We knew they would not do anything. So we boarded Shamas’s bike, with me on the pillion. And just like that, we turned detectives solving our own case. With the eyes of predators, we hunted all around the area. But the drizzle became a full-on torrential downpour and forced us to stop.
‘Bhaijaan, let’s try another police station,’ Shamas suggested. ‘All right!’ I said and we drove to DN Nagar Police Station where the same story was repeated. They too were not interested. Annoyed, we were just walking out of the station, discussing what our next move should be, when all of a sudden we saw an Esteem, not just any Esteem, but our Esteem, zipping past. It was like in a movie. And so we too acted with speed, as if in a fully edited movie. We ran to our bike.
‘Start the bike, Shamas!’ I screamed. ‘Turn around.’
But Shamas, always being the calm one, the wise one, said, ‘Let’s follow him in silence, Bhaijaan. Let us see where he is going. And once we reach that spot, let’s call the cops.’
The chase continued. The thief had no idea he was being followed until we closed in so much that we were driving adjacent to the car. He had rolled down the windows to enjoy the delightful air fragrant with a freshness only the rain can bring. But I could not control myself any more and let Shamas’s wise words go to hell.
‘Oye, behenchod. This is my car,’ I screamed at the top of my angry lungs. ‘Where the fuck are you going with my car?’
Obviously, he figured that these guys were the owners. He stepped hard on the gas pedal and sped, splashing a forceful wake of water behind from the massive puddles, like a motorboat, to drench us in. It was pouring so hard that it was getting almost impossible to see or to drive as the level of the water rose. We were soaked to the bone, our shirts glued to our skin. And the bloody thief was all dry and cosy inside the comfortable car, our car! But we followed him, to Juhu Circle, then SV Road, then Vile Parle, then Jogeshwari.
And then, as if just one last bead was left in this string of tiny battle beads to make it into a necklace, the petrol ran out of our bike. For fuck’s sake! How was it even possible! Shamas was known to always keep the petrol tank full. Except on that night, when he thought it was late and he would fill it in the morning. So we took a detour from this crazy race to go to a petrol pump nearby, while the crook rushed away.
A police patrol van was passing by the petrol pump. We ran shouting, asking them to stop. We told them the entire tale of how this random dude had run away with our car and we had spent the entire night chasing him. The cop spoke into his wireless, giving the number of the car and announced instructions for a road blockade. He said not to let this Esteem go beyond Goregaon. We were grateful. We thanked him and waited with bated breath for some news. Definitely, the thief would be caught any time now.
But the hours dragged on in slow-mo speed. It became four in the morning, there was no news. This time it was not the rain, for it could not drench us any more, but acute anxiety that drowned us. We thought, let’s scour the gullies around. We took the bike into muddy slush piles where the bike could not usually go. So we got off and pushed it through the muck. Our clothes were dripping and splashed with mud. We were shivering as we hunted through every narrow lane around SV Road. It was now 6.30 a.m. Nothing.
Utterly dejected, we were about to give up and return home. A signboard that read Ajit Glass Factory lay ahead of us, at the head of possibly the narrowest lane. Shamas tried to go. But I stopped him.
‘How can a car enter this tight, this cramped a lane? It’s way too tiny, Shamas,’ I said.
‘We have looked everywhere else, Bhaijaan. Only this place is left. I have a hunch it will be here,’ he said. ‘My motorcycle agency is here as well. And they are always warning me, “Watch your vehicle! Watch your bike. This is a bastion of auto thieves. Don’t leave your bike outside. It will be gone in a blink.” So, Bhaijaan . . .’ he said.
He was right. Within minutes of going in, we spotted our beloved Esteem. We called the cops and our friends. Shamas called the assistant commissioner of police (ACP) who happened to be his acquaintance. ‘Beta, don’t bother to register a complaint. Take your car and quickly run off,’ he advised wisely. ‘Otherwise, the police will keep it with them until the procedures are done. It will sit there and rot away while you are caught in manoeuvring the red tape.’ I wanted justice so badly. I wanted the fucking robber to be caught. But ultimately, I calmed down and heeded the ACP’s wise words.
The keys were still in the car. The robber had run away in fright. I drove the car straight to my 9 a.m. shoot at Film City. As soon as I reached, they handed me a long list of dialogues to narrate. Naturally, I could not remember a thing after that sleepless night. The first shoot was for a film called Black and White. In the scene, the actress Shefali Chhaya had to slap me, and she did it ever so gently. Then she asked me if I was okay. I said, ‘Yes, I am, but please slap me hard.’ She did. That is when I woke up and was able to remember the dialogues. The shoot went smoothly.
It was
