Who Painted My Money White

by Sree Iyer

  Vaishali Homes was owned by brothers Vaibhav, Arvind and Sohan Gupta, who had returned to India after a 20-year stint in Dubai with a reputed construction company. They had picked the essentials of the real estate business there and with their combined savings, launched their firm in the NCR. They began with a modest 100 flats, but rose rapidly in just a few years, with more than 50,000 flats under their brand. Then came the downfall, which was equally swift. It left nearly 35,000 home buyers stranded, as the company failed to deliver on its promise. Vaishali Homes had played truant and its owners found themselves behind bars.

  The real estate sector was peaking when the trio had decided to launch their venture. The Gupta brothers took way more exposures than they could sustain. They used the inflow of cash from buyers and other sources to acquire more land and expand their business. Rather than completing existing projects, they went on a land-buying spree. Soon, they announced around 150 housing towers with exotic sounding names to attract buyers. Besides diverting cash from one housing project to another, they even used the money to fund hotel properties and a clutch of Bollywood films.

  Then came the global recession and the generous flow of funds began to dry up. Vaishali Homes never had a robust cash surplus since the money often went into the unfinished projects or was blown away by the Gupta brothers. The firm began to default on project completion — with one project after the other falling by the wayside. Eventually, some of the conned home buyers got together and petitioned the Supreme Court. The court finally gave a deadline to Vaishali Homes to complete the projects. But there was no money left and the firm could not meet the deadline. The court then ordered the arrest of the promoters and handed over the projects to a government-owned construction company for completion.

  Danish had studied these details minutely in order not to repeat the Guptas’ mistakes. He walked into his office, gaudily dressed and late as usual. The office too flaunted expensive interiors that were far from classy. But his extremely street-smart ways seemed to make up for everything else. Locking himself in his cabin, he once again went over the Vaishali Homes material that he had been studying for a while now.

  To avoid coming under the scanner, he had to maintain a semblance of honour in his commitment to the customers. Money had to be found. Financing companies and banks had become less generous after the Vaishali fiasco. In any case, many of them had over-exposed themselves to bad loans and faced capitalisation issues. Danish had seized upon an idea from an acquaintance.

  Most of his customers happened to be Hindu. They bought flats at market rates, which were high, given the demand. Kerala was experiencing a boom in real estate. This Western Ghats locked state had limited space and extensive manpower employed in the Middle East, all of whom were remitting large amounts of money every month. Employment in the Middle Eastern countries was on contract basis and one never knew when one’s time was up. Therefore, all Keralites settled in the Middle East wanted the security of a home when they came back to India.

  Some of the flats in a particular tower would be blocked from sale. After the clients shifted to their new homes, the blocked ones would be opened up for sale, and this time to members of the minority community. The new owners (not coincidentally), would have a particular profile in common. They were highly conservative and aggressive about their religion, while disparaging other faiths. Quick to quarrel and hostile in nature, they would create unnecessary unrest in the residential complex, compelling most Hindu residents to move out after disposing off their flats in distress sales. With the rates thus slumping, new buyers would emerge — all from the minority community again. The old owners could not choose their buyers thanks to pressure from local Muslim clerics and a slew of unwanted characters. Danish took a cut from all such deals; after all, he had given these buyers homes at rock-bottom prices. The Hindu home buyers realised they had been duped by Danish but could do nothing about it.

  Danish was part of an expansive network of fake currency printing and circulation that he knew was too vast and complex than he would ever understand. In collaboration with a few others, he organised printing of fake notes at Nashik, several hundred kilometres away from his base in Kerala. He was also involved in the distribution of the counterfeit notes to several outlets in his home state. The beneficiaries were radical outfits involved in aggressively spreading Islam. They were mostly student unions, supposed social activists and various banned organisations that continued to function under assumed names. One of them had been involved in brutally chopping off the hands of a college professor who had included a question on Prophet Mohammad in an examination paper. In the past, this group had faced allegations of having contacts with Islamist organisations, kidnapping, intimidation, possession of arms and even forcible conversion of young Hindu women to Islam.

  Another such group had organised a series of lectures by a hate preacher who specialised in provoking Muslims against Hindus. When the issue turned too hot to ignore, he was advised to flee the country and conduct his activities from elsewhere. The preacher, always dressed in a suit and tie, with his signature flowing beard and skull cap, promptly relocated to a Muslim-majority country and continued to direct his venom from there. When he created problems there too and demands rose to expel him, he promptly pulled some strings using Islam as a common factor and managed to get temporary citizenship.

  These organisations thrived because earlier governments in Kerala had refused to act against them, fearing a backlash from the minority community members and therefore a loss of their vote bank. But when things turned too ugly to be brushed aside, they initiated a half-hearted crackdown. A good number of politicians from the state, whether from the left or the centre, had direct or covert links with the controversial groups.

