Mousebite

by Ganesh Chaudhari

  MOUSEBITE

  By Ganesh Chaudhari

  Copyright Ganesh Chaudhari 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is a work of fiction & all the references to any persons living or dead are coincidental. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thank you for your support.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  1 Footpath

  2 Chicken65

  3 Khabari

  4 Game Zone

  5 Dosta

  6 X

  7 The Wheely

  8 Teabreak

  9 Tactic

  10 Masakkali

  11 Gangster

  12 Origins

  13 The Conference

  14 Negotiator

  15 Mail From The Dead

  16 Ragada Patties

  17 Fathers

  18 Messages

  19 WaterTank

  20 Gotya

  21 The Taj

  22 Visitor

  23 Lead

  24 Favour

  25 Déjà vu

  26 Gadgets

  27 Transit

  28 Night

  29 Signal

  30 Mother

  31 The Garage

  32 Moonlit

  33 The Milk Van

  34 Bridge

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a novel is a combination thing. As the author, all that I did would be vapid had it not been for the help that I had & the help that I sought. I wish to thank the early reviewers who managed to read the manuscript completely just because I asked them to. Most insist having liked it but I am certain that there were other considerations!

  I am grateful to Fahad Abdul Majeed for making me name the chapters. It was only after seeing the list of chapter names created by him that the idea struck home. Special thanks are also due to Sreejesh R for the astute cover design.

  Mousebite would not have been possible without my family. The incessant typing, trancelike attention deficit & overall dreamy disposition that I exhibited for a couple of years while writing Mousebite must have been hard & frustrating. Thank you for being with me through this. This one is for you…

  Ganesh Chaudhari

  1

  Footpath

  November 19, 2012

  “Pandurang! Hurry up!”

  Ulhas is shouting as I make my way towards my ride for the day. It is a balmy morning in Mumbai where both the sun & the humidity are close to the skin. Dressed casually in a jeans & full sleeved cotton shirt, I mix in the crowd easily. No one looks at my suede hand sewn leather shoes & definitely not at the well hidden holster bulge in my armpit. That is one thing that has certainly improved after those November nights a few years back. I still carry an old gun as authorities have been debating over the best firearm for the Mumbai police for years but the new holsters were approved immediately. I must confess they are very good. On the footpath at the Flora fountain, I tread quickly through the morning sea around me. This is a sea of people traveling to their work.

  Most of them have either come off the CST or are either going there to catch a local train. I make out determined faces not unlike each other trying to look good in their business clothing. Some succeed, some fail but everyone is trying anyway. Men in ties, some even wearing coats with shiny leather shoes that typify formal attire are going about at a fast pace. Some are chattering away on their mobile phones as they walk, almost bumping into the person in front. But the movement is continuous. It is different however when it comes to the women.

  There is variety. Not only in the individuals but in the clothing too. There’s the Salwar-Kameez worn in majority but occasional business skirts & jackets are also visible. The pace is more measured. Some notable specimens catch the eye immediately but I don’t have time for this. There are days when I get to do just that, watch the people flow in Mumbai but not today.

  I walk up to the passenger side door of the van that looks like a towing service vehicle from a distance. As I approach it, the white strips on the blue body become clear. Then the omnipresent logo appears on the door “Sadrakshanay. Khalanigrahanay”. Protecting the good people & straightening the bad ones. I get inside the idling car to face Ulhas Gosavi. Inspector Ulhas is 33 years old. He is sweating profusely though it is still 8 am. He is around 5’10” & weighs over a 100 kg. A Mumbai cop for 11 years, he has shown many times that the out of order height to weight ratio does not affect his movements when he decides. I have witnessed him using his weight quite well in numerous ways as a cop. He is eyeing me with curiosity. “How do you do this?” He is focused on me.

  “Do what?” I shoot back.

  “How do you manage to keep looking like this in the mornings? I think we were at the same marriage party last night.” He sighs. I smile. The van is already moving forward as he switches transmission.

