The Nidhi Kapoor Story (10 page)

Even though she was tired, sleep was hard to come by. Normally, when alone, she slept in her den but tonight she did not want to be alone. She thought that sleeping in her bedroom may rekindle some memories of passionate sessions with someone and she’d help herself to sleep. She tried tracing the shapes made by the red lava lamp on the wall and the mirror. But she caught herself smiling as her thoughts started to drift towards Prakash.

All this was very new to her. The non-stop thoughts for one particular man. The craving. She had never imagined that a man could give her butterflies in the stomach.

She did not like it. She actually hated that she was yearning for Prakash. Yet, some part of her wanted her to yearn for him. She’d always been fiercely independent and had guarded her independence like a cherished treasure. While her mind was battling with these thoughts, she didn’t realize when she fell asleep.

Her light slumber was broken by the incessant ringing of the doorbell. It was almost five in the morning and Rujuta did not want to get up. After whining for a bit, Rujuta slipped on a long t-shirt, cursing under her breath, “Bastards, they don’t even let someone sleep in peace.” She grabbed a baseball bat on her way to the door. It had to be either someone with a wrong address or Sonal and the gang for the after-party. There was no other explanation. It was too early for any salesmen and she did not have a milkman.

Rujuta, even when half-asleep, was careful. Her upbringing in Dharavi, arguably the most notorious slice of Mumbai and her subsequent travels all over the globe had made her suspicious of everything and everyone.

She checked that the security chain was in place and opened the door just enough to get a peek outside.

“You? What do you want?” she gasped in surprise. The person on the other side tried to push open the door but since the safety chain held the door securely; he couldn’t open it any further. Rujuta was appalled at the push from the visitor and her grip tightened on the bat that she was holding.

“I am sorry to trouble you at this hour but I have something really important to discuss with you. I tried calling you on your phone but it was switched off,” he said.

All of it came out in one flat note, as if he had crammed those lines. Rujuta realized that apologies did not come naturally to him. She should have been alarmed at the curt statement but a big smile broke on her lips. She could not believe that dreams could come true like that. And that too, so soon.

“No, no it’s OK. Come in.” Rujuta struggled with the door. She said sheepishly, “You know, normally, I am not really sloppy with these things. I am just sleepy I think.” She suddenly broke into laughter.

Somehow, she managed to open the door.

And there he was. Prakash Mohile.

He looked exactly as Rujuta had imagined he would look like. Dressed in a crumpled white shirt and a faded pair of denims after a long night’s work.

Rujuta moved to a side to let him in. Prakash saw the well-kept drawing room, the doors to the two bedrooms were ajar and another door that Prakash figured led to the washroom. Prakash finally looked at Rujuta, let his gaze travel from top to bottom and his stare rested on the baseball bat that Rujuta was holding onto.

Rujuta realized that she was wearing just a thin loose t-shirt. And she was holding onto a slugger. Her cheeks flushed with color. She couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say and muttered, “Oh, this! What if someone else was trying to break in to the house? Safety, you know.”

Prakash merely nodded.

“Why don’t you get comfortable while I go get you something to drink?” Rujuta said, running towards the kitchen. She smiled to herself and thought, “When was the last time I blushed like that? Damn you, Mr. Mohile. I just need to play it right.”

She could feel Prakash’s cold hard stare digging in her back. And that very instant, her doubts about getting involved with a man ten years older dispersed like she had popped a cloud open. She knew that she really wanted to be with him and sleep in his arms. Whatever it took.

She hurriedly put on a pair of shorts, fixed two stiff Jack Daniels and carried the glasses in hand. She kept them on the low table in the hall and sat cross-legged opposite Prakash. After a couple of uncomfortable minutes of silence, she said, “So what brings Mr. Angry Young Man to my humble abode?”

Prakash launched into it straightaway. “Nidhi Kapoor almost got killed twice in less than twenty-four hours. I have seen so many cases but I have not seen anyone getting attacked twice in a day. Plus, this is a very persistent guy. There is no clue, there is no intent. In most cases, the victim and the attacker are known to each other. Plus, I have talked to everyone who has anything to do with Nidhi and everyone sounds so clean. I don’t know what is happening. Nidhi’s house, the set, they are guarded heavily. The ease with which the guy could access both the locations, it still amazes me.”