  These radical organisations bought fake notes at half their value and then used them to finance their activities, including the real estate businesses. The notes were printed at Nashik – that has the Currency Notes Press where official Indian currency is printed - to lend the fake notes a touch of genuineness. Danish had invested in a currency printing press in Nashik, replete with reams of printing paper, special ink, laptops, scanners, luminous pens, the works. Several counterfeit notes across the country had been detected by government agencies because they were poor replicas and easily identifiable. He did not want to take chances and procured the best equipment he could, to print notes that copied all the security features of genuine notes rather well. A good part of the money that he had received through bookings in his real estate projects was directed into the fake currency project.

  CHAPTER 10.

  The Rise and rise of Dalda

  By all accounts, Dalpat Dalvi was a successful politician. He made his way to the Lok Sabha (the lower house of the Indian parliament), after a resounding win in the last elections. He came to parliament sessions regularly, having a 90% attendance rate. He frequently had questions listed in his name, some starred and others un-starred, which dealt with pressing issues of his constituency. He participated in debates and discussions on matters of national importance, including internal security and foreign policy. Although not part of the government, he was seen as an ally, leading a regional party. Dalpat was an excellent orator. But he had other less than admirable qualities too. He was considered a slippery character — his friends and critics called him Dalda behind his back. In matters of manipulation, he matched Finance Minister Maida Damodaran, though he could not always come up trumps.

  Before entering politics a decade ago, Dalda had studied Theology, acquiring a master’s degree in the subject. Interestingly, his specialization was Islamic Theology, which made him a poster boy of the secularists. His next step was a complete surprise when he set up an incense-stick manufacturing unit. Over time, the venture started to do well, and he went on to employ 400 people; there were a thousand others who gained indirect jobs by marketing and selling the incense-sticks. His employees were beholden to him since he paid them well and even extended his generosity to thei
r health and children’s education needs.

  As his business progressed, Dalda established the Jijabai Dalvi Public Trust, named after his late mother, which managed a string of hospitals and NGOs that he had floated. The hospitals offered subsidised medical care to the poor and the NGOs supported causes like the education of the girl child and environment protection. It was only a matter of time before influential local politicians began to court him, thus helping him acquire a higher profile. He helped politicians with money and used his goodwill to attract votes for them. But there is no such thing as a free lunch. Dalda asked for and got in return a slew of policies that would help his business grow substantially and work against his competitors.

  He had helped enough number of politicians. Being an insider would help his business a lot more, he decided and plunged into politics himself. Joining one of the existing major parties was out of question; he would be lost as an insignificant player. He had the money and the influence to start a party of his own. The Jana Shakti Party (JSP) was thus born and Dalda became its founding president. As he had expected, there was no dearth of people who wished to join him, thanks to his many philanthropic undertakings. For local leadership levels, he chose the candidates with care, ensuring that they had a standing in society and were in touch with people at the grassroots. The JSP did not subscribe to any particular political ideology — anything that benefitted the party and its president was good enough. The flexibility also brought the freedom to hobnob with leaders from various parties. He was known to offer support at crucial moments to the one who seemed closest to assuming power.

  The turning point came when Dalda contested the parliamentary elections. By then, he had a well-networked organisation at the regional level and could effortlessly convert his appeal into votes. Two other factors worked to his advantage. The first was that Dalda’s principal opponent was too much of a gentleman, who refused to raise populist issues and indulge in personal attacks during the poll campaign. Consequently, his campaign lacked punch and public appeal. The second factor was Dalda’s reach equally among the two major Islamic denominations; one loved him for being an authority on Islamic Theology and the other liked him because he had given gainful employment to many members of their community. Not surprisingly, the JSP chief won by a thumping majority.

  This, then, was his public profile that he flaunted with no hidden pride. But there was another side to Dalda Dalvi that nobody knew, except his closest inner circle. He was the kingpin of one of the largest illicit drug trade networks in the country, which spread from Gujarat to Arunachal Pradesh and Punjab to Kerala. Dalda’s initiation into the drug trade came about within a couple of years of the boom in his incense-sticks business. At the age of 40, he was still young enough to be rash and exceedingly greedy. He had learned a great deal of manipulation as a businessman and sharpened those skills as a politician.

  A favourite manager of his (favourite because he had successfully negotiated a deal with an income tax officer resulting in tax saving of Rs.2 crores) had suggested the idea. The manager was a well-read man. He explained to his boss that India had emerged as one of the major hubs in Asia for a variety of drugs — from the old and tested cannabis to newer ones like methamphetamine. According to a report from an international firm, India was now part of an internet drug club alongside other south Asian nations that traded crypto currencies. Nearly a thousand drug listings from India had been published across several crypto-market platforms, and they dealt with not just opiates like heroin but also more potent ones like acetic anhydride. Often enough, new addictive drugs were being discovered and fed into the ever-expanding market not just across Asia but elsewhere too. The international organisation’s report also pointed out that India, Australia, France and Turkey together accounted for over 80% of the global production of morphine-rich opiate raw material. Although various nations including India had got together to fight the menace, the tentacles of the drug trade were too widespread and complex to be unraveled.

