From the Subbu Chronicles: 16

The Great Maratha

Subbu, a journalist teams up with Shekhar, a criminal. They take on Gambling, Murders, Celebrities, Wardrobe malfunctions, the Moral Brigade and more with equal felicity. The unlikely duo roars through Mumbai, dealing justice with a panache that’s hilarious. Nobody is spared in this no-holds-barred series of adventures.

This is the sixteenth part, but each can be read separately as a complete episode. Digging into the earlier ones also may be fun. The links are given after the story.

“Subbu,” said Shekhar, taking a reflective sip of beer, “What do you think of all that drama last week?”

He was referring to the Raj Thackeray sponsored fracas against North Indian immigrants that had occupied centre stage in the media for the last three weeks. The leader of a fledgling party, the MNS, he had sparked of widespread violence by his remarks against the North Indian migrants in Mumbai. Riots had ensued and thousands of man-hours had been lost in the commercial capital of the country. Elsewhere in the state, more than 25000 migrant workers had fled the state. In the meanwhile, the State Government had dithered three weeks and finally arrested Raj, only to have him released on bail.

The two friends were at Shekhar’s usual haunt, a former dance bar – the “Lover’s Nest”.

Subbu took his time to reply.

“It’s a bloody shame, that’s what it is. He creates this entire ruckus and what does he get? Bail in a jiffy. In and out of the Police Station cheered by admiring acolytes and an aarti by his family, for God’s sake! Who did they think it was? Rana Pratap? Who will pay for all the damage? Who will compensate those workers and factory owners in Pune and Nashik?”
“You are right Subbu, but you are still missing the point. He did get much more than bail and you gave it to him. By ‘you’ I mean the media. For the past three weeks, the media has been hanging on to his every word as if he was the Oracle of Delphi…. or Moses delivering the sermon on the Mount. No PR agency could have got him this kind of blanket coverage. He played his cards very well and you assholes fell over each other to deliver. What was he before this? A disgruntled nephew of Bal Thackeray, who broke off from the Shiv Sena. A two-bit politician with no support base. No idealogy. No agenda. No nothing. Now what is he?”

“I agree. He has suddenly gained a weird kind of legitimacy. He’s positioned himself as the true inheritor of the senior Thackeray’s legacy. But this time can you really blame the media? This was newsworthy. We cannot be judgmental and avoid something we feel is wrong”

“Subbu, I don’t blame the media in vain. They had to report it, but couldn’t they have given this a spin? Don’t give me that crap about a free and independent press. They did it in buckets during the Gujarat elections, when they vilified Modi. Why not now?  But wait, my grouse is not the press alone. I’m livid at this new messiah of Marathi pride first. Who made him the spokesperson of the Marathi people? He doesn’t speak for me”

“Why is that? Isn’t he championing the eternal cause of Marathi asmita? That should make you happy. You are Maharashtrian, aren’t you?”

Shekhar looked at his friend with narrowed eyes. Before he could lash out, he spied the smile in Subbu’s eyes. Anger dissipated and Subbu went on.

“Relax. I read an opinion poll that says 59% of Marathi speaking people in Mumbai don’t support him”

“Opinion polls! Bah! I read one last month that said – 57% of women in Delhi haven’t ever had an orgasm. The same worthy pollster also said that 73% of the same women didn’t know what an orgasm was. No Subbu, I’m worried about the 41% of people who actually believe in this chap. The media must show him up for the joker that he is. You and only you can do it”

Just then Subbu’s cell phone rang.

“Yes. Sure. I’ll be there in time. I’m at Sion right now. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour to get to Dadar even in heavy traffic” said Subbu into the phone and flipped it shut. “Got to go Shekhar, duty beckons. Our friend Raj has arranged another Press Conference outside his house”

Subbu chug-a-lugged the last of his beer and rose.

“Wait,” said Shekhar, “I’ll drop you there. I have to go to Colaba anyway” and he rose too.

They were at Dadar in just fifteen minutes with Shekhar’s Bullet mobike cleaving through the traffic. Subbu got off and made his way to “Krishna Kunj”, the four-storey building where Raj stayed. Shekhar made his leisurely way through the lane parallel and behind this one. He slowed down as a large crane was blocking the road. The building just behind Thackeray’s had been pulled down to make way for a new tower. He waited as the fourteen wheeler monster was manoeuvred slowly. As it moved, a board was revealed, which said “Another mammoth project by Nobel Construction”. Shekhar smiled. This was his friend, Kripashankar Singh. He was neither noble, nor a candidate for a Nobel. He was just another unscrupulous builder in Mumbai who had been extorted by Shekhar’s gang a couple of years back. By a strange quirk, he had become friends with Shekhar after his ordeal.