  I have been blessed with good looks. Standing at around 6’, my weight is just over 80 kg. My daily workout of jogging mixed with exercise keeps me in shape. Being single, I take out the time to take care of myself. I have been compared to a lot of actors when it comes to my looks. From Sumit Saigal to Akshay Kumar & all the way to Amitabh Bachhan. I find it useful with the women but as I said, I am still single. The marriage party that Ulhas is referring to is a late night arrest of a couple that both of us were involved in yesterday. They were running an online marriage portal where many profiles were misleading, some were forged. This resulted in bad marriages. Avoiding arrest by moving around India, the matchmakers were finally matched by the Mumbai police.

  “So we going to meet the newly wedded couple?” I ask Ulhas who is driving expertly through the early morning traffic on the Sardar Patel road. Me and Ulhas have been doing assignments as a team for 2 years now. My specialty is detective work while Ulhas is top class at surveillance & apprehending. I have known him for 5 years now. He is older by couple of years. I consider him a friend. So does he. He loves driving. Whatever the vehicle he travels in he wants to drive it irrespective of the time. This suits me just fine as I prefer being a passenger as long as there is nobody else to drive.

  “No. It’s a new case today.” Ulhas passes the SiddhiVinayaka temple on the right & his right hand instinctively touches his forehead first & then his lips. He throws a look to me as I don’t join in the ritual. Well, he knows that I don’t do things on the way. If I mean to meet my maker, I go there to do just that.

  Both of us are part of a “floating” Economic Offenses Wing within the Mumbai police. The metropolis has so many cases for cops that parallelism is a myth. The city’s police force is overworked, underpaid & stressed. But we keep at it. It may not always look clinical or elegant but hell, we get the job done. So my unit is a pool of resources that gets assigned to civil or economic offenses cases which are not making any progress or are close to a breakthrough requiring additional men.

  This team is shuffled regularly. But me & Ulhas have been with it for 2 years. I don’t go to the same police station every day; we hop stations as per the case. The stress levels in my unit are high but the cases are always challenging. That beats desk warming & providing security for political functions which are an epidemic in this city. This also means that my assignments are shorter than most long running cases.

  “What’s the case?” I ask Ulhas.

  Ulhas shrugs.”We will be told at the Dyspo’s office.”

  Dyspo is short for Deputy Superintendent of Police. Ashfaq Khan. He is a capable officer who looks after his m
en. He looks after the criminals too but that is usually for putting them away. He is known to have broken down a mining ring of criminals, politicians & government officials single handedly in Bihar. No wonder he has been transferred to Mumbai. We have been reporting to him for a year now. He likes to talk to us directly unlike many IPS officers who look down upon the locally selected men like me as countryheads. As Ulhas guides the van into the Dadar police station, I look at the entrance of the police station.

  “What is that? I can’t believe they can be found together.” I curse under my breath.

  “Shit!” Ulhas agrees. I have spotted two men talking at the entrance. One of them is dressed in Khaki uniform. That’s Pritam Mhatre, the station’s senior Inspector. The second person is dressed in a khadi or handloom kurta with a Shabnam bag hanging over his shoulder. The journalistic impression is a cover up. That man is a known social & RTI activist. Pulkit Jha.

  Ulhas finds a suitable parking space for the van but my eyes are locked on Pulkit Jha. He speaks animatedly to Pritam as if making a point in an academic debate. Pritam looks like obliging him with timely responses. But I know better.

  Pritam is a not so competent cop, who is very competent at red tape & beurocracy. His cop instincts are nonexistent & there seems to be no improvement even after 15 years of service. He is good at trying to establish the pecking order, particularly with members of my unit as we report directly to the DYSP. I don’t care about him but he makes me listen to his crap every now & then. He likes to project an image of being in charge to the superiors too. I think most know his style & substance but there is a talk of his being politically connected. So I guess the superiors hear him out & do what they want anyway. Pritam knows this but does not change.

  They look like an odd couple. The fat, short frame of Pritam & the tall, almost skinny Pulkit. But Pulkit looks like the master of the conversation. He is originally a social activist who has been doing a lot of RTI work since the past 5 years. He has a penchant for selecting a particular government department & then using the RTI act to dig out all the information about officers chosen randomly from it. On finding facts that a particular government servant wishes to remain buried, he “settles” the issue first by confronting the man with the facts & their repercussions. But an arrangement usually follows which suits both the parties well. He has exposed many irregularities in government departments but these exposes are highly “irregular”. So every government employee who knows him tries to avoid him as long as possible. Because when he decides to get your attention, you will have to give it to him.

  “How can it get so bad? That too at the beginning of a day?” Ulhas is still smarting from having to see both of them together. He believes that whosoever you see at the beginning of the day sets the tone for it.

  We walk towards the police station building. It is a British era building in the heart of Dadar. It looks like a colossal home in the midst of tiny apartments & flats that have come up after independence. The domes & the façade of the building give it a stately look. The paint on the walls has gone yellow due to the humidity but it is a sight to hold with its carved windows, arches & a lawn that has the Maharashtra police logo embossed on it below a flag mast that flies the Indian tricolour. The shadows have started dressing up parts of the building already.

  I want to avoid the main entrance where Pritam & Pulkit are still talking. Ulhas senses this. We turn almost together towards the canteen in attempt to buy some time & catch a cup of tea. The entrance to the canteen is a glass door framed in aluminium. I think a wooden door existed here. I grab a seat in the canteen as Ulhas seats opposite to me on the table. It is a wooden table with two benches on opposite sides. One side of the table & the benches rests against the wall of the room. I stretch out to a more relaxed seating position.

  “Anna, ek chai!” I shout at the canteen manager to place my order. “What will you have?” I ask Ulhas.

  “A soda.” He is looking at the table top whose Formica top has been scratched off.

  “Bade bhai ke liye soda.” I shout again. I am about to ask Ulhas about the meeting with the DYSP when the door to the canteen opens again. Pritam & Pulkit walk in looking for a table. I look around the canteen & to my horror find that all the other tables are taken with at least four persons occupying each.

  “Shit.” Ulhas mutters again. Both of them walk almost casually towards my table. I try not to pay attention. But sure enough Pritam comes right by my side.

  “Make some space for us friends.” Pritam stresses on “friends” in an unnatural way. With my back to the wall & Pulkit standing next to Ulhas, I can don’thing but make space for him. Ulhas does the same for Pulkit. I even manage a smile at Pritam. Though he knows I don’t like him, I prefer being polite about it.

  Pritam rests his elbows on the table. Unlike me & Ulhas who are dressed in civilian clothes, he is wearing his uniform. His hairy arms are on display & his fingers look like fat roots out of his comparatively small palms. His clean shaven face looks like that of an obese man which he will soon be. Pulkit however rests his back straight against the bench seat & stares at me with interest. He has a nose that looks like a beak. His chin protrudes abnormally & a fat Adam’s apple bobs rapidly in his thin neck. He has a beard that is striated with black & white, which makes him look like a scholar. He is wearing a pair of jeans along with his Khadi kurta. A well used mobile hangs around his neck to an old oily lace. He folds his hands on his chest.

  “Ustaad 2 chai dena!”Pritam shouts his order.

  “No. I will have a black tea” Pulkit speaks in a voice that is both resonant as well as nasal.

  “You don’t drink milk?” Pritam asks him as if I & Ulhas are not present at the table.

  “I don’t eat anything that comes from animals. Not even milk. I am a vegan.” Pulkit states diffidently.

  “That’s..Unique” Pritam blurts. It shows with your body, I think about Pulkit. Pritam is still staring at Pulkit with wide eyes. I am certain he is wondering how different a vegan is from the traditional Indian vegetarian. He changes the order finally.

  “We have not met before. I am Pulkit Jha.” Pulkit says to me with a smile.

  “Pandurang Jagtap” I smile but don’t offer my hand. Ulhas repeats my stand. Pulkit nods at us.

