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Sam’s Story
By the time I reached Bandra, it was eight in the evening. The old, decrepit building of Bhabha Hospital on the opposite side looked a little better in the darkness: darkness hides all the flaws. My driver, Mangal Singh, stopped my blood red Lamborghini Gallardo at the gate of the police bungalow. The driveway of the bungalow was already occupied by a white Tata Indigo and a police jeep. I could guess, from the familiar sticker of a winged disc with Fravashi, the guardian angel, popularly known as Farohar, that it belonged to Aspi.
We parked outside and I stepped out.
The nameplate read: Aspi Irani, Joint Police Commissioner (Crime), Mumbai Police.
The constable opened the gate and saluted. Irani was expecting me. Perhaps hearing the screech of the gate, he came outside. His grin was happy as he hugged me.
“Saaley, where were you for so many years… koi khabar nahin…” he said and led me to the living room. He bellowed, “Farida…”
His wife Farida came out, followed by a young boy.
“Look who’s here…Bhaanchod… itna saal kidhar tha?”
“Oh,Sam.” Farida screamed. “My God…how you’ve changed!”
“What change? No change – he’s the same, I’m the same… now what are you doing, standing here and gaping at the man?” said Irani.
“Sorry, I’ll make coffee…”
“Coffee…yeh coffee ka time hai? Daaru shaaru nikaalo… aur patra nee machhi… make it pomfret… pulaao… aney mutton dhansak,” I found myself reacting as I always did, “Jimmy, you’ve grown up real fast.”
Aspi’s son Jimmy smiled indulgently at my inane comment. Everyone must have been telling him that. But Jimmy had really outgrown his tall father.
“You are just right for films,” I told him.
“Why don’t you sign him, then?” said Farida, coming out. “I don’t want him to work in the police like Aspi.”
“Why?”
Aspi answered, “Sam, you know why. She has never liked my long hours, the uncertainty and dirty politics.”
“So, she prefers the irregular hours, uncertainty and dirty politics of films?” I grinned.
“And Jimmy wants some fatakari… There is a whole line-up in the film industry.”)
Aspi was an Assistant Commssioner of Police when I first met him.
A cop and a journalist can’t really be friends, though both need each other. For a journalist, a cop is a ‘reliable source’ and a cop treats a journalist as a tool to get some free publicity. But Aspi was a crazy bawaji who didn’t give a damn for publicity.
We didn’t meet so often once I had moved into the movie business but I always invited him to the premieres or previews of my films. The last time was for Main Nachoongi. Not because you need everyone, in this business, as they say, but because I genuinely liked him, even if he sometimes didn’t like my films and didn’t hesitate to say so. An honest opinion is more precious in the movie business than anywhere else. Everyone sucks up to everyone else, but tears a film or a person to shreds once he is out of earshot or down and out.
No one knew how Aspi managed it, but he had survived 12 Chief Ministers belonging to the Congress, NCP and Shiv Sena – in 25 years, and had reached the second-highest post in the police hierarchy. Nirmal called the location of Aspi’s office the ‘power position’ in the Feng Shui of the Police Headquarters. Aspi Irani was rightly the most powerful cop in Mumbai.
Right now, Aspi made two large whiskies, mine on the rocks and his with soda.
“Add some soda too,”I said and added, “Cheers!”
“Okay, tell me…”
I told him.
“There are two different cases…but both are connected to my film…LINA.”
“LINA? It is your film?”
“Yes, Love Is Never Afraid. I had invited you for the mahurat.” I reminded him. But the film was untitled at that time. The last two films of mine that he had seen were Jeete Hain Shaan Se and Main Nachoongi. The first was a commission earner and the second was a 100-crore-rupee film.
“Aman Kumar, the hero of LINA has been accused of murdering a girl after raping her.The police have not charged him yet. There is no proof and Aman says that he is innocent.”
“Everyone says that,” said Aspi, shrugging his broad shoulders.
“But I really do believe him.” I said. “Social activists and organizations are gunning for him… burning his effigies and calling for the boycott of his film.”
“I know about all that. We have already provided him with security.”
“This can destroy my film. Who will go to see the film if the hero is a rapist, a killer?”
“So…?” Aspi asked, guardedly.
