The Nidhi Kapoor Story Page 15
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Meanwhile, Prakash and Rujuta were attending a post-wedding reception of a young constable. It had been a hectic week since they first visited Ronak. Prakash had pushed his team hard to do the grunt work of collecting leads and rounding up their network of informers. After the fire, he was especially hard on his team. Thus, everyone was looking forward to the break. Prakash was the senior-most officer of his station and he had to attend the wedding and bless the couple. Rujuta consented because she thought she could get some photographs of the policemen when they are off-duty.
The party was being held at a community maidan near Sawantwadi near JVLR. Prakash was running late and while he was rushing in, the rhythmic dance of the decorative lights caught his attention. He turned left to look at it and did not stop walking. He bumped headfirst into a pillar. He stumbled and caught himself just in time to prevent a fall. Rujuta was standing there and laughed out loud at the awkward little dance that Prakash did as he tried to balance himself.
For the wedding, Rujuta had draped a blue and green traditional Kasta Saree. She tied her hair in a tight bun and ran a string of flowers through it. Though the nine-yard saree required perfect technique and practice to wear and demanded a certain grace to carry, Rujuta had aced it. Along with the saree, she had put a traditional red bindi and accessorized herself with necklace, earrings, bangles and a kamarpatta, a loose belt around the waist. Prakash was mesmerized at the elegance with which Rujuta conducted herself in the saree.
Tambe led a small welcoming party that was waiting for Prakash. When they saw him fumble, there were gasps followed by chuckles. Prakash scratched his temple, smiled embarrassingly and went ahead to meet them. After accepting greetings of those present, when Prakash turned around to steal another glance at Rujuta, she was nowhere to be seen.
Prakash was not left alone for even a single minute that night. Since he was the highest-ranking officer at the wedding, he was treated like a celebrity. He was continually accosted by his juniors, newlyweds’ relatives, curious onlookers and nosy neighbors. He did not appreciate the attention but a wedding was no place to show his displeasure. It was, after all, someone else’s special day.
Despite getting mobbed for every minute that he was at the reception, his eyes kept searching for Rujuta. Every time he’d catch her shadow, her reflection, he could feel a yellow glow engulf him. And every time she moved out of his line of sight, he’d bask in the afterglow. When the glow would ebb, he would go back to his search for Rujuta. The cat and mouse game between Prakash’s gaze and Rujuta’s presence continued for some time. When he saw Rujuta being dragged into dance by some women, Prakash did not know if he was happy with it or sad. He was not possessive, yet he did not like the idea of her dancing with others. He couldn’t dance to save his life and yet he wanted to see her dance.
He smiled at his indecision and shrugged. He moved his attention to a corner where large blinding lights illuminated the otherwise dark corner to reveal a small raised platform. On it, bathed in the light was Rujuta, standing in the middle of a circle made by other women. As if it were a well-orchestrated plan, the loudspeakers started blaring loud Lavani music and the women started swaying on the stage. Before Prakash could react, a strong wave swept him towards the stage. It was a group of his colleagues who had literally carried him onto the stage. The wave collided with the stage and broke into a mass of drunken men. Bodies were jammed tightly on the cramped stage and everyone seemed to have found their partner for the dance. Prakash looked around hoping to get a cue for the next move. When he could not spot an outlet, he moved towards the edge of the stage and he was suddenly face to face with Rujuta. Their eyes met and he was transfixed in the kohl-smeared eyes of Rujuta.
Rujuta took a step in his direction. She held his hand and guided it to her slender waist. Prakash placed it gingerly at first. He felt the soft, consistent curves on her waist, moist with humidity and sweat. His grip was awkward for a bit and eventually natural instincts took over. Without realizing, his rough palms found a crest to hold onto Rujuta. Rujuta slowly raised her arms over her head. Her smell intoxicated Prakash further. She was wearing Chanel Chance. Prakash could also make out distinct whiffs of clove and Jasmine flowers.