On an impulse, he parked the bike and made his way to the site office to see if KS was around. (even this sobriquet had been bestowed by Shekhar after the popular, but salacious ad ‘Just ask for KS”) When he entered, the effect was electric. Kripashankar rushed out from behind his table to hug the young criminal.

“Shekharbhai! What a surprise. Welcome to my humble office”

“Well KS, you seem to be doing well. Such a big project in a prime location. And such lovely neighbours too” he said with a wink and a nod towards “Krishna Kunj”.

“Kya bolneka bhai? Yes, this project is a goldmine for me, but the last two weeks have been hell”

Why? What happened?”

“What else? Our good friend there,” he said gesturing as if he was scared to name Raj Thackeray, “Over two hundred of my labour has fled. They were all from Bihar and UP. The local labour is not a patch on them. Today was the biggest blow. I’m losing my crane operator. Skilled crane operators are like diamonds. I offered to treble his salary, but he won’t stay. I can’t blame him too. The scene is different today. The whole country is booming. Why should they come to Maharashtra only? But forget that bhai. You tell me, how are things?”

Shekhar didn’t reply. He was looking out of the window where the crane was being skilfully manoeuvred to pull out huge sections of concrete and load them onto a Dumper. Abruptly he held up his hand to stem the flow of words from KS and asked, “When is your crane operator leaving town?”

“The day-after tomorrow, that is Saturday by the Chhapra express. Why?”

“I have a job for him. Money is no object. Tell him that I’ll pay him Ten Grand for a night’s job”

KS immediately got on the defensive.

“Bhai, what are you planning? Is it illegal?”

Shekhar smiled.

“No, actually no. I just want to move a couple of small things. You don’t have to move the crane too. Just park it here and leave town tonight. I want only the crane operator and the watchman on site. You can come back on Saturday. I want to meet the fellow now. Please call him here.”

Shekhar returned to the construction site late the next night with a truck. It had an old Taxi and an Auto Rickshaw loaded on it. Both had been bought by weight from a junkyard. The truck was also from an agency beholden to the Mob. The crane operator swiftly unloaded the two vehicles and sent the truck on its way. He then went to work on the two vehicles while Shekhar made a recce mission to his objective. There were two constables posted outside “Krishna Kunj”. Even they were seated on chairs and nodding off.

Shekhar then went two roads away and found an ideal spot off Ranade Road. He checked his watch. It was four AM. Opening a bottle of petrol, he splashed it on two parked cars and lit it with a flourish of his zippo lighter. The flames caught with a whoosh and he withdrew as the two vehicles started burning. Things happened swiftly after that. Lights went on in most of the houses on the street, people poured out and the Fire Brigade was called. As the Fire Engine came with its sing-song siren and bells clanging, the cops outside Raj Thackeray’s house came out of their stupor. They ran towards the commotion to see what was happening.

Shekhar ran back to the construction site, pausing only to ring up Subbu.

“Subbu, Shekhar here. Drag that sleepy ass of yours to ‘Krishna Kunj’. Take a cab, fly, I don’t care, but get here in half an hour”

He then made the next call to the crane operator in his cab asking him to move fast. The crane rumbled into life and the bent boom slowly straightened, bearing its relatively light burden up in the air. When it had reached it’s limit of about 25m or 80 feet, it swivelled and reached across the roof of ‘Krishna Kunj’ which was at a mere 14m height. Once it was in place, just above the road in front, Shekhar asked him to stop. The end of the crane’s arm was above and beyond the dim light of the streetlamps, which were anyway aimed at the street below. Life on the street returned to normal as the two cops returned. They didn’t notice the extended arm of the crane that nestled in the darkness above.

Dawn was to break at precisely 6:13 AM that day. Shekhar got the crane started again by 6, just as Subbu arrived in front of Krishna Kunj. As he was talking to the constables, the crane’s burden was slowly winched down to about twenty feet off the ground. In the background, the crane was switched off with its hydraulic arm locked and the duo – Shekhar & the crane operator fled the scene. As Subbu & the cops looked up, they saw a Taxi & an Auto Rickshaw suspended upside down. Suspended by a string below them was a banner that said: