The Nidhi Kapoor Story (15 page)

Now that he was known, he set his eyes on larger things. After his debut in
Pyar Ka Musafir
, he knew that things would be slightly easier. But he did not want to take chances. He gave all he had to his profession. He worked relentlessly and honed his craft. The audience, especially women, loved him. Producers lined at his door to sign him up with absurd amounts of money on offer. Every actor and actress wanted to work with him. There was no one who could ignore him.

Apart from the small universe of Bollywood, his demand came from far and wide as well. He was immediately signed up as the face of many top brands in the country, including his beloved cigarette, Stikk. The advertisement for Stikk featured him walking bare-chested into the sunset on a lonely beach, smoking lazily on his cigarette. He started getting invitations to make appearances at the weddings of the rich and famous. He made new friends and everyone seemed to love even his worst jokes.

Like any successful young man, he had his pack of women wanting to bed him. He however, stayed loyal to Sapna. At least for some time. Surprisingly, Tabrez Khan had known about Nishant and Sapna all along and yet he cast a blind eye to their relationship. What if his wife was disloyal? It made brilliant business sense to ignore Sapna’s adultery, as long as it remained under wraps. After all, Nishant had already given Tabrez Khan three hits in less than two years.

Nishant came out of his shell when he won the coveted Filmfare award for a third time in row, again for a Tabrez Khan love story. He knew he had arrived and he now wanted
to gather all trophies, all symbols that he had always craved for. Starting with the first real thing that he had come to love in Mumbai.

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To him, it was more than a crumbling old house that had clearly seen better days. And yet every time he went there, he felt this calm permeate through him. Since he knew the owners well, he could go there anytime he wanted and stay for as long as he wished. But he was still a visitor. And it belonged to someone else. He had to own it. On paper. Legally.

Ronak.

Apart from other things, he considered Ronak a lucky charm for him, for every time he went there, he came back with something to be happy about. He had fallen for its charm in the very first party that he attended there as a struggler. That time, of course, he couldn’t imagine that he could live at Ronak. But now that he was an established film star, he could offer Tabrez Khan a price that would be fair and more importantly, acceptable.

It was a fine evening in February. Winter was receding and summers were yet to arrive. The evening was made more pleasant by the imported single malt that Tabrez and Nishant were sipping on. Nishant broached the subject, “Khan Saab, I’ve heard rumors that financiers are shying away from giving out money for new projects. No?”

Khan sipped onto his glass. “Yeah. The scumbags have found a more lucrative place to park their money. The
construction market. Damn them. I have made them lakhs and yet they now talk to me like stingy moneylenders. Wish I had an alternative to these guys but there are very few people who are keen on putting money in films.”

Nishant paused. He let Tabrez finish his drink. “I know. I think I have a solution. I was thinking, what if I work without an upfront free? And take something small, insignificant in return? You know, like an exchange, a barter?” he said tentatively.

Tabrez Khan, called Khan Saab by everyone as a mark of respect for his lineage, looked suspiciously at Nishant. Khan had heard all sorts of requests in his long career in Bollywood. This one sounded as weird. He initially thought that Nishant was talking about Sapna, Khan’s wife. Nothing could be better. He would love to let her go. She was anyway a drain on his finances and energy. But for keepsakes, he treaded cautiously, “What do you mean, Nishant?”

“You know Khan Saab, I am bored of living in the cramped flat in SantaCruz and I have been looking for a house to live in. Your Ronak is so old and in dire need of maintenance. I was thinking if I could take it and remodel it to suit my needs… you’d get freedom from the crumbling walls and I would get a roof on my head. And in return, I could work the next two-three films for a lot less?”

Khan stiffened. He shuffled in the deep chair as if it was biting his backside. He stayed calm on the surface. He swallowed the anger seething in him and said politely, “I can’t. Even if I want to, I can’t. Ronak has been in my family for generations. I can’t part with it.”

Khan was used to getting his way around and Nishant
knew that he was talking to a man who was almost a monarch. Nishant said, “Khan Saab, you are my mentor and you gave me my break. I don’t want to pressurize you. I am being reasonable and I really want to do a fair deal.”