Rujuta closed her eyes and started to dance with Prakash. He held onto her waist and as music built up to a crescendo, the moves became more exaggerated. It became difficult for Prakash to retain his hold over her. He struggled to find his grip and ended up pressing her harder and bringing her closer. So close that he could notice the freckles on her young face. He could see that Rujuta was not wearing any makeup. She did not have to. He could see the part on her forehead where her wheatish skin ended and black matt hair started to take roots. He could see the shape of her ears, the cavities in her ear and the two ear studs that Rujuta wore in each ear. One was sapphire and other was diamond. The studs glittered in the light and illuminated Prakash with their radiance.
Rujuta brought her hands down over Prakash’s bald head slowly and rested behind his neck. She could feel his harsh skin and the goosebumps that were just cropping up. She nudged her body close to his and she could feel his thigh muscles crush hers. She then tiptoed on her feet, stretched herself and brought her lips close to his. Before she could move any further, Prakash buried his face in Rujuta’s.
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Next day, Cushman and Wakefield, a leading real estate brokerage, released an advertisement in leading dailies. The advertisement said that an iconic house owned by one of the influential families of Bollywood was up for an urgent sale, available only to connoisseurs and genuine buyers.
They were immediately flooded with requests for details. After initial screening and extensive background research, Ronak was finally sold to an individual who chose not to reveal his identity. He merely issued a statement that he belonged to the film industry as well and he was buying because he could not see such an icon inhabited by some politician or a businessman. The deal was eventually closed in less than two days.
As if someone had known about the upcoming sale and was waiting for it to happen.
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Payal shared the development with Nishant. “Papa, you heard about Ronak?”
He put up a brave front at first. “Yes. Who got it?” He was merely interested in a name. To him, money did not matter. He had enough to live happily for next seven lives.
“We don’t know as yet. We have till the end of the year to stay here and I don’t think the buyer is moving in before that.”
Nishant nodded and said prophetically, “If we are here till end of the year.”
With that, he started laughing. These bouts of laughter had become very common lately. Whenever Nishant said something serious, it was dismissed as a frivolous rant and whenever he cooked up imaginary things to get Payal to spend time with him, he was taken seriously. In his mind, he was treading a thin line between sanity and insanity. Even he was not sure if he was sane anymore. When it sunk in that they are actually selling Ronak, his will was defeated and he wanted to drop the idea of getting back at the world. Now he just wanted to live happily with Payal. And maybe Preeti. At Ronak. If only he could save Ronak. And if he could bring Preeti back from wherever she had gone.
Payal meanwhile was trying to get back his attention. “Papa, Papa? I have to go…”
Nishant realized that he was dreaming yet again. When he saw Payal, he was glad to have her around. He looked at her, smiled affectionately and nodded.
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Rujuta slapped the paper on Prakash’s desk. “Did you see this? They sold Ronak. In just two days. What the fuck is going on? Did they take that CD so seriously? They didn’t even consult us before they sold it. I don’t like this at all, Prakash.”
Prakash nodded. “I know. I have asked my informers in the real estate industry to investigate everyone who has shown any fleeting interest in Ronak in last ten years. It could be a builder. Ronak is located at a prime residential space in the city af
ter all. What if the entire thing is an elaborate plot to drive the Kapoors out of Ronak? Plus, thankfully, the papers still haven’t made the connections between the fire and the sale. I am not sure how long will it take for them to break it.”
Prakash had an envious network of informers and spies. Most of these spies had grown through the ranks and stature along with Prakash. Some contacts were passed onto him when he came to Mumbai and he had just cemented the relationship. The others, he had handpicked and invested time and money in grooming them.
“OK. Please let me know. I’d try to pick Payal and Naveen Verma’s brain about it,” Rujuta said.
Rujuta had used the last two days to bring Prakash up to speed about her interviews with Vicky Taluja and Payal and her investigation into the background of the Kapoors. After her meeting with Payal, she had spoken to Naveen Verma about the letter that Nishant had received. She had made a neat report that also included a summary of her other meetings with older film stars to understand the complicated relationship between Nishant and Neelima.
