Murder in Bollywood Page 8

  ‘Good evening, Rohan. I am Senior Inspector Hoshiyar Khan of the Special Case Squad and this is Sub-inspector Yashwant Zagde, my associate. We had telephoned you earlier in the day and you had asked us to come by in the evening,’ Hoshiyar finally said.

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember. It’s about Tivs’s death, right?’ Rohan replied absent-mindedly, with his eyes glued to the television screen and his attention firmly on the game.

  ‘Yes, we need to ask you a few routine questions about Mr Tiwari, if that’s all right with you,’ Hoshiyar said.

  ‘Yeah, cool. I mean, Tivs was a great guy and all. So who killed him?’ Rohan asked.

  ‘Nobody. He slipped and fell in the toilet while taking a bath. His death was an accident,’ Hoshiyar replied.

  ‘An accident! Fuck! That like seriously sucks, man,’ Rohan replied, still transfixed on his game.

  Zagde, by then, had had enough of the boy’s obvious lack of manners. So he walked across to the television and pulled out the wires connecting it to the console, turning off the game.

  ‘Hey, come on, man. What’d you do that for?’ Rohan protested, throwing his arms up in the air.

  ‘Show a little respect, you snot-nosed brat, otherwise we’ll take you down to headquarters and question you there,’ Zagde said with a growl.

  ‘All right, chill, I am sorry, dude. What do you wanna know?’ Rohan replied, sufficiently intimidated.

  ‘I would like you to tell us everything you know about the late Mr Tiwari. Although his death was an accident, we want to be certain that there are no loose ends. Now, I believe he was your parents’ secretary for about ten years,’ Hoshiyar said in a tone both calm and gentle, in an effort to allay the boy’s fears.

  ‘Yeah, he was, but we never interacted much. He was always busy with those two,’ Rohan said plainly.

  ‘Who do you mean by those two?’ Hoshiyar asked.

  ‘That Nikhil and Mallika, who else,’ Rohan replied.

  ‘That’s no way to talk about your parents,’ Zagde remarked sternly.

  ‘They were not my parents. They didn’t give birth to me,’ Rohan shot back sharply.

  ‘So what if they didn’t give birth to you. They adopted you. They put a roof over your head. They gave you the best of clothes, the best of food, the most lavish of lifestyles. You should be thanking God every minute of the day for bringing such generous people into your life, and now that they are gone, you should be mourning for them. But all you’re doing is running them down, while you gorge on chocolates and play video games. You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Zagde exclaimed in disgust.

  ‘Yeah, man, you’re absolutely right. They were like wonderful, generous people, while I am nothing but a low-down, rotten ingrate. Congrats, dude, you really figured me out,’ Rohan remarked sarcastically.

  ‘Don’t be offended by officer Zagde’s candour. He’s only stating what appears obvious. But sometimes, the obvious has very little to do with reality. You seem full of resentment towards your late foster parents, and I am pretty sure that an intelligent young man like yourself would not harbour such feelings without good reason. I would really like to know what that reason is, Rohan, if you’re willing to tell me. Who knows, perhaps talking about it might make you feel better,’ Hoshiyar suggested gently.

  To those words, Rohan did not respond instantly. Instead, he turned pensive and looked away, as if contemplating whether he should or shouldn’t reveal to the good inspector certain things that he had kept to his innermost self, then sighed deeply as if to indicate which way his mind was made up, after which he turned to Hoshiyar and spoke with a genuineness that wasn’t there before.