To someone who did not know Prakash, this would have sounded like a confession of the inability to get a job done. But Rujuta had tailed Prakash for a couple of weeks
now. She observed lot more than what she saw. She realized that Prakash was talking to himself. He was incoherent and jumping from one thing to another but that’s how he typically worked. She thus decided to stay silent. She noticed for the first time that Prakash used ‘plus’ every time he jumped from one thing to another. As if the word ‘plus’ could bind in the staccato burst of thoughts.

Prakash took a long drag at his drink, almost emptying the glass. Rujuta had hardly started to sip onto hers. She noticed Prakash’s empty glass and handed hers to him. He nodded and their fingers touched for an instant. Rujuta thought it was wee bit longer than it merited but she wasn’t complaining.

Prakash took a slow sip. His eyes moved up to a painting of a tree on the wall behind Rujuta. It had some words scribbled on it in Sanskrit. The painting intrigued him and he strained hard to read it. Rujuta caught Prakash looking at the painting. “My aunt painted that. It talks about the four
kleshas
^∗
or miseries that humans are afflicted with. These four
kleshas
come from
Avidya
^∗∗
,” she explained.

Prakash nodded and continued looking at the painting. His second drink was almost over by now. Rujuta thought of getting him a refill and tried to get up from the floor. Prakash noticed from the corner of his eyes that she was trying to get up. He moved in her direction with a jerk, scaring Rujuta in the process. She instinctively recoiled, folding her hands above her head. Prakash, clearly embarrassed, said, “No no… so sorry. I did not mean to touch you. I was just trying to help you.”

Rujuta could smell whiskey and cigarette in Prakash’s
breath. She heard the apology and knew whatever she did or said would have great ramifications on her relationship with Prakash. She gently held out a hand and Prakash took it with the solid grip of a policeman. It sent goose bumps down Rujuta’s spine. One more move from Prakash and Rujuta would have submitted to him. But he merely helped her get on her feet. Like a gentleman. Like a man ought not to when the woman opposite him wants to bed him.

He left Rujuta standing in the hall and walked in towards Rujuta’s kitchen. Rujuta was amazed at the swagger and authority with which Prakash walked into her house. She wanted to protest but a part of her liked it. She sat down once again and observed Prakash invading through her closely guarded life, all of it contained in that 2 BHK.

∗∗∗

“Rujuta, come up on the terrace. It’s better here.”

Prakash had found the fire escape railing through the kitchen that led to the terrace. When she reached there, she saw Prakash propped up on the ledge and sipping on the whiskey. Rujuta was still in her t-shirt and shorts. She plopped herself on a plastic chair and lit up a cigarette. It was still dark and she could see faint glimpses of stars in the sky overhead. The sunrise was still a good hour away.

She breathed in slowly on the cigarette. She then walked up to Prakash and handed Stikk to him.

He took it from Rujuta. “What am I missing here? This looks like a straightforward case and yet I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Prakash was again talking to himself. He paused and inhaled deeply on the cigarette. He looked at Rujuta. “A cigarette has to be the best invention of mankind. What if it kills? Everything else kills as well. But nothing like a cigarette to calm you down. Here…” he passed it to Rujuta. Rujuta was happy with the new Prakash, the one who was relaxed, one who seemed to enjoy Rujuta’s company.

Prakash continued, “Rujuta, you were there when the fire started. You were the one who called me. You know, if not for you, Payal or Nidhi would have died today. You must have seen something… someone… Right?”

“No, Prakash. Nothing seemed amiss. The film sets are anyway full of confusion all the time. There were people running in all directions. I wasn’t looking for Payal or Nidhi specifically, but I did check if anyone else was trapped inside. Surprising that I did not spot Nidhi when I was dragging Payal out.”

“Second time in two consecutive nights. I don’t like coincidences.”

Rujuta nodded silently.