“I’d like a quick investigation.”
“Innocent or guilty?” asked Aspi.
“I am not going to ask you to declare him innocent. I know you too well for that.”
Aspi smiled.
I went on, “And the other issue is about TV host, Krishna.”
“The guy who tempted a police constable to accuse Aman of rape and murder?” Aspi knew everything. He went on, “And is himself charged under Section 376!”
“Yes. I believe that he has been framed.”
“Framed?” Policemen are known to be cynical and I don’t blame them. They see the sordid side of life, everyday. It is a low life even if you happen to be a Joint Police Commissioner (Crime). Like the journos who damn you even before you’re proved guilty, the police treat you as guilty till you are proved innocent.
“Yes.” I said, with conviction.
I was seeing a tough cop at work. Aspi didn’t say anything for a minute. We have been friends for decades. Ultimately, friendship won.
“What do you want the police to do?”
“A quicker investigation and a clean chit.”
“And if he is guilty?”
“I firmly believe that Krishna is innocent. He cannot commit rape.”
“Hmmm… How can you be so sure?” Aspi asked.
“He is my son,” I said quietly.
II
“Was it Sheila?” Mom asked, coming straight to the point.
I looked at mom, surprised.
“I recognize the pain in your eyes. It is the same pain that I saw when you broke up with her.” She explained. “What did she want?”
I told her.
“She has no one to turn to… She wants me to do something about it.” I said.
“What do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know. Years after we broke up, she says Krishna is our child! I don’t know what to believe.”
“What you believe? Be honest with yourself.”
I paused for a long moment. “Somehow, I know inside me that Krishna is my son. I wish it wasn’t true. Things would be much simpler that way.”
“Then, he is your son…and you have to protect him.”
“Mom! I will feel like a sucker, like I was being used.”
“Look out for your son. Any child of yours can’t be a rapist. You will have to free him of the stigma.” Mom said. “Krishna is your son. I believe her.”
I told Mom that I’d do whatever I could to save Krishna.
I called Lobo. It was past midnight, but Lobo was a criminal lawyer, and any hour was okay to call him. I had two regular advocates – Savarkar and Lobo.
Savarkar was useful for civil matters that included any dispute between our production house and anyone else. And anyone else included a long list of distributors, exhibitors, advertising agencies, even the censor board. What he said about judges, magistrates and other lawyers often bordered on contempt and defamation, but he never said it in public – clever fellow. We had never lost a case handled by Savarkar. He knew every trick that needed to be known – and then some.
Lobo was from the stable of Yuvraj Luthra. He was the one who had saved the day for Luthra on the day his daughter was getting married. Luthra had said, “With Lobo, you can get away with murder. I‘ll correct myself: Murders.”
“Hi, Lobo!”
“Hi, Sam,” he sounded wide awake.
“You know the TV show host…Krishna?”
“Of course!” He said and added, “He has been arrested for rape. He must be in the lock-up of the Versova Police Station.”
“ Well, this case is personally important to me. I don’t believe that the charges are right. From whatever little I know of the case, this is like a frame-up. I want the charges dropped; I want a clean chit for him. This accusation can damage his life, his career.”
There was silence on the other side. I could hear the papers being shuffled and a click of the mouse.
“I’d think that Krishna is enemy number one for you,” Lobo said. I had expected this. It was all in the papers. Krishna had exposed Aman with the interview of Vilas. The damage was immense. Lobo continued, “I thought you would want me to defend the hero of your film. He faces a much more serious charge – rape and murder.”
“I may need you for that too, but he says he is capable of looking after himself.”
“With the help of his pimp, BJ?” Lobo asked sarcastically.
I laughed.
“I want Krishna out as soon as possible. He has been remanded to police custody for a week.” I told him.
“I’ll come back to you tomorrow,” Lobo promised and hung up.
Mom smiled. I saw that, unlike in the past, her smile had reached her eyes. She was genuinely happy.
We also spoke about Sheila and Nancy.
“I wish it had always been Sheila,” Mom said. She had never said anything against Nancy or any other girl before “This is no way to live.”
“I can’t do anything about it,” my heart ached.
“Where is Nancy today?”
