in flashes'
Aunty Gladys smiled benevolently. 'Would you like to eat something more, son?'
Samir shook his head.
'Where can I find Rishi, Aunty?' he asked.
Aunty Gladys shrugged. 'I wish I could help you, Samir, but, like I said, I have no contact at all.'
Samir nodded, a little dismayed. 'I have to find Bahaar. Today is her birthday'
Aunty Gladys smiled. 'You'll have to go and search in Colaba. Wait.' She walked into an inner room.
She emerged a few minutes later and handed Samir a thousand-rupee note and some change. Samir started to wave away the money, but she pressed the notes into his hands.
'This is all I have right now. Please take it. I wish I could come with you, but I haven't gone out of the house for months now. I am scared. The world has changed'.
'If you are scared, think how I might be feeling,' said Samir, pokerfaced. 'I've not been out for nineteen years,' he laughed, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Aunty Gladys looked at him, serious for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. Samir glanced at the cash in his hand and studied the thousand-rupee currency note. 'One thousand rupees in one note? Wow! India has really progressed.'
Aunty Gladys was rueful. 'It will buy you as much as a hundred-rupee in 1993.'
Samir made his way to the door.
'Aunty Gladys, thank you for your kindness. Its value is greater than ever today.'
◉
Raghu's SUV turned off Carter Road and entered the Sherly Village area. He held a computer printout in one hand, with track points showing the movement of Radheshyam's mobile phone over the past few hours. Raghu was looking for the last point that Radheshyam had stopped at in Bandra. He stopped his SUV right in front of Gladioli Apartments, got out and stood in the middle of the road, looking at all the buildings around, wondering which one Samir and Radheshyam had gone into. A curious watchman called out from behind a closed gate, 'Saab, please don't park in front of our gate.' Raghu gestured to him to come out, but the watchman was hesitant. Raghu walked towards him and fished out a brand new hundred-rupee note from his wallet. He flashed it in front of the watchman.
'Did two men on a motorcycle come here a couple of hours before? One man was in a white hospital uniform.'
The watchman gulped, his eyes shining. He quickly reached out and pocketed the hundred-rupee note. 'Yes, saab. I tried to stop them, but Gladys madam called the one in the hospital uniform to her place. The other one left on the motorcycle.
Saala lafanga.'
Raghu was excited. 'Who is this Gladys? Where is the man? Is he still with her?'
The watchman eyed Raghu's wallet. Raghu sighed, pulled out another hundred-rupee note and handed it to the watchman. 'He left about an hour ago for Bandra station, saab. I know, because I got the autorickshaw for him from the naka,' said the watchman.
Though disappointed, Raghu was not ready to give up. 'I want to meet this Gladys.'
The watchman now retracted behind the iron gate. 'That I cannot do, saab, until I have her permission.' Raghu took out a thousand-rupee note this time. The watchman almost salivated. His hand darted out but before he could take it, Raghu had grabbed his wrist. 'Open the gate first,' Raghu hissed into his ears. The watchman gulped and unlocked the gate.
The watchman locked the gate behind them and whispered. 'I will take you to her, but I will say that you are from the BMC.'
Raghu nodded.
◉
In comparison to other local railway stations in Mumbai, Bandra station in the mid-afternoon is not very crowded, However, Samir, who had arrived after a bumpy ride on the autorickshaw, was still taken aback by the number of people standing in front of the ticket counter. Not sure which queue he should join, he stood in a corner of the ticketing area but was still jostled by people hurrying to join one queue or the other. Finally deciding that he would risk it, Samir stepped forward and joined what seemed the shortest queue. After a long few minutes, he got his turn at the counter. He fished out the thousand-rupee note. 'Churchgate' he said. The man behind the counter pointed to a sign above. The sign read, 'Please tender exact change.' Samir was about to request the ticket-seller to make an exception in his case when the irritated people standing behind him started making a noise, asking him to leave the queue and not waste everybody's time. He was pushed aside by a clucking, no-nonsense lady in a polyester sari. He stood by the side of the queue, not knowing what to do, till an old man took pity on him and said, 'Go to a food stall and buy something. They will give you change.'
Samir thanked the man and headed inside to the platforms. As he walked towards the food stall, a man with an open tin canister on his head rushed past him, spilling some of its contents on Samir's hand. It was some kind of cooking oil. He rubbed his hands together to get rid of the greasiness but realized that he had just transferred the slick oil onto the other hand. He looked desperately around for some water to wash it off with, but all he could spot was a crush of people. Then, in a far corner of the platform, he noticed a sign for a lavatory and walked towards it.
Just as he was about to enter, a man lounging by the door raised his leg across, barring the entrance. Samir stopped, confused. The man gave him an imbecilic smile. Samir stared back. The moronic smile turned into an impatient look as the man asked, 'What? Is it your first time here? Give me ten rupees'
Samir still did not understand what the man was talking about. 'Ten rupees for what?' he asked.
The young imbecile sneered at Samir. 'For using the toilet, of course.'
'But it is free, isn't it?' asked Samir.
'Where have you been, Uncle?' the young man snarled. 'Nothing is free in this world. Soon we will start charging you to breathe. Don't take it personally, its just business.'
Samir decided that he had had enough of the young halfwit and his attempt at extortion, so he pushed past him and headed into the lavatory. This took the young man by surprise and he called out from behind Samir, 'Hey! Stop!' But Samir kept heading into the lavatory, taking care not to slip on the dirty wet white tiles. He bent at a washbasin and toggled the tap. In the meantime, the young man had come up behind him and grabbed his shirt. Samir spun around. While trying to steady himself, he slipped on one knee. The man's grip on his shirt broke, but he lunged at Samir again. This time, Samir instinctively raised his hands in defence. The man's hands connected with Samir's and he grabbed at them to pull Samir forward. The oil smeared on Samir's hands acted as a lubricant and the young man's grip slipped. He went careening in the other direction with the force of his own backward momentum. His foot slipped on the slick floor and he fell backwards. His head connected with the edge of a washbasin. The crack of his skull reverberated within the empty environs of the lavatory. Immediately, he was rendered unconscious. He might have survived this skull fracture, had he not fallen on the floor head-first, at such an angle that his neck snapped on the spot.