Desi Train

Soft Wear Biryani is a salute to the works of David Mamet and Guy Richie (atleast his pre Madonna creations). It can also serve as a Lesson 101 for Mr. Kaizad Gustad of Boom.

Chapter One : A Spicy Life is never short of troubles

Life is cool. Warm. Nice. Luxurious. And overflowing with hot chicks. Hot Thai chicks. Two of them were massaging his massive 200 pound body. He lay on the golden beach under the Phuket sun . With a speedo and Ray ban being the only things that covered him, he lay on the towel getting the massage.

The Thai girls poured suntan lotion all over him. He had no idea what it was. If he did, he would have slapped them for their stupidity. A dark charcoal black Madurai skin had no need for suntan. Chicken Tikka Masala did not need a Vanilla Ice cream as a topping.

Mercifully his ignorance saved the Thai cuties. They continued their fingertip massage.

Life was good. Life was sexy. Life was overflowing with Power, Money and Women.

Six men stood a few feet away from him. A few were dressed in complete white. And some in those swanky Hawaiian shirts and cotton grey shorts to reveal their breadstick legs. All of them wore cheap leather sandals and expensive shades. A few were on their cell phones shooting instructions while the rest were casually shifting their weights from one leg to the other talking to the man on the towel. There was a marked respect in the way they spoke to him and there was clear arrogance when the man on the towel spoke back…

“Chutiya doing chutiyagiri… meaning going into his ass my bullet”

Obviously the man on the towel had his own version of English, that he, one day, presumed, would be adopted by the world… or atleast that part of the world he ruled over.

Iqbal Sutli. No one knows what name they gave him when he was born. But everyone knew what name the cops gave him when they first apprehended Sutli after a bank robbery 10 years ago. Inspite of the highly advanced torture method tactics employed by Hawaldars Ganpat and Sampat the guy refused to open his mouth. They named him Iqbal Sutli. And Iqbal Sutli it was.

Pundit Fundu Sharma would have told you that the numbers calculated from the name meant, in the world of numerology, that success would kiss Sutli’s feet. The name change meant his career would go flying sky high.

It did. From being a mere entrant to becoming the CEO of the Mafia kingdom in West and South India, in a mere 10 years was no easy achievement. But there is always an equal and opposite reaction to the action of progress. When the local politicians and cops found it too hard to keep Sutli out of the jail cells, Sutli whisked away to Dubai.

The Maharaja of Mafia now ruled the underworld from a place a few thousand miles away from the point of actual operations. Decentralization was his new mantra.

With his two brothers Pappu Hatela and Donga Sadela, he ruled and prospered. And business was good. It was spreading from India to Malaysia, Indonesia and Thailand in Asia, most of Africa, and even South America.

Life was good. Life was sexy. Life was cool.

“Coke pepsi coke pepsi… ”

“Shh… go no we no coke go…” the ever vigilant Pappu Hatela shooed away the drink vendor…

“Very cool Sir… you liking… ” the vendor looked up in the sky “see so hottie hottie… drinking this feeling coldie coldie”

“No no no… you going going… or me your maroing maroing”

The vendor was confused “Maroing not selling only Coke pepsi”

Pappu slapped his head “Aray… how to explaining… Raju you talky talky”

Raj stepped forward towards the vendor and with a slight push he had strongly signaled the vendor to leave.

“Ahhh… Englisss… we cannot talk. You chutiya cannot talk… be still talking we do… ” Sutli smiled.

“Bhai coming time to learn English… when we go back we all hiring teacher English. Ah white chappan churi… sexy” It wasn’t hidden from anyone what kind of women Donga Sadela was into.

“Haha!!! always talking about white girl.” Sutli changed his funny tone to an intense harsh one “Happening what to the Mexican case?”

“Coke Pepsi Coke Pepsi Coke Pepsi… cold Sirs have cold” the drinks vendor was now with three more vendors all selling chilled drinks

“Aray what Coke Pepsi ” Pappu was irritated “Do you have beer?”

“Oh yes yes… American beer?”

“Bhai what you wanting?” Pappu looked at Sutli

“Get a beer”

The six guys broke their standing around Sutli stance and welcomed the break. They started walking towards the four drinks vendors.

Every living mafia king survives the bullet because of his sixth sense and the sharp skill to run away from shots aimed at him.

The vendors opened their metal trunks and pulled out automatic weapons. Raju Pujari’s bad luck was really bad that day. The assassins pointed their guns at him for the first shot.

The first round of firing had Hatela and Sadela freezing in their walk towards the drink vendors. For a moment their brains stopped functioning. The only feeling flowing up and down their body was… fear… of death.

Sutli took the Thai girl on his right and pulled her over him while desperately looking for the gun below his towel.

The vendors aimed their guns at the rest of the guys. There was going to be a blood bath on the beach.

Sutli found his gun. And blindly shot in direction of the vendors. Not today. He wasn’t going to die today.

 

. . . . . .

 

BANG.

The four people in the small conference room jerked towards the direction of the bang.

Desai, their network engineer rushed in.

“The old server crashed”

“What do you mean, it crashed? I personally took care of it last night” It was Arvind Swamy one of the partners of Software Biryani Limited. Three years ago he had flown back to Madras from the United States. There were dreams that he was excited to work on. There was passion, there was energy, and there was an exciting focus. There were goals to work on and aims to target for.

Three years later, Swamy wished he had never come back. There had been nothing but failures in the company he had started along with his two closest and dear friends Sridhar Krishnan and Meera Menon, both of whom had been brainwashed by Swamy over countless rounds of draught beer at Dave & Busters in Palo Alto, the declining software capital of the world.

Under the influence of it-gives-you-stomach-problems draught beer, Swamy’s motivated talk about India, the mother land and the easy way to bring their dreams to life - Sridhar and Meera were taken in… Brainwashed… having been injected with the same passion and drive and dream that Swamy possessed. They flew back with him to start their dream company looking to overtake Microsoft in the next 5 years.

Not anymore. Their beginning itself fell flat on its face. Right from the painter who painted the signboard of the company to the now-fired-secretary who ordered the stationary to the now-fired-accountant who registered their company - all of them ended up making one common mistake.

They spelt the trio’s dream company Software Biryani as Soft Wear Biryani.

And so it was done. Instead of receiving calls about programs and applications and anything else they were capable of, the guys in the office spent much time declining calls from Retailers of Clothes and housewives calling for a delivery of 5 plates of Biryani.

But the real cause of their misery came from Steve G. their point of sales contact in California.

Acting as their agent in California, Steve G. clinched good deals for the trio. As a part of their understanding, every deal was invoiced by Soft Wear Biryani Limited to Steve G. Associates LLC. Steve G. would then add his commissions and make new invoices under his name to the clients. Invoice Switching. A quite common process among agents and traders.

The only caveat was that all payments went to Steve. Any inquiry about payments from Soft Wear Biryani would get a standard reply. “The client hasn’t remitted payment to me as yet. As soon as I get the payment I’ll transfer the money to you.”

A year later, after about a million dollar sales of Soft Wear Biryani’s products, Steve G. decided it was time to disappear off the face of the earth. His disappearance was followed by the appearance of multiple problems for Swamy, Sridhar and Meera.

They filed complaints against Steve G. wherever it was possible. Swamy even fly a few times to California. But the bird had flown from the nest. There was no sign of Steve G. The trio never heard from him ever again.

The bankers came in. Their business loans had gone unpaid for more than six months. Praful Patel from T-Maki Bank sat in the conference room completely unfazed and unaffected by the turmoil the trio of SWB were going through. He wanted his money back or he was sending the guys in to take possession of SWB.

Swamy looked at Desai “How could it have crashed. I personally took care of the old server last night”

With his glasses sliding to the center of the nose, the xtra xtra thin, long nosed, oiled hair Desai replied “No no I mean it crashed”

“Yes, that’s what I’m asking - how could it crash?”

“No no I mean it crashed”

“God… Desai, I’m asking the same thing. What caused it to crash”

“Swamy Sir, the wooden rack broke and the server fell down and crashed”

“WHAT! You mean crashed ” Swamy took his right arm pointed to the roof and moved it towards the floor “… as in crashed”

Desai pointed his eyeballs at the ceiling and repeat “Yes Swamy Sir crashed as in …” He directed his eyeballs towards the floor “… as in crashed”

“Crashed?”