  ‘Nikhil and Mallika came into my life ten years ago, when I was just eight years old. Ishan Malhotra, the famous film producer, had launched his first film back then and had signed Nikhil to make his debut as director. Sameer Ali Khan, the Bollywood superstar, who, in those days, was an unknown, was cast as the hero and opposite him Ishan managed to rope in Mallika, which was a casting coup of sorts for them, as she had already spent two years in the industry and both the films that she had starred in were huge hits, making her Bollywood’s most happening new heroine. The rest of the cast and crew were pretty much experienced, apart from Kiki Fernandez, Bollywood’s number one fashion designer, who was given his first break with that film, as Sameer’s and Mallika’s stylist, and good old Tivs, who Nikhil brought on as his secretary. Ishan had seen a Hollywood film called Irreconcilable Differences, and loved it so much that he decided to remake it in Hindi as his first production, calling it Pyaar Kar Ke Dekho. The story is about a small child who goes to court to seek emancipation from his parents who fight all the time. For that role, Nikhil auditioned a whole lot of kids, but didn’t like any of them for the part. Then one day, Mallika saw me near the Haji Ali signal as she was driving by and immediately felt that I would be perfect for the part. My real parents were pavement dwellers, who would beg at traffic signals and sometimes do odd jobs for a living. So when I got the offer to act in Nikhil’s film for a very decent amount of money, they were more than happy to let me do it. It was during the making of Pyaar Kar Ke Dekho that both Nikhil and Mallika, who had fallen in love, grew very fond of me and when they decided to get married right after the film’s release, they approached my parents and expressed their desire to adopt me. At first, my parents flatly refused, but then they thought that they would never be able to give me the kind of lifestyle that Nikhil and Mallika could, so they said yes. But Nikhil had one condition, that after the adoption formality was completed, my parents should walk away and never try and contact me again. They agreed to this too. But Nikhil and Mallika never really loved me, Inspector saheb. They only pretended to, because I was nothing but a tool, which was essential for promoting their film. And after the film released, the only reason they decided to adopt me was because for the rest of their lives it would guarantee them good press and put them in an exalted position in everybody’s eyes. And besides, celebrities adopting kids is a very Hollywood thing to do, and what Hollywood does, Bollywood has to copy blindly; so when Nikhil and Mallika saw the opportunity to adopt a beggar child from the street, they grabbed it with both hands. So what if that meant snatching him away from his parents and treating him like some exotic house pet, who they’d dress up in regal finery and shower with love and kisses in front of the photographers and the media, to show the world how much this penniless urchin boy meant to them and how well they treated him. But away from the flashbulbs when we were all alone, it was as if I didn’t exist, until one day, out of the blue, I’d get a brand-new laptop or a top-of-the-line cellphone, and suddenly, I’d become the apple of their eye once again, which meant it was time for yet another performance. But then, their kaminapan did not surprise me, Inspector saheb. After all, they were two of Bollywood’s brightest stars. Aur Bollywood woh jagah hai jahan aadmi aadmi ko dusta hai, aur saap dekh kar hasta hai (Bollywood is that kind of a place where man bites man, while the snake looks on amused). In fact, if you ask me, I don’t think Nikhil and Mallika died in freak accidents. Knowing what kind of horrible people they were, I won’t be surprised if someone bumped them off,’ Rohan revealed.

  ‘Bumped off? You mean, someone murdered them?’ Hoshiyar feigned surprise.

  ‘Yes. I am sure of it,’ Rohan nodded vigorously.

  ‘But there wasn’t any evidence to indicate murder. Have you heard or seen something which makes you believe that it was?’ Hoshiyar asked.

  ‘No, I haven’t. It’s just a feeling. I even told uncle and aunty about it, but they thought I was being silly. Probably, they are right,’ said Rohan.

  ‘And who is this uncle and aunty you’re talking about?’ Hoshiyar inquired.

  ‘Oh, that’s Mr Bimal Seth and his wife Rushali. They’re both doctors. I am sure you’ve heard of them. They’re really well known. They say I am being paranoid about my foster parents’ death. They believe it was an accident and they’re telling me to accept that fact and move on. I thi
nk I should listen to them, because, frankly, I can’t think of anyone who could’ve done this,’ Rohan said.

