Dongri to Dubai by S. Hussain Zaidi

Nandu Satam could pull things off in the farthest coasts of Versova, Vasai, Virar, and even Palghar.
    Mastan was waiting for an opportunity to befriend Varda. What followed was a strange twist of fate: it would seem as though destiny had conspired to get these two men together.
    Varda was arrested for stealing antennae from the customs dock area. The consignment was meant for a top politician in the Union ministry. Initially, customs officers and the cops remained clueless about the mastermind behind the theft. However, a tip-off led them to pick up Varda from his den in Dharavi.
    The captured Varda was told by the police that if he refused to tell them the whereabouts of the consignment they would be forced to unleash the third degree on him, as it was their neck on the line.
    According to this possibly apocryphal story, as Varda was mulling over the threat in the night in the loneliness of the Azad Maidan lockup, he saw an affluent looking man, dressed in a white suit approaching him. The man was smoking a 555 cigarette and exuded a certain calmness. The man walked up to the iron bars, and not a single one of the cops on duty stopped him. Years of smuggling had made several customs officials Mastan’s friends and put them on his payroll; he had assured them that he would retrieve their consignment tactfully and that Varda must not be tortured.
    In the history of the Bombay Mafiosi, Mastan and Varda were the only two Tamilian dons. But ironically, the two were as different as chalk and cheese. While Mastan was known for his suave ways, Varda exuded the aura of a ruthless ruffian. Mastan walked very close to Varda and surprised him by greeting him in Tamil. ‘Vanakkam thalaivar,’ he said.
    Varda was taken aback for a moment—both with the greeting in Tamil and the choice of words. ‘Thalaivar’ is a term of respect used to refer to the ‘chief’. No one had even spoken to Varda in a civil manner ever since he had been dumped in jail. So the irony of the greeting appeared starker. Of course it was being used partly because Mastan was using their common language so the policemen would not understand what they were saying; as he had a business offer for Varda, he could not take the risk of the police smelling an unholy alliance.
    After striking up a conversation and developing a rapport with Varda, Mastan came straight to business, ‘Return the antennae to them and I will ensure that you make a lot more money.’ Varda was stunned. He could never imagine Mastan being the spokesperson for the customs and the police. Belligerent at this apparent presumptuousness, he replied brusquely, ‘What if I say I don’t have it and even if I do I don’t want to part with it?’
    Mastan remained calm and composed as he spoke, ‘If you presume it will be my loss, then you are mistaken. I deal in gold and silver. I don’t touch such low value stuff that you will have to sell in Chor Bazaar. I am making an offer to you which no wise man can refuse. Return the antennae and be my partner in the gold business.’
    Varda was surprised again. Mastan had said so much in such few words. He not only derided Varda and made his suspicions look small, he had also demonstrated his own stature and offered him a partnership in his business. At this juncture, Haji Mastan was the moneyed guy, the man with the pull, whereas Varda was still to make an indelible mark anywhere. So, when Mastan proposed the alliance, it was an offer Varda could not refuse.
    ‘What will you benefit from this?’ asked Varda. ‘I want to make friends with you as I want to use your muscle power and clout in the city,’ replied Mastan.
    Varda, who had seen enough struggle in his life, must have thought that this was his only chance of walking away from certain torture and humiliation. He agreed to Mastan’s offer and disclosed where he had hidden his stolen consignment. Policemen in the lock-up still remember that strong handshake of two very different looking