Race Course Road: A Novel

by Goswami, Seema

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped at the offending SPG guard. ‘I always take my phone inside. Don’t you know who I am?’

  There was some hurried consultation among the ranks, and finally it was agreed: Madan Mohan could take his phone inside RCR.

  But this was the only battle he won. When he insisted that he would drive into RCR in his own vehicle instead of climbing into one of the ‘ferry cars’ used to transport lesser mortals, the SPG baulked. No way, said the officer in charge. He didn’t care who Madan Mohan was. It mattered little if he had ‘always’ driven into Race Course Road in his own car. He had his instructions. And they were that the former Defence Minister had to use the ferry car.

  So, it was a very rattled Madan Mohan who was decanted at the porch of Number 7. And his temper had boiled right over in the ten minutes he was kept waiting in the anteroom. Which is why he practically exploded with anger the moment he was ushered into the drawing room to meet Karan and Arjun.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he spluttered indignantly. ‘Why have you told the gate that I am to use the ferry car? Your father would be appalled to see the way you boys are treating me…’

  That’s as far as he got. The mention of Birendra Pratap loosened the tight grip that Arjun Pratap had been keeping on his temper. ‘We are treating you exactly the way you deserve to be treated,’ he said, his voice raised in anger.

  Karan Pratap laid a calming hand on his brother’s arm. ‘Let’s not get distracted,’ he said to Arjun softly. Arjun nodded and subsided into his chair.

  ‘Well,’ said Madan Mohan aggressively. ‘Why have you called me here? What is so important that you have to drag me out of bed early in the morning? You do realize that I no longer work for you?’

  Karan pinched his lips together to bite down on the many rude retorts that were on the tip of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, he opened the IB file of the phone transcripts of Akshay Trivedi’s calls with Gopi Goyal. Turning to the page where Trivedi had talked about his ‘Korean kalam’ he pushed the file towards Madan Mohan, gesturing that he should have a look.

  Madan Mohan had clocked the hostility radiating from both brothers the moment he entered the room, so by now he knew full well that he hadn’t been called to deal with the problem called Asha. And judging by the look of the file being thrust at him, there could well be some further developments in the L’Oiseau deal. Well, how much worse could it possibly get?

  The former Defence Minister picked up the file, slipped on his glasses and began reading. ‘Aap toh mujhe jaante hi nahin. Maine toh Korea ke kalam se Bharat ka naya itihas likh diya hai.’ (You don’t know me. I am the man who has written a new history for India with a Korean pen.)

  Akshay bloody Trivedi. That drunk moron couldn’t keep his mouth shut, could he?

  Raising his eyes from the file, his face a careful mask of curiosity and outrage, Madan Mohan asked, ‘Who is this man? This Akshay, er, Trivedi? Is he involved in your father’s assassination? I hope you have him in custody. As well as, ah, what was his name?’ Madan Mohan made a great display of consulting the transcript. ‘Ah yes, Gopi Goyal. I hope you have arrested both of them.’

  Karan ignored his remarks. Instead, he pulled out the call sheet of Akshay Trivedi’s phone, on which the PP Consulting number had been highlighted.

  ‘Take a look at this,’ he told Madan Mohan. ‘Does this number seem familiar to you?’

  Madan Mohan ran his eye over the list. He could feel a throbbing in his ears as he saw his own secret number, the one that only a few arms dealers had ever had, flashed all across the call sheet. But how did it matter, he reassured himself. Sagar, his nephew, had explained to him that this was a pay-as-you-go number bought in Dubai, and that it would never be traced back to him.

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think so. But you know how it is these days. You never really know anyone’s number. You just enter it in your phone and press call. In fact, if you asked me what my daughter’s number was, I would not be able to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that might be the case,’ said Karan drily. ‘Which is why we have investigated and traced the number back to a shop in Dubai, which sold the SIM card. And we have gone through the shop’s records. The phone was bought using a credit card registered to a company called PP Consulting.’

  ‘Now, does that sound familiar, Madan Mohanji?’ interjected Arjun, sarcastically.