“Crashed”

“Completely… ”

“Crashed”

“So it isn’t THAT crash”

“No Sir… it is the other kind of crash. You know like car crash… that crash”

“Desai”

“Yes Sir”

“Get out”

“Thank you Sir”

Meera had her head (correction by FB) in her palms. This was too much to handle.

“Let me take a look” Sridhar got up and followed Desai out of the conference room.

Swamy turned back at Patel who stood there witnessing the entire Desai recital with a cold, emotionless expression.

“… So I was saying… ”

“There is nothing to say Meera-ben. I can’t do anything for you. You have 7 days”

Swamy made a last ditch attempt “Patel saab, listen to us. We are almost close to a great deal with this big client…”

“Client or no client Swamy-jee… its time for us as bankers to recover whatever we can from the investment we made on you. The board no longer believes it is a viable position to keep our money invested in your firm. Sorry.”

He picked his briefcase and walked out.

Meera and Swamy sat in their 24 seater conference room. Silent. This was the very room where they had laid out their first plans. The very room where they gave high fives to everyone on clinching their first deal. The very room where the trio sat and talked about their dreams.

There were no dreams anymore. Just nightmares.

Sridhar walked in and looked at his partners’ silent faces blanketed by depression… He was supposed to be the funny one. The one who got them laughing, kept them in high spirits. But these days, the energy, the spunk, the spiciness he brought to the atmosphere, were all gone.

“So when are they going to shut us down?”

Meera was barely able to open her mouth. The words left her choked throat. It was almost a soft whisper… “Seven days”

Swamy repeated “Seven days”

“I’m going to cry… they are going to take away everything I ever had” Meera broke down…

Sridhar walked towards Meera and lightly patted her back… “Hey hey come on… This isn’t the end. We’ll find something else. We’ll start again…”

“No Sridhar. I just don’t have the courage to start all this again… I’m done”

Swamy didn’t realize he had his eyes turning moist… he let out a sigh…

“Swamy… comeon. Do something?” Sridhar wanted some answers.

“What Sridhar? What can we do?”

“Why don’t we try my Uncle’s suggestion?”

“That is so not going to happen. Do you know what deeper shit we’ll be getting ourselves into?”

“I don’t care… Let’s do it.” Meera had pulled her head up from the table. There was a slight trace of anger in her voice “I want SWB to live on. It is my dream and I’m not going to let any sons of bitches come in and bury my dream”

“Meera… we’ve discussed this many times”

“And each time we have found that it is the only path that can save us, our dreams, our company”

“Swamy, I’ll take Meera’s side on this one. Come on”

Swamy was still hesitant. Approaching Thota Babu for a loan was like entering an extremely hungry tiger’s den. Thota Babu was the biggest loan shark in Hyderabad and rumors were that he was the chief financial intelligence behind underworld don - Bada Bhaajan’s business.

The banks merely sent them red letter notices on late payments. Thota Babu would send muscle men to their office. Each late payment would mean loss of a finger, a tooth, an eye and as per the latest news Swamy had heard - one of the balls. Thota Babu was getting very inventive. Thota Babu could loan them the money in no time to get the bank off their backs, but Arvind Swamy was too much in love… with his balls.

 

. . . . . .

 

BANG… “Is that what you wanted?”

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BANG… “Oh my dear… Take another one”

BANG… “FUCKING BASTARD TAKE THIS”

BANG… “FUCKER….”

“Sir… Sir… He’s gone Sir… He’s dead” The concerned sub inspector made an attempt to have his superior ACP Bohrey get a grip over his anger.

“Pandey”

“Yes Sir”

“Do I look like an idiot to you” Borhey asked. He sat on a makeshift seat - an oil container tin box. Next to him lay the body he was shooting at in a fit of rage.