  ‘What about you? Couldn’t you have done this? Didn’t you hate your parents for the way they treated you? Didn’t you tell us that yourself? I think you make an excellent suspect, Rohan. You had motive, means and opportunity,’ Zagde intervened, looking Rohan in the eye.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. But I’m just a regular nineteen-year-old kid who likes to play video games and hang out with his friends. I mean, I am no psycho killer who’s going to run around knocking people off just because I don’t like them. That’s some seriously twisted shit, bro,’ Rohan replied, more stunned than scared.

  A little after sunset, the two officers, having finished questioning young Rohan Kapoor, left Billimoria House and drove off in the direction of the SCS headquarters, with Hoshiyar sitting in the passenger seat, and Zagde, as usual, behind the wheel, but for some reason he appeared more than a tad disgruntled.

  ‘What a waste of time that was! That boy, Rohan, was absolutely of no use. Apart from having no valuable information of any kind to give us, he just sat there on his plush sofa, contradicting himself over and over again. First, he was sure that someone murdered his parents, because they were horrible people. Then he thought he was being silly. After that, he admitted to being paranoid about his parents being killed. And finally, he decided to accept that his parents’ death was an accident, because he couldn’t think of anyone who could have killed them. I mean, seriously, sir, what’s wrong with kids today? Why do they all appear so doped up and confused all the time? And did you see how he was addicted to his video game? For God’s sake, this is not his age to be lolling on a couch, in front of a giant television screen all day long, like some geriatric. He should be outdoors playing a sport or in the gym working out. Or better yet, he should be studying and improving his mind. But then again, he doesn’t need to study and become capable of finding himself a job, because his parents have left behind hundreds of crores so that he and his seven generations can remain in their chocolate room and play video games all day long without having to worry about where their next meal is coming from. He doesn’t need to improve his mind either, because in a couple of years from now, if he gets tired of his luxurious life and decides to rough it out on his own two feet, all he has to do is pick up his cellphone and make a quick call to Aamir, Salman or Shah Rukh who will instantly take him under their wing and put him through dance class, fighting class and acting class, after which he will be given a grand Bollywood debut so that in the next four or five years, he, too, can make a few hundred crores. These star kids have it so easy, I tell you,’ Zagde protested.

  ‘Ah, my dear Zagde! Always politically incorrect and always riled by people who get things easily. Perhaps this has clouded your judgement with regard to the importance of our meeting at Billimoria House,’ Hoshiyar remarked, visibly amused by his deputy’s heartfelt tirade. Then he explained, ‘Don’t you remember what Mule told Tiwari over the phone from Shimla? He told him to take care of Rohan, because he wasn’t safe. But you and I have both seen the security around that boy at his home. Nikhil’s and Mallika’s lawyers, who are currently the trustees of their estate until Rohan turns twenty-five, have ensured that he has the best possible protection round the clock since he is the sole inheritor of an enormous fortune. Now, with a foolproof security cover like that, how could he be in any kind of danger? Unless, of course, someone very close to him wishes to do him harm. So, that brings me to another question. Is young Rohan, as you put it, a confused, doped-up kid, who sat on his plush sofa and contradicted himself over and over again? Or is he a very smart boy, who knows something of great importance and believes that his silence, or maybe even his act of appearing dim-witted and confused, is the only thing that’s keeping him alive? That’s why he spoke to us in such a contradictory, roundabout way. And did you pay attention to the information he gave us during our conversation? When I asked him the reason for his resentment towards his parents, he could have simply told me that although they adopted him, they never really loved him. But instead, he began by telling me about the past, in which a bunch of newcomers started their careers together with the same film. And it is the past in this case which is of maximum significance. So the question is, did Rohan speak about his parents’ association with Sameer Ali Khan, Ishan Malhotra and Kiki Fernandez for no sinister reason, or was he taking those names to insinuate that one of them had something to do with Nikhil’s and Mallika’s death? And what about the two other names he took, that of the doctor couple, Bimal and Rushali Seth, who were doing their level best to convince Rohan that his parents’ death was accidental? Do they have a part to play in any of this? So you see, my dear friend, our rendezvous with the new master of Billimoria House was anything but a waste of time,’ he concluded.