  Madan Mohan paled. Damn Sagar. And damn his stupid office. Who on earth bought a burner phone with a fucking credit card? What was the point of getting him an untraceable number using a credit card that could be traced in a trice?

  But wait, they didn’t really know for sure that he had been using that number. And clearly, they hadn’t been tapping that number or they would have produced the transcripts by now. He still had some room to manoeuvre.

  ‘Yes, that is my nephew’s company, as you well know,’ he snapped. ‘But what does it have to do with me?’

  That was Karan’s cue to explain how phone triangulation worked. And how it had been used to trace where the SIM registered to PP Consulting was being used when all those many calls were made. All the calls had pinged off three towers located near South Block, India Gate and Krishna Menon Marg.

  ‘Remind me, again, Madan Mohanji. Where exactly is your bungalow located?’ asked Arjun silkily.

  ‘You know perfectly well where it is,’ snapped Madan Mohan. ‘You’ve spent enough time there with Devika and Partha.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Arjun. ‘I remember now. It’s on Krishna Menon Marg.’

  ‘And what does that prove? Mine is not the only house situated there. Nor is mine the only office around South Block. You people really have to do better than this.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ replied Karan. ‘Even as we speak, Akshay Trivedi and Gopi Goyal are being taken into custody. It won’t be long before they tell us who was on the other end of that line. I can promise you that.’

  Damn, thought Madan Mohan. It wouldn’t take much to flip those two men. Offer them a better deal and they would sing like canaries. And then, where would he be? He needed to get out of here and handle this situation before it got out of hand entirely.

  Tamping down on that growing feeling of dread he blustered, ‘Well, good luck with that. But what does any of that have to do with me?’

  Karan and Arjun exchanged a glance. Then Karan turned to Madan Mohan and laid down his terms. No matter what the investigation into Birendra Pratap’s assassination turned up, his sons were united in one purpose: they wanted Madan Mohan to resign from the party and to retire from public life.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ shouted Madan Mohan. ‘I have done nothing wrong.’

  Well, if he didn’t, the transcripts of Akshay Trivedi’s calls, his call lists and the link to PP Consulting would be leaked. ‘I am sure you will enjoy explaining that to the media,’ said Karan bitterly.

  Madan Mohan thought for a moment. And then, after many protestations of his innocence, caved in.

  The moment he left, Arjun turned to his brother, ‘I can’t believe that you have let him go. We should have arrested him, slammed him in jail and thrown away the key.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ replied Karan. ‘He will pay for what he did all right. And in the most painful of ways. But we really can’t afford this distraction just days before the last round of polling.’

  ‘Are you really going to let the election stand in the way of nailing Baba’s murderer?’

  ‘Grow up, Arjun,’ said Karan wearily. ‘You of all people should know how things work in politics.’

  ‘Yes, I certainly do,’ replied Arjun. ‘But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

  ▪

  Manisha Patel had arrived at 3, Race Course Road an hour ahead of the scheduled time for the interview with Asha Devi. She wanted to be there when her crew set up. This was an absolutely crucial shoot, where they would be no opportunities for retakes or do-overs. T
he lighting had to be perfect, the camera batteries fully charged, and the SIM cards formatted and ready to go. And she didn’t trust anyone else to get all of this right.

  In accordance with Asha’s wishes, there was an all-female crew in attendance. Manisha’s producer, Mona Chawla, was doubling as lighting in-charge and director. The two cameras were manned by Aruna Phadnavis and Parineeta Thakur, both of whom had worked with Manisha for a long time and knew exactly how she liked her shots framed. The two male gophers in attendance, who had set up the equipment, fixed the lighting and organized the uplinking, had been ejected the moment they finished.

  Then, the girls sat down and waited. Manisha felt a pit opening up in her stomach when the time for Asha’s arrival came and went. Had she changed her mind? Had someone advised her against doing this interview? Or had she just chickened out?