  “Oh, both of them are the upcoming stars of Mumbai police. Inspectors.” Pritam adds as an afterthought, stressing on the rank this time.

  “I have heard of them. Good things of course.” Pulkit smiles at Pritam who is not very pleased at this. He does not think me or Ulhas deserve being heard of by people who matter. Even those outside the department. Our orders arrive on a tray. As I sip the tea, I feel Pulkit staring at me even as Pritam blabbers incessantly. I finish my tea & bang the cup on the table on purpose but recoil to show my awkwardness. Pritam gets the message & makes way for me to get off the table. Pulkit nods once at me as I walk to the cash counter to pay up. Ulhas follows me. I pay up the bill to Viraj “Anna” Shetty, the canteen manager. His smile seems to sink in his broad moustache as Ulhas pockets a chewing gum from a plastic pet jar on the counter.

  “See me before going to Khan Sir.” Pritam shouts just as we are about to leave the canteen. I roll my eyes & get out of the canteen. We make our way to Pritam’s table in the office.

  The police offices here have tables & chairs strategically placed under yellowed ceiling fans. I have been to the CBI office in Mumbai. Can’t help comparing its cubicle farm to this outdated, cumbersome office. I am fortunate that I have not been an office guy but may be in some years, I too will have to find a fan & a table for myself. As I occupy a cane chair against Pritam’s table I can hear it creaking under me. Now I understand why common people find it hard to get a semblance of solace in a law enforcement office. When you are not physically comfortable, the stress compounds. Ulhas joins me shortly with a newspaper. He reads through the pages & bangs a few in front of me. I try to catch up with the headlines. It has been 10 minutes when a rough baritone makes me l
ook up from the newspaper.

  “Jagtap, Gosavi. To my office.” DYSP Ashfaq Khan is standing in the door of his cabin. Pritam has chosen his table well. We both stand & throw a salute in his direction. Ulhas can hardly hide his joy at getting to bypass Pritam but I look at Pritam’s seat as Khan looks on. He gets the message.

  “Send Pritam in as soon as he is back.” Khan orders the sentry at his door. Good. Another thing to remember about most of the Indian government offices is that people working here are generally referred to by their surname. So I am usually called Jagtap by my seniors & especially by my juniors. Only friends get along with first names.

  I follow Ulhas into Khan’s cabin. The air conditioned cabin is much better than outside. Khan’s chair is a maroon leather affair. A rectangular glass table etched with the map of Mumbai separates him & three brushed steel chairs with cushioned seats. Ulhas & I stand behind the chairs. Khan has deep brown eyes. His prim hair cut, chiseled chin & a well groomed mustache give a window to his sharp mind. His muscled arms rest easily on the table like coiled snakes & even while seating he has a ramrod posture with both his feet resting on the ground rather than the chair base. His starched Khaki uniform is the only thing that betrays his businesslike appearance.

  He offers us no seats, not even a smile. Gets down to the business right away.

  “How was yesterday?”

  “It took longer than expected but went according to the plan, Sir.” Ulhas replies immediately.

  Khan looks in my direction.

  “We should have got that net-banking tap last month itself. Would have saved us few weeks, Sir.”I admit what has been bothering me since yesterday. I think I see a hint of smile on Khan’s face.

  “That’s right. We keep improving.” He pauses.

  “That’s not why I called you. It’s going to be “Thanda” time for both of you. ” He almost grimaces as he says this. Now the pause makes sense. “Thanda” means cold, implying cooling off. It is good to hear Khan use our basic slang for being out of hot action. Because my unit is not always busy, members of the team are rotated to usual cases that look mundane after the work that we do as a special team. This is required to keep off prying eyes within the department. Even from the outside. There are certain NGOs that keep the Mumbai police under a microscope & try to publish things that are not according to its published structure. Even if the law enforcement results are impressive, these men want conformity. I somehow can’t help but feel that Pulkit Jha’s appearance at the office has something to do with this.