  ‘The people whose names Rohan took, should we bring them down to headquarters and question them until one of them talks?’ Zagde inquired after some thought.

  ‘No, that would be a mistake, as they’re all rich and well connected. If we touch them without any probable cause, it will be the end of our case,’ Hoshiyar said.

  ‘Then what do we do?’ Zagde asked.

  ‘First and foremost, before we go about investigating a double homicide, we must prove beyond doubt that it was indeed a double homicide. At this point, both Nikhil and Mallika are considered victims of a freak double accident, not amounting to murder, which we’ve got to change. For this, we will have to re-examine all the evidence and find that irrefutable proof which nullifies the earlier verdict. Since the bodies of the victims have already been cremated, let’s begin by going over all the crime scene photos and sending the cocaine that killed Mallika for a second round of analysis,’ Hoshiyar advised.

  ‘But, sir, the cocaine had no impurities when the boys at the lab analysed it the first time around. In fact, according to them, it was the purest they’d ever seen,’ Zagde replied.

  ‘I don’t doubt that even for a second. However, I am not looking for impurities. I am looking for a foreign substance, similar in colour and texture to that of cocaine, which when taken along with the drug, causes a fatal reaction very similar to an overdose. Now, such substances generally go undetected until you specifically test for them, so tell the lab boys to test the cocaine for all substances which fit this profile, and if Mallika was indeed murdered by someone who tampered with her drug supply, then one of them will show up. In the meantime, Zagde, you and I will visit Gulistan Studio’s Stage 7 first thing tomorrow morning. It is the place where Nikhil Kapoor was killed. So let’s see what secrets it holds,’ Hoshiyar smiled and said.

