Friday night!

Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for a place to go
Where they play the right music
Getting in the swing
You come to look for a king
Anybody could be that guy

                                  –  (Lyrics by ABBA)

He couldn’t stop humming again and again. It was on a loop in his mind, heart, and lips. Not a very good thing in his line of duty, but well! He was very close to his goal… very, very, close!

Waiting in the alcove of a dull and dilapidated shop that sold secondhand goods, ‘as good as new’ the crumbling edifice and the peeling paint indicated the brusque business, or rather the lack of it that carried on there, but he was conveniently camouflaged.

Finally, the noose had tightened around his quarry and would soon meet with just desserts. However, he had to be patient. It was much like waiting for the fish to swallow the bait and when it started to swim away, the angler could reel it in. Of course, the lucky fish would then be released unlike his fish, his big fish!

The music blared within the confines of the restaurant, off the Champ de Mars. Revellers were heard laughing loudly, conversation punctuated with profanities, and groups walking in and out. They said the food was good, the wine better and the dancers the best, especially on a Friday night… the gateway to the weekend.

His man had fooled enough people for a long time, but this time he had mistaken simplicity and resolve for foolishness. Well, he would learn firsthand, you can’t fool all the people all the time.

///

It all began in the remote hamlet of Kishangarh off Kasauli, a one-horse town. His father was the schoolteacher in the only school in the village. The only teacher took care of the needs of the children, as best as he could. His own son, being one of the few brilliant minds in the flock. The teacher would constantly push himself to meet the needs of the gifted and curious children.

After a while the simple teacher had to send them to Kasauli, where they would meet more knowledgeable people. Thus, the little, wide-eyed boys, ventured further than the outskirts of their village, where the forests cozily sealed them within their fairytale world. As they ventured into Kasauli they went on hills and mountains they had often gazed at back home wondering what lay there and beyond them.

Soon they found out. At first, they were at sea. They were confused, even the language and idioms seemed different. Nevertheless, they soon caught up; their skills polished; they polished their appearances too.

Very soon one could not tell who the boys from Kishangarh were. They could easily pass off for being from Kasauli. After graduating from school, they gravitated towards Chandigarh, for higher studies, followed by jobs. They became the harbingers of good fortune for their little hamlet. The children all went on to graduate from Kasauli.

Meanwhile the teacher’s son got a job in the famous company ‘Pelicans’ well known for its spirits- manufacturing and maintaining! A wizard with numbers he soon found a niche in Accounts department. His sincerity, zeal and diligence soon found him winning Employee of the year awards for his department. Praise was lavished on him like the rich icing on a fresh pineapple pastry.

Pelicans and its multimillionaire owner, the flamboyant Mr. Walia were newsmakers.

On one award function Mr. Walia magnanimously slapped the young man on his back, “Congratulations! You have been winning this award three years in a row! We are proud to have you!” Our village bumpkin couldn’t believe his ears. He was so grateful; he called his parents immediately to share the personal congratulatory message. In fact, the family even prepared halwa and offered to their deity!

Life is fast paced in a city. And a city like Chandigarh…what can one say? With so much happening through the day and night, time just flew.

He was well off, had a palatial kothi and a fancy car. His parents were persuading him to marry, but he couldn’t decide whom to say yes to, so inundated with proposals was he.

In the meanwhile, there were many rumours about ‘Pelican’ bungling its accounts. Then one fine day, the police were at his doorstep. They came to arrest him for embezzlement of funds. The sky came crashing down around him. The grey clouds of the monsoon seemed more ominous, rather than a blessing of promised rain. After hours of interrogation Inspector Hoshiar Singh realized, the young man from Kishangarh was quite innocent. He had been framed by bigger fish.

The Inspector went to the IG and shared his report. The two officers were known for their efficiency and dedication. They had earned it over years in the field. As they discussed, the picture became clearer to them and they hatched a plan to nab the real perpetrator, who was ruthless enough to shove his innocent and trusting employees to the gallows while he gallivanted around scot free.

“All evidence point towards you. Why have you done this?” said the inspector.

“No Sir! I have not done anything wrong! I have never harmed anyone God knows that! Mata Rani knows that!”

“We know that too!  Who do you think wants to frame you?”

“I don’t know anyone who would cheat the company! Or push me into jail!”

“Ok! Will you work with us to nab the real culprit? Whoever it may be.”

“Yes, Yes Sir! It is Friday today! I swear by Mata Rani!”

“OK then! Listen…. This is the plan!” and he chalked out what needed to be done.

That had happened a couple of months back.

Just as they were about to nab the culprit, the bird had flown the nest.

Another precious month was spent tracing the route followed by the seasoned crook. In the meantime, the reporters were having a field day reporting on the crumbling down of the company ‘Pelicans’. There were speculations and analysis, accusations, and countercharges. The people were at sea, the employees very nervous.

As he traced the route along with the inspector, they landed at Istanbul. The scent was strong, the fish was about to be landed, but he got a whiff, it seemed; for once again he flew the coop, while they stood twiddling their thumbs. It was a tough time; trying to establish their sources, getting evidence and all this with minimum people in the know.

On a Friday evening after the prayers were said, they met a secret agent in the milieu of the faithful streaming out of the fabulous Blue mosque… The conversation was short, and the exchange of a small envelope was practically unnoticed. They parted ways, as our young man and the Inspector, quite unrecognizable in their disguise walked towards the Bosphorus. They walked onto a fast motorboat and once they were skimming the blue waters of the beautiful Strait of Bosphorus, they checked the contents.

There was just a slip of paper : Friday 27 August, Bistrot, Le Champ de Mars. After he memorized it Inspector Hoshiar Singh tore the paper to bits, shuffled it up and tossed it into the nearest dustbin. The wind blowing through their hair was cold and swift. Was it an indication of things to come?

///

Well, here he was now. This time he would ensure the fish was caught.

Suddenly there emerged a woman… a beautiful Parisienne woman, a little tipsy probably who tottered into the Bistrot. He would not let anything divert his attention. Suddenly loud clattering of plates could be heard! Ah some happy and satisfied dinners for sure!

He lit a cigarette and carelessly tossed the match into the shop. He had taken care to open the shutters just enough. As he walked away, towards the Bistrot himself, the fire alarms could be heard within trying their best to rouse sleeping sentinels to douse the flames, which were now running around the store like little boys unshackled in a playfield after hours of homework. The roar of the flames competed with the cackle of the fire, as each tried to out do the other in a bid to consume all that was second hand.

The sirens of the police and the fire brigade were mellifluous, in the babel of human screams and yelps. As everyone seemed to run to safety leaving the bravery of taming the fire to the brave fire men… no one noticed our young man sidle up to,  the well rich and famous Mr. Walia. He pulled his hat low over his face, also hidden behind a gay mask, as he picked up Walia’s briefcase and silently vanished.

As he walked calmly along the Seine in the middle of the night, a silent shadow followed him, and they both disappeared into one of the by lanes. The Eiffel tower seemed to wink at them, congratulating them on a job well done.

In the limited light of the lamp, they pried open the briefcase and were struck speechless. They had everything they needed and more! The Inspector was thrilled with their luck… “Congratulations Vijay! We have nailed him!”

It was the headlines the next day “ Billionaire Vijay Walia nabbed”.

“Hey how did you get a name like Vijay, man?” asked Inspector Hoshiar.

“ Named after Amitabh Bachchan Sir! My father has only one hobby… watching Amitabh Bacchan movies. Every Friday, for years he would like to catch the first day first show!”

Map : Courtesy Google