MBA for the Mafia

by Kunal Sharma

  Pencil Nose

  “Nakul?”

  “Yes,” said Nakul, still not sure if he should have moved from his bed halfway across the house to take this call. He was still in a bit of a trauma from the adventure of last night. He’d completed exactly 3 months at PanAsia and he had no clue that his new role would bring with itself a certain occupational hazard.

  “This is Raj…we met last night, we had earlier met at the Dome…”

  “Ah Big Noz?? I mean…yeah, I remember…”

  “Wanted to make sure you and your friends are fine,” said the voice on the phone.

  “Wait…do you know anything about who tried to kill us?”

  Don Raju did not have a habit or keenness to explain himself. Neither could he be on the phone for more than a few seconds. He hung up the phone.

  The Don believed himself to be a new age Savant...and he wanted no less than to create an economy that would rival the state run economy with all its sluggishness, corruption and deception. He was a connoisseur of good business tenets. The Don considered himself to possess a unique penchant to excel, which drove him to educate himself from whatever resources he could find at his disposal. He took time to listen to the experts in their field. Be it real estate or the stock market. Many years ago, when he could afford some time from earning the minimal wages to keep himself nourished, he had exhibited utmost dedication in completing an advanced English course from a night school for adults. He never skipped classes no matter how tough his day at the construction site had been. What is supposed to be a defining moment in Raju’s life was when he knocked at Constable Devarao’s door at the Bandra police station. He barely wanted to request for police intervention in searching for his brother’s daughter, who had gone missing from the Jhuggi near Andheri. The Constable thought he had better matters to attend to, in the form of arranging for a Politician’s clandestine date with a leading lady of Bollywood. He dismissed Raju and his friends as if they were mosquitoes hovering around his neck, and Raju had persisted that he help them. That is when Constable Devarao had held him by the collar and slapped him. Raju had slapped him back.

  15 years later, many of the likes of Constable Devarao were on Raju’s payroll. Don Raju’s ascent had been nothing short of magnanimous. The more ‘meetings’ he helped facilitate, the more his brand grew and prospered. He had an edge over the other gang lords. He was far more organized and ingenious. He focused on leveraging his observation skills towards immaculate implementation of standard procedures that helped his outfit in dealing with unexpected events. At last count, the Don controlled over half of the city’s real estate and diamond business and had branched out to support lending businesses indirectly. He was perhaps among the city’s richest, but he was definitely the one who wielded most influence in the city’s matters, be it politics or business related.

  The Don thought of Mumbai as Gotham City, his land he had avowed to save. In this land, he held his son the closest to his heart. Keshav was the embodiment of all of Don’s aspirations and his reasons to live. Keshav inspired the poet in Don Raju:

  “Bereft all riches, I hold you warmly my son”

  Because his job precluded exhibiting any empathy in front of his men, he had to resort to writing poetry to feed his emotional self: