watch the latest Aamir Khan film.’
11
V irkar rode his Bullet down the dark, empty streets of early-morning Mumbai. Under normal circumstances, Virkar always wore his helmet, but today he wanted to feel the cool air whip his hair at the roots. The heat generated in his system over the past few hours had bothered him enough to hop on to his Bullet for his occasional ‘dimaag ka dahi’ early-morning rides. He found these to be extremely therapeutic.
For the past few hours, the image of him foolishly repeating, ‘Who are your sources?’ had worn his patience to the bone. ‘Hunterwali’ had lived up to her name. To add fuel to the fire, the repressed mirth in the eyes of all the night-duty policemen at his office had ignited his already simmering temper. A sympathetic comment by an old constable had made him lash out at him, spewing vitriol on the poor soul. By the time Virkar managed to control himself, the mirth in everyone’s eyes had changed to sympathy. Virkar decided that he had better do something quickly, lest he lose everyone’s respect too. He had left his office in a huff, aching for the comfort offered by a bottle of Godfather but deciding that the situation called for more drastic action.
Virkar’s Bullet sped towards the address he had extracted from the scared mobile phone company executive (being in the police had its uses). The object of his anger, Raashi Hunerwal, aka ‘Hunterwali’, apparently had a flat in a cooperative housing society in Andheri West. In Virkar’s fuming mind, the only way he could seek retribution was by having it out, fair and square, with the perpetrator of the injustice that had been heaped on him. He was going to have a firm chat with her, knock some much-needed sense in that pouty, pretty head of hers and show her what her flippant and foolish insinuations could do to his career. In his mind, Virkar started building scenarios that all ended with Raashi falling at his feet and apologizing profusely, having been shown the error of her ways. Virkar could already taste the triumph of putting her in her place.
But as the wind swept over the contours of his hardened face, he began to calm down; gradually, the waves of self-righteous anger began to retract from his mind. He slowed down the Bullet, abandoning his ‘Mission Hunterwali’. It never paid to unleash your wrath on the female species, especially not on a pesky crime reporter. Nevertheless, Virkar still felt the sharp sting of having been the object of ridicule that had played out on television for all to watch. Raashi’s sly insinuation that he had been lax about his work and was indirectly responsible for Dr Bhandari’s death had hurt him to the very core. Virkar had always been known to stick to his guns as an officer and was considered honest and upright to a fault. He was used to investigating his cases with utmost sincerity, delivering the desired results and quickly moving on to the next case without resting on past laurels. And now Raashi had cast aspersions on his abilities.
Being hounded by media was new to Virkar and he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was out of his depth in this crisis. In the ten years he had been posted in Gadchiroli fighting Maoists, he had never encountered such backlash for not having shared information with the press. In fact, he was used to withholding information with full cooperation from the media so that the suspects didn’t know the police’ s next move and could be caught unawares. Virkar suddenly wished he were back in the jungles of Gadchiroli under the moonlit sky with nothing but a bullet to separate him from his enemy. At least then he could see and feel the danger as it came for him.
As he cruised along the empty Worli sea face, he glanced at the turn for the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, itching to turn the Bullet and drive down it full throttle. But he kept himself in check, reminding himself that he was an officer of the law and couldn’t afford to
11
V irkar rode his Bullet down the dark, empty streets of early-morning Mumbai. Under normal circumstances, Virkar always wore his helmet, but today he wanted to feel the cool air whip his hair at the roots. The heat generated in his system over the past few hours had bothered him enough to hop on to his Bullet for his occasional ‘dimaag ka dahi’ early-morning rides. He found these to be extremely therapeutic.
For the past few hours, the image of him foolishly repeating, ‘Who are your sources?’ had worn his patience to the bone. ‘Hunterwali’ had lived up to her name. To add fuel to the fire, the repressed mirth in the eyes of all the night-duty policemen at his office had ignited his already simmering temper. A sympathetic comment by an old constable had made him lash out at him, spewing vitriol on the poor soul. By the time Virkar managed to control himself, the mirth in everyone’s eyes had changed to sympathy. Virkar decided that he had better do something quickly, lest he lose everyone’s respect too. He had left his office in a huff, aching for the comfort offered by a bottle of Godfather but deciding that the situation called for more drastic action.
Virkar’s Bullet sped towards the address he had extracted from the scared mobile phone company executive (being in the police had its uses). The object of his anger, Raashi Hunerwal, aka ‘Hunterwali’, apparently had a flat in a cooperative housing society in Andheri West. In Virkar’s fuming mind, the only way he could seek retribution was by having it out, fair and square, with the perpetrator of the injustice that had been heaped on him. He was going to have a firm chat with her, knock some much-needed sense in that pouty, pretty head of hers and show her what her flippant and foolish insinuations could do to his career. In his mind, Virkar started building scenarios that all ended with Raashi falling at his feet and apologizing profusely, having been shown the error of her ways. Virkar could already taste the triumph of putting her in her place.
But as the wind swept over the contours of his hardened face, he began to calm down; gradually, the waves of self-righteous anger began to retract from his mind. He slowed down the Bullet, abandoning his ‘Mission Hunterwali’. It never paid to unleash your wrath on the female species, especially not on a pesky crime reporter. Nevertheless, Virkar still felt the sharp sting of having been the object of ridicule that had played out on television for all to watch. Raashi’s sly insinuation that he had been lax about his work and was indirectly responsible for Dr Bhandari’s death had hurt him to the very core. Virkar had always been known to stick to his guns as an officer and was considered honest and upright to a fault. He was used to investigating his cases with utmost sincerity, delivering the desired results and quickly moving on to the next case without resting on past laurels. And now Raashi had cast aspersions on his abilities.
Being hounded by media was new to Virkar and he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was out of his depth in this crisis. In the ten years he had been posted in Gadchiroli fighting Maoists, he had never encountered such backlash for not having shared information with the press. In fact, he was used to withholding information with full cooperation from the media so that the suspects didn’t know the police’ s next move and could be caught unawares. Virkar suddenly wished he were back in the jungles of Gadchiroli under the moonlit sky with nothing but a bullet to separate him from his enemy. At least then he could see and feel the danger as it came for him.
As he cruised along the empty Worli sea face, he glanced at the turn for the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, itching to turn the Bullet and drive down it full throttle. But he kept himself in check, reminding himself that he was an officer of the law and couldn’t afford to