“Reasonable? Let me be reasonable with you, Nishant,” interrupted Tabrez Khan. His calm demeanor was gone. He was now almost screaming. “I got you out from that dirty little shithole and I put you on top of the world.
Betajaan
, if I can make you, I can bring you down. Don’t you dare talk to me like a two rupees goon! I have seen the world and I know how to deal with the likes of you. I’ve had offers from builders, threats from the underworld and if I haven’t sold it for money or for my life, why do you think I would give it to you?”

He emptied his wide-rimmed whiskey glass in a gulp and put it back on the table with a loud thump. Any louder or harder, he would have shattered the glass top of the table or the glass itself. His fury and his pride made Tabrez Khan underestimate Nishant Kapoor and his ambitions. It was to prove costly to him and would eventually lead to his decline as a mover and shaker in Bollywood.

Nishant sighed. He took a small sip. He let the golden-brown nectar roll in his mouth and then gulped it with satisfaction. He started humming one of his songs. He then slowly pulled out an envelope from an inside pocket of his jacket. He took his time to open it and remove some papers from it. He unfolded the papers slowly and looked at them with contentment.

“Khan Saab, you know, apart from acting, I have this little hobby where I like to shoot with hidden cameras. I have
a lot of cameras at home that no one knows of. You must see my latest shoot.” With that he threw a bunch of large black and white photographs on the table. It had Sapna, Tabrez Khan’s wife, lazing on the floor in assorted poses. She was naked and looked happy posing for the camera. Her sari lay bunched next to her feet and she seemed comfortable with her nudity. In the photograph on the top, she had curled her lips and was pointing at the photographer with a crooked finger, as if she was inviting him.

“What… what is the meaning of this? Where did you get these?” Khan pulled the photographs off the table and hastily leafed through them. Once he was through with the set, he tore them. He tore them over and over again till the pictures were reduced to tiny bits of colored paper. While he was tearing the pictures to pieces, some parts fell on the immaculately maintained garden. A large scrap of a picture, showing Sapna curled up on the floor at the foot of a man, flew a little distance from the table. Tabrez ran after it and when he bent to pick it up, the wind blew and the scarp flew a little further. He chased it for a bit and eventually caught it. He then tore it into tiny pieces.

Nishant continued to hum his song while Tabrez Khan struggled with the pictures. He pulled out another folded envelope from his jacket nonchalantly and waved it at Tabrez Khan calmly. “Khan Saab, don’t get all worked up. Not good for your health. Here, this is another set. There are more copies back home. Khan Saab, you know what? Why don’t you take some time to think? Please let me know by Thursday evening. Because you know, Friday is the deadline to submit photographs for the film supplement that comes on Sunday with Maha Sakaal. Oh, and do say hello to Sapna
Ji
. I haven’t seen her since… you know, this shoot.”

Tabrez Khan mumbled something but by then Nishant had left the other set on the table and was on his way out. When he reached the gates, he turned around, looked wishfully at Ronak and then in a fluent move, went out.

Nishant did not have to wait till Thursday. The gossip mongers were unlucky to miss out on Sapna Khan’s assets because the very next day the newspapers announced that Tabrez Khan had offered Nishant Kapoor the ownership of his ancestral property, Ronak, in exchange of his dates for the next full year. The first of its kind deal in the history of Bollywood.

In time, Ronak was renovated and Nishant threw a grand party. Missing from the gathering, however, were Tabrez Khan and his wife Sapna.

The party was the first of many that Ronak would eventually host. Nishant’s life, since then, started to revolve around two things. His work and his indulgence with Ronak. While he was working, he would leave no stone unturned to ensure that he gave his best. He was a workaholic and he made everyone around him work harder. As a result, he even made weak scripts and plots into brilliant movies that enthralled the audience. And whatever time he was left with, he spent at home. He had designed the layout by himself and he loved to roam around the house, the way a king would have roamed around in his kingdom. More than anything, he loved to see people cringe with jealousy when he gave them a guided tour of the magnificent bungalow.