  6

  It was a call from Rumi begum the following morning that led Hoshiyar to discover the sordid history of Gulistan Studio. The good inspector had, in fact, called the capital the previous night to speak with his wife, but couldn’t get her on the phone, as her cousin brother’s sangeet ceremony was on in full swing, and she was its star attraction with her self-choreographed dance to Kareena Kapoor’s ‘Fevicol’ number. The next morning when she called up Hoshiyar to tell him how she brought the house down the previous evening and asked him to check out her latest photos that she had uploaded on Facebook just minutes before, their conversation meandered towards Hoshiyar’s case, and he told her that he would be visiting Gulistan Studio that day at around noon. The mere mention of that place gave Rumi begum a chance to indulge in her favourite pastime, namely, the wilful disclosure of film gossip, with which she had wowed her Bollywood-crazy relatives in Delhi. But since one can never get enough of a good thing, Rumi begum saw no harm in regaling her husband with a little bit of seldom-mentioned film trivia, by familiarizing him with the scandalous past of Gulistan Studio, on the pretext of that information being of value to his case. Although the good inspector didn’t have a taste for gossip, he had no choice but to indulge his wife, as otherwise he risked deeply offending her. Now, according to her, Gulistan Studio was established in 1950 by Dilsha
d Bano, the most famous actress of that time, who named that place Dilshad Film Studio. Her husband, S.M. Parvez, was the Hindi film industry’s most renowned producer back then, and together the two of them made for a formidable team. In fact, the parties they would throw at their sprawling Malabar Hill mansion were nothing short of royal banquets, attended by the who’s who of the film fraternity and the cream of Mumbai’s high society. And undoubtedly, the highlight of every such evening, other than the food and the free-flowing booze, was the host Mr Parvez himself who would invariably have way too much to drink and make a fool of himself, much to the embarrassment of his dignified and gentle wife, who would bear his antics with a pretence of indifference, even as everyone around cheered and egged him on, for the shenanigans of the super rich, no matter how distasteful they may be, come across as fun and rather appealing. It was around the time when the husband and wife duo was at its peak that a man called Gulistan Hamrahi came to make their acquaintance. According to him, his full name was Gulistan-e-Alam Hamrahi, and he was a member of the royal Hamrahi family, whose forefathers had been the nawabs of Hamraha, an obscure hamlet in Uttar Pradesh, which didn’t even feature on the map. Gulistan went on to say that their family fortune had long been exhausted and even their centuries’-old family haveli, which was once the pride and joy of Hamraha, now resembled a doddering pile of bricks, which could fall apart any time. He also spoke of an age-old royal custom in which every new bride of the household on the morning after her marriage had to stand in her bedroom balcony and wave gracefully at the 200-odd residents of Hamraha, who would gather downstairs in the haveli’s front yard to greet the newest member of their royal family. But that glorious custom had been abandoned in the last five years, as that historic balcony had decayed and collapsed, which didn’t really matter on hindsight, as most of their 200-odd subjects had long abandoned Hamraha to seek work in other villages, and the twenty-five villagers that remained didn’t bother turning up any more. It was on account of these troubled times that Gulistan decided to do what no member of his family had done in five generations, seek employment. It was with this intention that he came down to Mumbai, for it was his long-cherished dream to become a big-time film director in the world of Hindi cinema, and deep down in his heart he knew that he had the necessary ingredients to turn his dreams into a reality, for he was, indeed, a volcano of talent just waiting to explode. But there was no volcano, nor any talent, for Gulistan Hamrahi was a dull, unintelligent man with little or no aptitude for film-making, and at thirty-two years of age, the old adage fit perfectly, that one cannot teach an old monkey new tricks. Unfortunately, for his career, none of these facts escaped the astute judgement of S.M. Parvez, who told Gulistan in no uncertain terms that he should drop the idea of wanting to become a director, after which, feeling sorry for him, he spoke to his wife, Dilshad Bano, who owned Dilshad Film Studio, and got him a job as its manager, making him the man to go to if anyone wished to hire the property for filming, and also the man responsible for the maintenance and day-to-day upkeep of the studio. To Parvez’s surprise, Gulistan excelled at his job right from the word go, almost as if this was the one profession he was meant for, and in just a year, became S.M. Parvez’s right-hand man, on the basis of his honesty, hard work and dedication. Then, on 31 December 1954, Dilshad Bano and S.M. Parvez threw yet another party at their home, this time to bring in the new year, and as always, invited the city’s swish set, who turned up in full strength. Needless to say, sometime during the party, S.M. Parvez got drunk and started making a fool of himself, and like always, the esteemed guests gathered around him began encouraging him to carry on with his antics, but this time around, Dilshad Bano wasn’t prepared to have any of it. She wasted no time in confronting her husband and tried to pull him away in an effort to get him to stop. But instead of letting better sense prevail, the man got into a blazing row with his wife, accusing her of infidelity, and being jealous of his success, after which he did the unthinkable. In his inebriated state, and in full view of the distinguished gathering, he hollered the word ‘talaq’ three times at his wife, which according to the Islamic faith is enough to end the social contract of marriage between man and woman. The following morning when S.M. Parvez returned to his senses and realized what he had done, he