  Manisha wouldn’t have blamed Asha if she hadn’t turned up. In fact, she had been astonished to receive that phone call from Asha last night, volunteering to do a one-on-one interview. What on earth had possessed her to do that? What could she possibly say that would make things better? Didn’t she realize that she was just resuscitating the story for another few news cycles?

  Just as Manisha had begun to think that Asha had had second thoughts, the door opened and Vidya Fernando stuck her head in. ‘Are you guys ready to roll?’ she asked. Yes, nodded Manisha.

  Vidya entered, her entire being radiating disapproval for this misguided enterprise, just days before the crucial fifth and final phase of polling. She had spent an hour trying to dissuade Asha from giving this interview. No good could come of it, she had told her. But her father’s daughter to the end, Asha had refused to listen. She had made up her mind to tell her story, and she was going to do just that. And that determination was writ large on Asha’s face when she finally entered the room.

  The first thing that struck Manisha was how beautiful she looked. Asha may have been to hell and back, but she looked nothing short of angelic. Dressed in an ivory and black patterned silk sari, Asha’s only adornment was a gold chain around her neck, on which hung an oversized pendant featuring the symbol ‘Om’.

  Asha’s make-up was so minimal as to be practically invisible. All Manisha could see was the shine of a pale-pink gloss on her lips, though surely those upswept eyelashes owed something to discreet lashings of mascara. But other than that, Asha’s face was bare: no foundation, no rouge, no kajal. She had even neglected to camouflage her dark circles with a dash of concealer, which only added to her air of injured fragility.

  This was, as Manisha knew perfectly well, a strategic decision. Asha wanted to portray herself as a victim, a vulnerable woman who was more sinned against than sinning. She wanted to come across as the girl next door, in a simple sari with her hair tied back in a modest bun that sat low on her neck. Looking at her, the audience would have difficulty imagining that she was the same person whose naked pictures had been all over the airwaves and on the Internet.

  Manisha stood up to greet her, and extended a hand, saying, ‘How are you doing? This must be such an awful time for you.’

  Asha nodded, sitting down on the chair assigned to her, while Mona made some last-minute adjustments to the lighting. ‘Thank you,’ she said, in a low tone, even as Aruna bustled around, trying to mike her.

  ‘How do you want to approach this?’ asked Manisha. ‘I am very happy to take my cues from you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Asha, ‘Let’s start with the pictures, shall we? Given that they’re all anyone seems to be interested in.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Manisha. ‘But look, we don’t have to go live. We can go with a delayed telecast. That way, if you feel at all uncomfortable, if you want to take a break, if you want to redo an answer, you can say so and we will do just that. I just want you to remember that you are totally in control.’

  Asha nodded, the slight tremble in her hands betraying her nerves. ‘Thanks but I’d rather we went live. I just want to get this over with.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Manisha, clipping on her lapel mike. She turned to Mona, ‘Are we ready to roll?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mona, counting down from three to give Manisha her cue.

  Manisha kicked off with her usual opening: ‘Hello and welcome to a special edition of “Let’s Talk”. Today we are speaking to Asha Devi, daughter of the late Prime Minister Birendra Pratap Singh, and a leading light of the LJP. Welcome to the show, Asha.’

  Asha allowed herself an infinitesimal smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said, softly, looking over Manisha’s left shoulder and straight at camera. She may be giving Manisha Patel an interview. But it was the people of India that Asha was really speaking to.

  MP: ‘It would be an understatement to say that this has been a difficult time for you. How are you coping?’

  AD: ‘The honest answer? Very badly. I feel as if I have been hit by a train and left to bleed out on the tracks while the whole world watches.’

  MP: ‘So, you don’t just feel hurt. You feel violated.’

  AD: ‘I don’t just feel violated. I have been violated. What has been done to me is nothing short of sexual assault. And it’s an assault that the entire world has participated in.’

  MP: ‘You believe that leaking those private pictures of yours was tantamount to sexual assault? Some people might say that you are overstating the case. Yes, your privacy was infringed by the release of the pictures but no actual bodily harm was done to you.’