“No Sir…”

“THEN FUCKING SHUT UP. THIS IS RELEASE THERAPY THAT MY PSYCHIATRIST HAS ADVISED ME TO FOLLOW… ” He lowered his voice and suddenly his rage turned into overtly sweet -

“… to let go Pandey. You and I and everyone should let go of our anger and our frustrations it is that easy… Here… take my gun and with all the anger shoot at this madarchod. Comeon… it is all therapy”

Pandey knew better “NNNN… no sir thank you… seeing your releasing exercise helped me release my anger too”

“Oh no no Pandey don’t be afraid. Comeon”

A drop of sweat trickled down the back of Pandey’s neck “AAA nnn nooo no Sir I’m ok. Thank you very much Sir for your concern about me”

“PANDEY TAKE THE GUN AND SHOOT - THIS IS MY ORDER… Awww damn it you made me angry again”

He looked at the dead body.

“MADARCHOD TAKE THIS”
BANG… BANG… BANG…

“AAAAhhhh…. what a relief”

Bohrey’s cellphone rang. He looked at the caller ID.

“AAAHHH… My wife… my fucking wife. Pandey I’m telling you… you can let go of all feelings but definitely not the one of being an incompetent asshole - the feeling given to you by your wife….” He hit the green button, the anger in his voice was again switched over to his over-the-top sweetness “Hellooooo darling…”

 

. . . . . .

 

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Sridhar noticed it. Swamy noticed it.

They were right. The worried face, the nervous movements, the jittery voice told Sridhar and Swamy that something was very wrong. They had never met Thota Babu before but there was definitely no mistaking that Thota Babu was nervous… perhaps more than nervous… something that a man felt when he saw death staring right in his face.

 

. . . . . .

 

Bombay. 11pm.

His red colored cell phone started buzzing. It was called on, only when there was an emergency. He was still watching the news, while lightly patting the head of his 9 year old daughter who was fast asleep in his lap. His wife had rested her head on his shoulder while watching the news with him… half awake and steadily slipping into deep sleep.

“Hello”

“KP Singh reporting Sir”

“What’s up Singh”

“Sir, Rajan-jee and Naren-jee have just flown in from Delhi. They would like to meet you and CP Saab”

This really was an emergency. Two top RAW chiefs had flown in to Bombay and asked him and his boss - the Director of Police to meet them in person.

“Any info”

“Iqbal Sutli was attacked in Thailand Sir. No news if he is dead or alive”

“Bada Bhaajan did it?”

“Looks like it Sir. Bada Bhaajan gave us the slip 3 hours ago. He was last seen having tea at his Irani restaurant in Bori Bunder. No news since then”

“Hmmm… anything else?”

“Sir I think RAW is here because of a bigger problem”

“Which is?”

“The Mexican Mafia may just have fired the first shot at the underworld here. Seems like we have a war about to explode”

“Thanks KP. Pick me up in 20″

Rahul Chaturvedi gently shook his wife… “I have to go dear… emergency meeting.”

He carried his daughter to her bed and tucked her in. He walked to his bedroom and pulled the sheets over his wife…

“Ummm will you be back for breakfast”

“Yeah… ”

“Liar…”

Rahul smiled and kissed his wife. She put her arms around him and held him tightly for a moment… “Take care and be safe…”

“I will… now get some sleep.”

He walked to the dressing room and took his uniform out. It was going to be a long and intense meeting. And they would be looking to him to plan another strategy to contain this situation. Fucking idiots. Everything revolves around vote banks. Would they have cared if elections weren’t up in six months?

As Rahul was tying his shoes he remembered the chit his wife had tucked in his back pocket. He reached and took it out. It was a memory note to him from his wife “Pay the cable bill today or they will cut cable connection”

Shit. Rahul cussed himself. He forgot… again. He would never forget a face he saw but he always forgot to read his wife’s memo chits. Rahul decided to call his guys at the cable company first thing the next morning, to avoid invoking his wife’s wrath.

 

. . . . . .

 

The sight of a nervous Thota Babu made both Swamy and Sridhar nervous.

Swamy felt uneasy when he called Thota Babu’s cell phone.

“Yes yes… I know your partner’s uncle spoke to me… listen I’m not at my usual place. Can you come to this address…. and do not tell anyone. Come immediately.”

They had reached an apartment in Secuderabad, a city which was across the river from Hyderabad.

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“No” Swamy lied. Meera knew.