fell at Dilshad Bano’s feet and begged her to forgive him and take him back; while she agreed to the former, there was no way she could accept him as her husband, because by uttering that word three times, their marriage was truly null and void. Not one to give up so easily, S.M. Parvez decided to seek the council of a highly respected maulvi on this matter, who told him that the only way a divorced couple could get back together was if the woman married another man, who after the marriage was consummated, divorced her and set her free. The logic behind this was to make people realize that while it was very easy to break relationships, putting them back together again was a lot more difficult. Under normal circumstances, any other person told of this only method of reconciliation would have been disheartened, but S.M. Parvez came up with a clever idea to turn this situation around to his benefit, and somehow managed to convince Dilshad Bano to go along with it. According to his plan, he would get someone he trusted well to marry Dilshad Bano and then divorce her the following morning itself, leaving her free to remarry her first husband. For this purpose, he approached Gulistan Hamrahi, his most trusted aid, who instantly agreed to help the couple in their hour of need, and gave in to all their terms and conditions readily, including the fact that he would not try and establish any physical relationship with his bride and the very next day divorce her without the slightest hesitation. But when the moment came for Gulistan to sign on the divorce papers, he flatly refused to comply, because overnight he had realized that he would be a fool to let go of a woman as beautiful as Dilshad Bano, and besides, she was also Hindi cinema’s number one heroine, and he believed that his association with her would take his non-existent career to dizzying heights. It was only after much pleading and persuasion that he relented, but in exchange for signing the divorce papers, he demanded that Dilshad Film Studio be handed over to him. S.M. Parvez, aside from his inability to control his drinking, was a fair man, who made sure that Dilshad Bano did not suffer a financial loss on account of him. He bought the studio from her for more than the market price and handed it over to Gulistan Hamrahi, who promptly gave her the divorce she sought, thereby setting her free to do as she pleased. Soon, Dilshad Bano and S.M. Parvez were married again, but this time around, the movie mogul was a changed man, for not only did he give up alcohol completely, he even stopped throwing those lavish parties, which were a breeding ground for sycophants and fair-weather friends, who through their patronizing ways pushed him into an abyss, then watched him stumble in the darkness and nearly lose the one he loved the most. In time, however, the trauma of the past was forgotten, as the careers of both husband and wife went from strength to strength, and by the time they called it a day and drifted together into old age, she was Hindi cinema’s long-time reigning queen and he, the movie mogul extraordinaire, who, undoubtedly, had left behind a golden legacy for their children and their grandchildren to carry forward with pride. As far as Gulistan Hamrahi was concerned, although he changed the name of Dilshad Bano’s property to Gulistan Studio and proclaimed himself to be its new owner, and a future movie mogul in the making, his dream of achieving greatness never materialized. All the films he made under his newly launched banner of Hamrahi films flopped miserably, and after a mere five years of turning film producer, mounting losses and a total lack of expertise forced him to shut shop permanently. At the end of the day, he found himself relegated to the position of manager of his own studio, living off the money he made from letting it out, and when he finally passed away, he left behind three wives and as many as seventeen children, just as inglorious as him, who spent most of their time fighting with each other for total control of their father’s ill-gotten legacy. And now, just when it appeared that they’d finally put behind their differences
and agreed as one to sell off Gulistan Studio, the murder of Nikhil Kapoor had caused the sale to fall through, putting an end to all their brotherly love and sending them back at each other’s throats. With the place’s history firmly under his belt, Hoshiyar left for the much-maligned studio and got there around noon, to find Zagde waiting for him near the main gate, just as he’d asked him to the evening before, but with a dejected look on his face. It turned out that Zagde, as instructed, had paid a visit to detective Mule’s office, but found nothing of relevance with regard to their case. He then got a copy of Mule’s cellphone records, which told him that during his visit to Shimla, although Mule hadn’t called any local number from his cellphone, he had, however, made a call to the village of Padiabeda in Haryana and spoken to one Sub-inspector Amanjeet Phogat at the local police station. But when Zagde called that morning, the officer on duty informed him that Phogat was on leave and would only be back after a few days, which was a factor that didn’t bode well for their investigation, as apart from Phogat, no one else knew why Mule had called Padiabeda. But strangely enough, Hoshiyar didn’t believe this to be a setback. On the contrary, he considered it a breakthrough as they had discovered that Shimla wasn’t the only place where the missing pieces of their case were hidden, and the moment officer Phogat resumed duty, Hoshiyar was confident that all would be revealed. In the meantime, the more important job on hand was to thoroughly examine Stage 7, to see if they could discover any evidence that had been missed by the previous investigating team, which would help them prove that Nikhil Kapoor’s death was an exceptionally well-planned murder and not some tragic, freak accident. As the two officers made their way past the main gate and drove up to Stage 7 at the far end of the studio, they were met by a paan-chewing elderly gentleman, dressed in a spotless white shirt and trousers, who greeted them with the warmth of a long-lost buddy.