  AD: ‘I disagree. This was not just an invasion of my privacy. This was a breach of my bodily integrity. Nobody has the right to look at my body without my consent. And anyone who does so is committing a crime.’

  MP: ‘Yes, I agree with that. But there are many who say that you played a part in this by agreeing to pose for such pictures in the first place. And that in this hyper-connected world, nobody should have any reasonable expectation of privacy—especially someone like you who is in public life.’

  AD: ‘Well, anyone who says so is completely and utterly wrong. Every single human being has the right to a private life, to privacy. And that is as true of private citizens as it is of public figures.’

  MP: ‘Let me put this another way, Asha. Do you regret posing for those pictures?’

  AD: (After a moment’s hesitation) ‘You know what they say, Manisha. Hindsight is always 20/20. So yes, of course, now it would be very easy for me to say that posing for those pictures was a mistake. But I would rather not do that. I would much rather own every decision I have made, even if it was a mistake.’

  MP: ‘So, you do accept that it was a mistake?’

  AD: ‘It didn’t seem like one at the time. I was in love with Sunny. Both our families approved of our relationship. We were going to be married soon. And in the context of a relationship that I believed would end in marriage, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Looking back now, in the cold light of day, I can’t believe that I actually did that. I should have stopped to think. But I was in love. And my judgement was warped. I accept that. And I accept full responsibility.’

  MP: ‘Do you blame Sunny Mahtani for this whole mess? After all, the pictures were clearly leaked from his end…’

  AD: (Cutting in) ‘No, I don’t blame Sunny. I blame the people who stole the pictures from him. I blame the media channels that ran the pictures. I blame the social media sites that made them go viral.’

  MP: ‘You said you blame the media. But some would argue that this was a legitimate story for them to carry. You are, after all, a public figure. And there is so much interest in the public about your personal life.’

  AD: (With a flash of anger) ‘Public interest can’t be defined as anything and everything that the public is interested in. You of all people should know that, Manisha.’

  MP: (Attempting a conciliatory tone) ‘Yes, of course, I do. I don’t know if you are aware of this but ours was the only channel that refused to run the pictures.’

  AD: ‘Yes, I do. And I am grateful for your restraint.’


  MP: ‘But now that the pictures are out in the public domain, you must know that they will never really disappear. In these circumstances, do you think that you still have a political career left? In fact, do you even want a career in politics after this?’

  AD: ‘You know, Manisha, politics was never really my thing. I campaigned for my father in his constituency because he needed me to do so. Other than that, I was very happy living my life. It was only after he died that I entered politics. Not because I wanted power. But because I wanted to help the party and my brothers. But even then, I could have taken politics or left it. But not now. Now that I know that there are dark forces out there who are trying to destroy my political career even before it has begun, I am determined that I will not let them win. I will stay on the battlefield and fight them with all the strength at my disposal. I am my father’s daughter in that regard.’

  MP: ‘Who are you referring to when you talk of these “dark forces”? You have made it clear that you do not suspect Sunny when it comes to the leak. So, are you laying the blame on your political opponents? On Jayesh Sharma and the SPP, perhaps?’

  AD: ‘I really don’t want to go into that. It doesn’t help to speculate in these matters. All I will say is that law enforcement agencies are investigating the matter. And that once the culprits have been identified, the law will take its course.’

  MP: ‘Has Sunny Mahtani been in touch with you after all this happened? He must have been devastated as well.’

  AD: ‘No, I haven’t spoken to him.’

  MP: ‘Will your current troubles bring the two of you back together? Is there any chance of a reconciliation?’

  AD: ‘None whatsoever.’

  MP: ‘So, what went wrong between the two of you? How did you go from being deliriously in love to not even speaking to one another?’

  AD: ‘I’m sorry Manisha, but I am not prepared to answer any questions about my personal life. I have already had my private life invaded in the most devastating of ways. I am not going to allow anyone to take away the last vestiges of my privacy. Whatever happened between Sunny and me is no one’s business but ours—and that of our families. And they know whatever there is to know.’