Prakash egged on. “Did you see any evidence of any wrongdoing? Broken glass? Loose cables? Something? Anything?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. If there was any, I did not notice. You?”

Faint glimpses of sunlight were now visible in the eastern sky. Prakash had finished his third drink by then. He had carried the bottle of Jack Daniels from the kitchen with him. He fixed himself another. He ignored Rujuta’s question and asked, “How did you find Payal?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t looking for her specifically. When
I reached Vie, there was such confusion. I went in through the beach, where the kitchen is. I saw her lying unconscious on the kitchen floor. I don’t know from what though! There wasn’t a lot of smoke and she did not have any evident injuries. Maybe she was scared or something. I don’t really know. But she was unconscious. I shook her a couple of times but… I then dragged her out.” Rujuta looked contemplative.

“You know, I went through the bar but I could not find anything amiss. The forensic team has ruled out short circuit or kerosene. Vicky Taluja insists that it’s a case of sabotage and has blamed his old partner for it. Apparently Nidhi chose to do Vicky’s film over his. But I am not sure. I have this feeling that the two incidents are related.”

“That’s a possibility, Prakash, but what if they are separate and we are on a mere wild goose chase. No?”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to rule out anything yet. Like I said, I don’t like coincidences. Are you sure you have told me everything that I should know? Sure you aren’t forgetting something?” Prakash asked, urging Rujuta to think over it carefully.

“I think so. If I remember something else, I’d let you know. Did you eat something?” Rujuta wanted Prakash to stay over and since she had sensed that the conversation was almost over, this was a weak attempt to get him to stay back.

“Yes yes. Thanks. I’d leave now.”

“What? It’s too late. Why don’t you stay back?” Rujuta was suddenly at a loss of words.

“No, I need to pick a few reports from the lab on my way back,” he replied, as if he had decided beforehand that
he would not stay back.

“Don’t you think you’ve had one too many? You sure you don’t want to stay back?” Rujuta came closer.

Prakash got down from the ledge, stared into Rujuta’s eyes and left without answering.

Rujuta kept looking at the door that Prakash had disappeared through. It was almost twilight by now. The sky had turned purple and a few clouds that were too unshapely and too out of place caught her attention. Few minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a Royal Enfield being fired and revving up. Rujuta felt confused, dazed, humiliated and happy. All at the same time.

She then heard the sound of the bike being driven away from her. It took away the morning calm. And the man of her dreams.

^∗
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Belle_Otero

^∗
Kleshas.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kleshas_(Hinduism
)

^∗∗
Avidya.
httpj/en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avidya_(Hinduism)

9. Day 3, Morning. Police Station.

Prakash wandered aimlessly on the streets of Mumbai. He stopped for cigarettes and some lemonade. After Amar Juice Centre was shut for public at midnight, it remained open to select patrons till it reopened at eight the next morning. Prakash was welcome at all such night joints. And unlike most policemen, if he stopped working for the police, he’d still be welcome.

The entire idea of biking around the city was to clear his head, to put the loose ends together. He knew that until he solved the Nidhi Kapoor mystery, he wouldn’t be able to rest. Very few cases had perplexed him like this and he would not rest until he cracked it. It was a childhood affliction. Once he decided on something, he would not rest until he accomplished it. And because of this undying grit, he had not failed at a lot of things. He did fail to find his father after his mother killed herself, but one could argue that he was thirteen when he went to Pune and beyond in search of his father.

Prakash blamed his mother for the hardship and emotional suffering that he and his father had to go through. He still wanted to find his father someday and console him that his decision to stay back in Pune without his wife was correct.

When he finally reached home, it was almost time to leave for work again. He did not fancy living at home anyway. There was no one to come home to. No one bound
him there. He took a generous shower, bowed to a picture of his parents taken in happier times and got ready for work.

Prakash had never been into a serious relationship. He never had the time. While growing up, he worked three jobs simultaneously and when he finally did have some time, he had lost most of his hair, thanks to genes from his father. He then started climbing the police hierarchy rapidly. It never occurred to him that he was getting old and not before long, he would need company.