“Ranjit and his wife are in Mumbai for a day. Nancy is with them at her uncle’s. She will be back tomorrow, in time for the interviews. We will be functioning from the Marriot till the release,” I told her. I didn’t want the dirty shoes and the mess TV crews leave behind, in my home. A hotel would be better.
(2)
It was nine o’ clock
Looking down from my seventh floor suite at the large, well- lit waterfall of Hotel JW Marriot, I was talking to Lobo when I heard the knock.
“Come in.” I called out. I knew it would be Nancy. She would have spent some time with her in-laws and fiancee, and now was back to the grind.
Lobo said, “The bail may take a couple of days. The police asked for a 30-day remand but I got them to settle for a week.”
“But a week in the lock-up would seem like a year for someone who has never been inside a lock-up in his life. Try to get the bail.”
Nancy was watching me quietly but curiously.
“Krishna?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You’re going all out for Krishna?”
“Yeah, why?” I questioned.
“I think it is in our interest to see that he remains in the police lock-up.”
“I think that you should let your brain rest a little.” I got up, placed my arm around her slim waist and made a move for the bedroom. She would be with me till the release of LINA.
“But Sam, you’re playing your cards all wrong. Aman, the hero of your film, has been branded a rapist and murderer… and you’re not bothered. You want to save the son-of-the bitch who is out to ruin my film, my career!”
“Nancy, you’re forgetting that it is my film. I have invested two long years and over a Rs 100 crore into LINA.”
“That’s why I am shocked. It seems… suicidal.”
I just smiled and unbuttoned her negligee and directed her hand towards my pyjamas. She ignored it. Women! I kept fondling her unresponding breasts and trying to ignore her argument.
“Is it because Krishna is her son?” Nancy was jealous of Sheila. Sheila, who would be 20 years older than her! I had done the foolish thing of introducing them at the racecourse.
“Let’s talk tomorrow. Now, I have only one thing on my mind. Sex,” I said.
Nancy opened her mouth to protest but I pressed my lips hard on hers. She removed my hand and said, “Sam…”
“Nancy, do what you’re good at,” I smiled at her.
I don’t know about others but even with LINA and my entire career at risk – and nothing was going to be in my control any more – I had sex on my mind. Sex and sleep. I would need to be fresh tomorrow morning. I had a busy day. Aman, Nancy and I would talk about LINA.
Three TV interviews were scheduled – all to be finished before lunch. I also had to see four promos and choose two to upload on YouTube and to show them in theatres. Then there were people who had organized games with Aman and Nancy as the theme, and the one I finalized for wallpapers and ringtones download.
Some worried distributors would come, also around the same time. I would need to reassure them that LINA would survive the anti-Aman mood. I didn’t have much reason to worry. MDV had been committed to me from the days of Z, and over the years, it had spread its wings to the overseas markets. I could have left the entire distribution – India and overseas – to MDV, but I didn’t want to put all my eggs in the same basket. The other four, with nine territories, satellite rights and music rights, ensured a balance of power.
I had followed the policy of ‘never looking a gift horse in the mouth’ and yet, I’d been a little suspicious of gift horses, and MDV had always been a gift horse.
Suspicious, and yet grateful. I could never forget the way MDV helped me out the first time.
The days were bad for individual filmmakers. The corporates put in Rs. 5 crores for promotion and took 50 percent of the negative rights. If they brought in some co-branding or brand promotion arrangement, they took the money, and if the maker brought it, the agency – often owned by the corporates – picked up 20 percent. It is the maker who has to pay a lump-sum for the screen booking. And in the end, the corporate would take back its entire investment before sharing half of the profit with the producer!
Even the big filmmakers had ended up working for the corporates.
Right now, I focused on Nancy. I tenderly fondled her breasts, ignoring the reality of her implants.
We were spent. I didn’t know about Nancy, but I was done for the day.
“Sam?”
“Yes?” I didn’t want to have a long conversation.
“Do you know this has been the most silent fuck we have ever had?”
“Uh huh,” I said briefly.
“Hug me. Talk to me. I love you.”
“I wish I had got that super-sensitive condom for you.”
“What is that for?”
“It hangs around after the man is finished and talks to the woman!” I slapped her butt, smiled and went to sleep.
*****
by 