“Listen you two are like angels… I… I fear my end is coming if I don’t leave this country soon”

“Aaaa… we can come later when everything is ok” Swamy was ready to run.

“No no… here take this money” It was a 5 foot tall black plastic bag filled with dollars.

“1.5 Million as you wanted”

“Uuuu I thought we would get a draft or check”

“No no no time for that… take it”

“Where do we have to sign”

“No no nothing… this is yours take it… I don’t need it back from you”

The Gods must have gone crazy to give us such a blessing Sridhar decided to take the bag and get out of the house as soon as he could. We should get out with the money before the Gods change their mind

Swamy was questioning “No this can’t be possible. Tell us what you really want from us”

There was a loud screeching sound on the street. Thota Babu jumped in panic and peeked outside the window. An auto rickshaw driver had just crashed into a bicyclist.

“Oh thank God… it’s not them… listen I will give you this money if you do this one job for me… ”

“Which is?”

“Fly to Bombay. Meet this person…” He handed over a business card “Tell him I sent you. Tell him I’m in Hong Kong and ask him to give you the package.”

“What’s in the package?”

“I’m getting there… Take the package and since you are American Citizens… fly to Germany…. and…. ”

Thota Babu was jotting down on a pad, what he was explaining to Swamy and Sridhar. His hands were trembling, his palms were sweaty and he would panic whenever his cell phone rang.

“Is there any danger?” Swamy wasn’t sure.

“No no none at all. You can see… ” He pushed his notepad with all his notes towards them “… this is all legal nothing wrong”

“Then why don’t you get any of your men to do it?” Swamy was skeptical.

“First they will be dead as soon as they land in Bombay. The war has begun. Everyone knows everyone. No one knows you. Secondly it will take time to get visas for me or my men to fly to Europe. You two can fly in 24 hours with your American passports. Thirdly - I don’t trust anyone… take the 1.5 million and keep it… please do the job”

His cell phone rang “Hello?”

He listened. “Ok ok I’m leaving now”

Thota Babu turned towards Sridhar and Swamy “QUICK LEAVE NOW, THEY FOUND WHERE I’M HIDING… TAKE THE BLACK BAG AND LEAVE… GO TO BOMBAY BY TONIGHT’S FLIGHT… I WILL CALL YOU IN 24 HOURS. NOW LEAVE!!!!”

Sridhar and Swamy grabbed the bag and ran. At that point they cared less of the money. The thought of the mafia crashing into Thota Babu’s hideout to gun him down and those with him was a more scary thought than anything else.

They jumped down the stairs and started running on the streets to get as far away from Thota Babu’s apartment.

After about 20 minutes Sridhar slowed down “Wait….wait… Swamy… we should be safe now…”

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” Swamy was still shaking his head “WE WERE JUST HANDED OVER THE ENTIRE MONEY FOR FREE. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON SRIDHAR?”

“How the fuck do I know”

The headlights of a car from behind had them sprinting again. The car passed by them.

“Shit. Let’s take a rickshaw.”

“I don’t have cash Swamy”

“What no cash? You are carrying 1.5 million idiot.”

“Shit. I forgot about that. But will the rickshaw driver accept dollars?”

“His baap will accept it too”

They looked at either side of the road waiting for a rickshaw.

Sridhar finally spoke “Swamy… I just hope we don’t get into trouble while doing Thota Babu’s job”

“I’m not sure Sri… I’m not sure… myself.”

Swamy was nervous. Carrying 1.5 million in a black plastic bag from an apartment to their office 45 miles away was one thing. But carrying 175 million dollars from Bombay to Europe was going to be a different ball game all together.

He finally spoke “We’ll have to do it. All three of us. If Soft Wear Biryani has to survive, we will have to take this risk”

“… Swamy… a thought just occurred to me. Is it worth keeping SWB alive even at the cost of our lives?”

Swamy had no answer. Neither did Sridhar.

Taking turns to carry the 1.5 million dollar bag, Sridhar Krishnan and Arvind Swamy kept walking on towards the sun setting behind the far away hill tops of Hyderabad.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 13th, 2006 at 3:35 pm
Filed under Fiction, Soft Wear Biryani
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