The case seemed to be taking shape. They were nowhere close to a suspect or a motive but they sensed that something was terribly wrong at the Kapoors. They reckoned that with Ronak gone, the threats and coercions would probably stop.
However, they couldn’t be more wrong. They could not imagine what was to follow in the next few days. Something that would alter lives forever. Not just of the Kapoors, but of Prakash and Rujuta as well.
Book 4. Kaam
Kaam∗ is “…deep extensive desire, uncontrolled longing, concupiscence, sensuality or lasciviousness.”
∗ Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kam
17. Day 9, Afternoon. Moksha.
Not long after Neelima died in a fire, Nishant Kapoor was found comatose at Ronak. He had mixed drugs, alcohol and anti-depressants in proportions that should’ve ensured that he wouldn’t survive the concoction. But he had outlived, outperformed and outsmarted his opponents and detractors for so long. A cocktail of drugs and pills was not going to kill him. He wasn’t that easy.
Nishant was depressed for a while. First Preeti, his latest muse, was found missing and now his wife, the other thread that bound his chaotic life together, was gone. He claimed that someone was trying to kill him and destroy his reputation. There was no evidence of any wrongdoing, however. Of course, a large part of the film industry did secretly loathe him and was jealous of his success. Sabotages were not uncommon, but murders were unheard of.
Doctors diagnosed that he was suffering from an early stage of Schizophrenia.
His drug and alcohol problem was known to most of his acquaintances. But no one knew what ticked him into taking drugs in such quantity that night. He had come back tired from a shoot. His usual idea of unwinding was furious sexual activity with whoever was available, for he always had options. It was easy to pick an extra or a passionate fan. He, however, had a special thing for the backup dancers. Most of these women were full at the bosom, wide at hips and yet slender at their waist. Plus they were full of vigorous energy that they developed over long practice sessions of Bollywood dance moves. Because of his age and rampant substance abuse, he wasn’t really a performer in bed but then women who chose to sleep with him did not do it for pleasure. They were merely using Nishant Kapoor as a ladder, hoping to advance their careers.
Shankar reported that on the night of the accident, he saw one such anonymous dancer leave a few minutes after midnight and then he had locked the main doors.
Nishant Kapoor had stuttered out of his bedroom - it was located on the first floor - a few hours later, tumbled down the winding staircase and had landed on his head. Payal was the first to spot him and found him lying in a pool of blood and vomit at the bottom of the giant staircase. Her loud shrieks woke up everyone and Nidhi came to the rescue. By the time Shankar and Malti reached, Nidhi was already working with Nishant, trying to keep him awake. Before the medical attention could be summoned, a lot of drugs had entered his system and a lot of blood was out of it.
Payal cried throughout the ordeal and kept crying like a child. Nidhi, on the other hand, was calm and took it up like a dirty task that she needed to get over with. Nishant, although half-dead, figured which of his two daughters was being helpful. He thus ignored Payal and tried to talk to Nidhi. His instructions came out as faint mumbles. Nidhi somehow managed to decode those, forced her slender fingers down his throat and made him puke out the toxins that had entered his stomach. She commanded Shankar to fetch some saline water and iodine. Neelima, if alive, would’ve been worried about Nishant, but a large part of her would’ve been happy at the togetherness of their dysfunctional family. Apart from that one night when Nishant Kapoor almost died, the Kapoors hadn’t been closer as a family, ever.
As a result of the fall, Nishant had injured his head, face, ribs and spine. That night, he should’ve died. If not from drugs, then from the fall. But he knew how to cheat death. The dashing jawline was reduced to a mass of crushed bones and torn flesh. It took him six months before he could chew on his food. His first thoughts, when he gained consciousness after a few weeks, were about his looks. He could not eat properly and yet he wanted a plastic surgery done to remove any blemishes that the accident may have left on his face. When he was finally told that his body was paralyzed from the waist down, he merely smiled at the doctor. The doctor found it odd that he was smiling at his misfortune; he wasn’t going to walk again. They didn’t understand that Nishant was happy to have defeated death yet again.
