10.2 Vir
I followed ACP Bhandarkar's police car and the accompanying jeep through the streets and bylanes of Bandra. Even at this hour, there was still the usual night-traffic on the streets, and long lines of cars parked outside the young-hangouts like Club IX and Toto's, with valet drivers leaning on them and waiting for their tips after closing.
After the news of Viveka attacking the men at the country liquor bar, I expected that we would drive to Danda. But the police driver turned left at the Ambedkar Road statue, driving uphill towards Union Park instead. As I followed close behind, a BMW came down from Pali Hill and shot past at full speed. Music was pulsing so loudly inside that even through its dark-tinted windows, I could feel the vibration of the bass as it passed me by. I knew that car well. It belonged to film star Sunjay Dutt, no doubt sitting in the front passenger seat, beside the driver, as he always did.
We turned right just before Candy's Snack Bar, into one of the narrow bylanes of Union Park. Past the official residence of the Maharashtra CM, Dev Anand's Ketnav preview theatre, and then the police vehicles slowed as they approached the end of the narrow lane, stopping on the right side behind the police jeep and wireless van that were already parked there.
There was a playschool there that I knew well. Apparently, that was their destination. As I applied the parking brake and got out of my Accord, I saw Bhandarkar and Joshi get out of their car. The ACP quickly barked orders at his junior officer, while another police officer came from the gate of the playschool and saluted him. The wireless radio squawked inside the van, speaking in the code of Mumbai cops. The ACP's back was to me as I approached, but Joshi saw me coming and said something to his boss.
"ACP," I said.
He turned to glance at me with the look of a man who wakes from a deep afternoon sleep and opens his front door only to find a sanitary pad saleswoman standing outside.
"Mr Vatsal," he said softly. "I told you, this is a police operation. You have no business being here."
"You have to let me talk to her," I said earnestly. "I'm her father. There's still a chance she might listen to me. I'm sure I can prevent her from committing more violence."
Joshi had turned away to speak to the other officer and now he turned back, waiting to say something to the ACP again. Bhandarkar glanced at him and I saw a questioning look pass between them. Joshi whispered something quietly in the ACP's ear, too softly for me to catch, and then Bhandarkar's face darkened as he thought for a moment. Finally, to my immense surprise--and relief--he nodded brusquely at me.
"Very well," Bhandarkar replied. "I will give you five minutes to try and talk her into giving herself up. But please remember, we cannot be held responsible for your own safety once you go inside. She has already killed four men and injured three others."
I looked at the converted garage that housed the main building of the little playschool. I knew it well, because my children had gone to this very playschool. Viveka herself had studied there. I couldn't believe that anything bad could happen to me and her in this place.
"She's my daughter," I said to the ACP. "She won't hurt me."
After the news of Viveka attacking the men at the country liquor bar, I expected that we would drive to Danda. But the police driver turned left at the Ambedkar Road statue, driving uphill towards Union Park instead. As I followed close behind, a BMW came down from Pali Hill and shot past at full speed. Music was pulsing so loudly inside that even through its dark-tinted windows, I could feel the vibration of the bass as it passed me by. I knew that car well. It belonged to film star Sunjay Dutt, no doubt sitting in the front passenger seat, beside the driver, as he always did.
We turned right just before Candy's Snack Bar, into one of the narrow bylanes of Union Park. Past the official residence of the Maharashtra CM, Dev Anand's Ketnav preview theatre, and then the police vehicles slowed as they approached the end of the narrow lane, stopping on the right side behind the police jeep and wireless van that were already parked there.
There was a playschool there that I knew well. Apparently, that was their destination. As I applied the parking brake and got out of my Accord, I saw Bhandarkar and Joshi get out of their car. The ACP quickly barked orders at his junior officer, while another police officer came from the gate of the playschool and saluted him. The wireless radio squawked inside the van, speaking in the code of Mumbai cops. The ACP's back was to me as I approached, but Joshi saw me coming and said something to his boss.
"ACP," I said.
He turned to glance at me with the look of a man who wakes from a deep afternoon sleep and opens his front door only to find a sanitary pad saleswoman standing outside.
"Mr Vatsal," he said softly. "I told you, this is a police operation. You have no business being here."
"You have to let me talk to her," I said earnestly. "I'm her father. There's still a chance she might listen to me. I'm sure I can prevent her from committing more violence."
Joshi had turned away to speak to the other officer and now he turned back, waiting to say something to the ACP again. Bhandarkar glanced at him and I saw a questioning look pass between them. Joshi whispered something quietly in the ACP's ear, too softly for me to catch, and then Bhandarkar's face darkened as he thought for a moment. Finally, to my immense surprise--and relief--he nodded brusquely at me.
"Very well," Bhandarkar replied. "I will give you five minutes to try and talk her into giving herself up. But please remember, we cannot be held responsible for your own safety once you go inside. She has already killed four men and injured three others."
I looked at the converted garage that housed the main building of the little playschool. I knew it well, because my children had gone to this very playschool. Viveka herself had studied there. I couldn't believe that anything bad could happen to me and her in this place.
"She's my daughter," I said to the ACP. "She won't hurt me."
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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