A few months later, when Sapna Khan committed suicide, hardly any newspaper covered the story. They
would have but they ran out of space. Naveen Verma, owner of one of the oldest and biggest film distributing companies in India, had announced the wedding of his sister Neelima, an upcoming actress, with Nishant Kapoor. Every inch of valuable fourth estate was covered with the story and its implication on the business of entertainment. Every tabloid came out with large photographs of the young couple. In most of these photographs, Nishant and Neelima were holding each other in a warm embrace; with a newly renovated Ronak lurking shyly in the background.

^∗
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chawl

13. Day 6, Morning. Police Station.

After her meeting with Vicky Taluja, Rujuta had spent time in the Asiatic Library poring over old newspapers and magazines, looking for articles on Nishant Kapoor’s early life. She read about the unusual twist of fate that brought Nidhi and Payal together at Ronak. It was her first tryst with a Bollywood family and she liked how the lives of these celebrities were devoid of banalities. Everything that these people did was rooted in some reason that was beyond explanation. It was a classic game of one-upmanship where every person tried to better others. And best of all, everyone called each other a friend.

She was bubbling with excitement for she had done a lot of work in just one day and she wanted to show it off to Prakash.

∗∗∗

She grabbed a Vada Pao from the tea stall outside the police station. The Vada Pao is the national snack of Mumbai. It is a potato patty layered with gram flour batter, deep-fried in hot oil and sandwiched in a burger bun. It is then garnished with assorted toppings depending on the whims of the vendor who sold it. More often than not, sold by, and bought from a roadside kiosk. Rujuta wasn’t the kind to keep a watch on her diet; she could eat as much and yet remain petite.

Prakash and Tambe were nowhere to be found. She concluded that they were out on some urgent call. She decided to work on her photo-essay while she waited for Prakash to come back.

Ever since the incident at Nidhi Kapoor’s house, Rujuta hadn’t had the time to review or edit the pictures that she had taken for her assignment. Today looked like as good an opportunity as any. She parked herself on one of the desks, ordered for a cutting chai, yet another invention of Mumbai, put music on her headphones and got lost in her pictures and Photoshop filters.

∗∗∗

“Not bad,” said Prakash. He had come in few minutes ago and when he saw Rujuta engrossed into a computer, he had sneaked behind her to look at the screen.

Rujuta was cropping a picture of a policeman at Juhu Circle. The policeman was standing next to a man clad in white
^∗
, holding on to a sign that read, ‘Follow your religion, love everybody.’ The policeman and the man in white were sharing a lighthearted moment, while traffic snarled around them.

Rujuta did not notice Prakash sneaking behind her. She turned around and found him towering over her chair. She broke into a smile and removed her headphones.

“Hello. When did you come?” Rujuta was adept at making small talk.

“Hmm. What did Taluja say?” Prakash was not.

“A lot of interesting things, actually. I have typed a report. I will print it out for you and highlight what I think is important.”

“Thank you. Do see this when you get time.” Prakash handed a CD to Rujuta.

“What is it?” Rujuta asked.

“Just see it.” Prakash said and left.

Tambe was standing at a corner, leaning against a wall with his own cup of tea in hand. Rujuta eyed him and he shrugged. He had his trademark apologetic stupid grin on his face.

The CD had a video file on it. As the video ran, her face started to lose its color. She could not believe what she saw on the screen. Thankfully, she still had the headphones plugged into the computer and it prevented the pandemonium on screen to waft away into the police station and cause panic.

When the film was over, she rushed into Prakash’s office. “Where did you get it?” she gasped.

“What? The video? Naveen Verma called me early in the morning. He found the CD in his car.”

“What do you mean?” Rujuta was still bewildered at what she had seen.

“Naveen had gone to gym in the morning. When he came out, the CD was lying on the front seat of his car. Along with a red rose and a letter. He doesn’t know how these things got in the car because he is sure that he had locked the car when he went inside.”

“What the fuck, Prakash? A rose? Another letter? And… and what is the point of this clip? How old is it? The
poor man is already in an asylum. And… now I am so very

sure that the fire is linked to Nidhi Kapoor.” Rujuta was

visibly agitated.