Nishant showed a great amount of restraint during the treatment. He had a high tolerance for pain and he took the injections in his spine with an aloof grin plastered on his face. He was rational and he knew what was happening around him. He responded to questions, kept track of news and gossip from the industry. Yet, he did not for a minute stop talking about someone trying to kill him. He blamed everyone and anyone that he had known. Starting with his father, his list of suspects included his wife, Nidhi, his brother-in-law, his drivers, his security guards, his friends in the industry and the underworld. One time he even pointed at Payal.
Much to Payal and Nidhi’s disdain, the doctors reported that Nishant was moving fast towards an advanced stage of Schizophrenia and recommended him to a psychiatric facility that was sort of an early retirement home for similar, invalid celebrities, have-beens and old businessmen. It was a luxurious jail where they were free to do whatever they wanted to and yet their actions, even their thoughts, were monitored. Depending on how one looked at it, it could be called a retirement home, or a psychiatric facility, or an ashram, or a clinic, or an Orwellian jail.
Nishant protested when he was told about the decision to send him to Moksha for treatment. But by this time, his accusations about an unknown assailant trying to get him had reached intolerable levels. For the first time in his life, his opinions did not matter anymore. Nidhi vehemently opposed the decision to send Nishant away but after Payal coerced her with her tears, they decided to move him.
Appropriate bribes were made to the right police officers to keep the drug abuse bit out of the first information report. Friendships with reporters were dug out and a hasty press release was made to the effect that Nishant was retiring due to his health. To keep attention away from Nishant, at the same time, Nidhi announced her Bollywood debut with R K Cinefilms, the most famous production banner of the time. R K Cinefilms was controlled by Rajesh Kishnani, an old hand in the business. An unknown financier agreed to finance a large chunk of Nidhi’s first movie. Apart from Nidhi and Verma, nobody knew that the rookie financier was a front for Naveen Verma himself.
The entire episode of drug abuse would have been a scandal of magnanimous proportions and could have tarnished Nishant’s dearer-than-life reputation, but it was handled really well. Nidhi rose to the occasion and weathered the Kapoor clan through the storm.
The facility recommended for Nishant was tucked away on a hillock near Panchgani, some 200 KMs away from Mumbai. The clinic was
started as an ashram of sorts by a spiritual guru who claimed that he could help cure a variety of ailments that are often the side effects of money and power, namely, substance abuse and depression. Obviously, these cures and healing came at a fat fee. Over the years, the ashram had evolved into a second home for the discarded rich where they could hide away from the scrutiny of media and society. These were the kinfolks who couldn’t be kept at home or couldn’t be sent to asylums. Both options amounted to sacrilege that could cause embarrassment to their respective families. Thus this clinic, aptly titled Moksha, the union with the eternal, did a flourishing business.
The clinic was far from maddening crowds of Bombay, was very discreet with its operations and was very careful in selection of patients that it admitted. Most of these patients were influential and charismatic in their former lives. And hence the doctors, nurses, attendants were trained to not get influenced or awed by the fame or notoriety of the inmates.
Once inside, the patients were hidden from public eyes and were as good as forgotten. Lore had it that it was like a one way street. Once you went in, you never came out. More dirty linen was stowed at that small hillock than one could find in deep folds of tabloid offices.
At Moksha, Nishant Kapoor did live in comfort and enjoyed his share of attention. What if the ones showering attention on him were older attendants? He could not move around freely because of his paralysis, but his mind remained active with memories of his glorious past and remained obsessed with vivid imagination of an unknown assailant trying to get to him. He often made allegations but no one took him seriously.
He then pinned his hopes on his daughters. But Nidhi was now busy with her fledgling career and could not take out time to travel to Panchgani and meet her father. Payal was sympathetic for the first few weeks, but lately even she had started to ignore his rants. They are right when they say that the strength of a relationship is not tested by adversity but by the biggest enemy of mankind. Time.