' "Yeah. Put me down for ten thousand on India losing," said Ahmed.
I was astounded when I heard Ahmed place this bet, because India was in the lead. But Ahmed obviously knew more than the bookie, because by the end of play England had won the match, English flags were fluttering all over Lord's cricket ground, and Ahmed was punching his fists in the air and exulting, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" He called up his bookie again. "Kyun Sharad bhai, wasn't I right? How much have I cleaned up? Eighty thousand? Ha! Not a bad profit for a few hours' work!"
'Ahmed went out and got a bottle full of frothy liquid, and that evening I had my first sip of champagne.
'Ahmed's second interest in life was watching Mumbai Crime Watch. Have you ever seen it?'
I shake my head. 'No, it wasn't on the TV in Delhi.'
'Well, it is a very boring programme. It is like a news bulletin, except they don't tell you about floods and riots and war and politics. They tell you only about violent crime. Who has been murdered, who has been raped, which bank has been looted, who has escaped from jail, that kind of thing.
'Ahmed would sit in front of the TV with a plate of seekh kebabs and laugh loudly whenever he heard the bulletin on Mumbai Crime Watch. For some reason, he found it very amusing.
'From time to time, Ahmed would receive large yellow envelopes by courier. I had strict instructions not to touch his mail and to leave it on the dining table for him. One afternoon, a large yellow envelope was brought by the delivery boy just when I was having tea. By mistake I spilt tea on the envelope and went into a panic. I knew if Ahmed saw that I had spoilt his packet he would be angry. It might contain valuable commercial documents which could have been damaged. So I sat down and carefully prised open the gummed flap. I inserted my fingers and pulled out the documents . . . and whistled in surprise.'
'Why? What was there?'
'Nothing much. The packet contained just one glossy eight-by-six colour photograph of a man's face and half a sheet of neatly typed details. Even I could read that much. It said:
Name: Vithalbhai Ghorpade.
Age: 56.
Address: 73/4 Marve Road, Malad.
'That was all.
'I presumed these were the details of some businessman Ahmed had dealings with, and didn't think too much about it. I carefully resealed the flap and put the envelope on the dining table. In the evening, Ahmed came home and opened the envelope. He received a phone call shortly afterwards. "Yes, I have received the packet," is all he said.
'Almost two weeks later, Ahmed was sitting in front of the TV, watching Mumbai Crime Watch.
I was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, but I could hear the presenter speaking. ". . . In yet another gruesome incident in Malad, police are looking for clues to the murder of a prominent businessman named Vithalbhai Ghorpade, who was found murdered in his house on Marve Road." The name rang a bell. I glanced at the TV and almost cut my finger, because on screen was the same photograph that had been in the yellow envelope. The presenter continued, "Mr Ghorpade, who was fifty-six, was shot dead at point-blank range while he was alone in the house. He is survived by his wife and son. According to Malad police, robbery appears to have been the main motive as the house was ransacked and many valuables were missing."
'I noticed Ahmed laughing when he heard this. This, too, surprised me. Why should Ahmed laugh over the death of a business associate?
'A month later, there was another yellow envelope. Ahmed was out and I could not resist taking a peek at its contents. This time I steamed it open, so that no marks were left. I opened the flap and pulled out yet another glossy photograph. This one showed the face of a young man with a thick moustache and a long scar running from his left eye to the base of his nose. The typed sheet of paper said:
Name: Jameel Kidwai.
Age: 28.
Address: 35 Shilajit Apartments, Colaba.
'I memorized the name and put the photo back.
'Ahmed came home that evening and looked at the envelope. There was a phone call, as before, and he confirmed receipt of the packet. Exactly a week later, I heard the news on Crime Watch that a young lawyer called Jameel Kidwai had been shot dead while getting out of his car near his residence in Shilajit Apartments. The presenter said, "Police suspect a gangland motive in this killing, as Mr Kidwai had represented several mafia dons in court. An investigation has been launched, but there are no clues at present." Ahmed, sitting with a glass of whisky, guffawed when he heard this.