  Dalda resisted the idea for long. A foot into the drug business made perfect business sense but he was wary, not in the least because of any moral scruples. Dalda had none. The reluctance came from the fact that this wasn’t a line he was fully at grips with. And he wasn’t certain about investing his high risk-earned money into it. Besides, if the racket was busted, it would mean the end of his public life. The manager rattled off names of a dozen big-time operators — respected people in the public domain — who were part of the trade and none the worse for it. If they could do it, why not he? There were too many tiers in the business for anyone to ever reach the big guys. At worst, a few ground-level handlers usually got caught.

  Dalda was eventually convinced, though his initial investment would only be Rs.5 crores. It was a small sum but just about enough for him to get started. Having treaded the first few steps, Dalda now began to spread his wings. The deeper he went, the more he understood the enormous potential the drug trade held. According to some estimates, India used (abused) 36 tonnes of heroin each year. With the value for a kilogram being in the range of Rs.1 crore, the total market in India worked out to a whopping Rs.36,000 crores.

  While Punjab and the North-East were hotbeds of the drug business and Dalda had enough presence there, he was looking to expand business in the south. Kerala was an ideal choice. Unlike the North-East and Punjab, Kerala was still under-saturated with good potential for trade. The second advantage was that the state had been witnessing the rise of Islamic militancy, the activities of which needed funds that the drug business could supply. And the third was the established presence of fake note networks, which again could supplement the drugs trade. With these considerations in mind, Dalda - although based in the outskirts of Mumbai — set about creating his business in Kerala. Years of hard work ensured that he owned a profitable illicit drug trade in the state, among the most successful in all of India. Soon enough, his seed capital of Rs.5 crores had grown into a drug cartel worth several thousand crore rupees.

  Kerala, by now, had come to be referred as the country’s drug capital. It was now second only to Punjab in the number of cases registered under the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (NDPS) Act, and also in the number of arrests made. While these figures demonstrated the rapid pace of business in the state, it also showed that anti-drug agencies, despite the fetters placed on them by state and central governments, had managed to inconvenience the illicit business. Dalda was secure, though, as his manager had assured him, because only the small-time handlers had been caught, who knew nothing about the big names behind the racket. However, while ganja and hashish were the primary substances seized, the ones with greater demand and profitability — heroin, ecstasy etc. — which Dalda was pushing in the state, had so far remained largely untouched. By the time he entered full time politics, his drugs business was firmly rooted in Kerala, with a steady cash flow that ran into millions of rupees each day.

  The drugs menace in Kerala was also prompting voices of concern with the state legislative assembly, parliament, the media and social activists. In parliament, Dalda was among the most vocal in condemning the business and castigating government agencies for failing to tackle the issue. He demanded to know what measures the governments planned to take; he said, helpfully, that the government could explain the measures in private so that the people who are to be targeted do not get advance notice. The central government saw sense in his reasoning and acquiesced. Equipped with the advance information, Dalda fine-tuned his drug business strategies to his advantage, always staying one step ahead of the law.

  But the most wonderful irony was that one of the many NGOs managed by Dalda’s trust worked for the rehabilitation of people addicted to substance abuse. Hundreds of men (and a few women as well) took refuge in the NGO’s addiction rehabilitation centre every month. As a result of the commendatory work it was doing, the government had opened its purse strings to the NGO. Dalda was careful not to misappropriate those funds, as he didn’t want the Home
Ministry — and especially the Finance Ministry headed by Maida Damodaran — to come after him.

  After all, his entire business empire was erected for the express purpose of someday having enough financial clout to take on the mighty Maida.

  CHAPTER 11.

  A love story that always had a tragic end

  Haji Pir Mohammad read the news item spread across five columns on the front page of an Urdu daily, carefully folded the paper and kept it away. He was deeply satisfied. The Supreme Court had granted relief to a woman who had converted to Islam and married a Muslim youth in Kerala. The allegation was that she had been forcibly converted and the Kerala High Court had annulled the marriage. While setting aside that ruling, the apex court had said that the girl was an adult and free to convert and marry according to her free will. It also found no material to substantiate the accusation of what came to be called as Love Jihad.

  Pir Mohammad had played a major role in the affair, ensuring that the conversion-cum marriage was watertight legally, with the insidious design deftly hidden. He was the local cleric who guided his Muslim brethren on a variety of matters. He issued fatwas on how to dress, what to eat, how to perform sex, how to treat women, and even how to belch and fart — all supposedly in keeping with Islamic practices. He was also possessed with a missionary zeal to increase the numerical strength of his community, through procreation and conversion. He dreamt of an Islamic caliphate of sorts, if not in India, at least in parts of Kerala that had a sizeable Muslim population. The influence of communal Islamist outfits was fairly strong in towns like Malappuram, where this incident had taken place.