Kasa Kai, Maharashtra?

"Arre bhau, puday zaa thumi, puday zaa...", said the rickshaw wallah. He was apparently having a tussle with another next to him. The scene was the entrance of the Pune Railway Station.

After a gap of almost 12 years I was venturing out of my native, Bangalore. And venturing, I was, to a place chartered by none of my family members. Maharashtra to me was only Bombay, or Mumbai, thanks to the Shiv-Sainiks. And Mumbai to me till then was just Bhai's Adda. Infact, the lines from Bombay Boys - "bhai ke adde me jo aata hai ik baar, udharich reh jaata hai chhod ke apna ghar baar" was echoing in my ears. Have I entered the adda? Will I get into it? Questions aplenty, answers none. Although, I was going to Pune & not Mumbai, the fact that it was a part of Bollywood's home, made me cringe.

A voracious film buff that I was, and one with a zest for realistic portrayals, I had not missed many of the top Bollywood flicks featuring the underworld operations. RGV was one of the best to canvas such realities. Bhavani in Shiva, still lingers in my mind, as the consummate 'bhai'. And who can forget Beeku Mhatre. What fascinated me were the raw names that he used - Bhavani, Chandu, Malik and, of course, Bheeku.

But these were just movies and my apprehensions had to do with what I used to read in the papers or watch in the crime section of the daily news which starred the who's who of the underworld - Chhota Rajan, Shakeel, Dawood, etc. The fact that most of them were from the commercial capital of India acted as an ice-dagger.

I alighted the train with a shiver in my spine. And started moving towards the exit. Just as I was crossing the tea stall...

"Pakdo saale ko...! Kuthe ki mauth maaro. Jadhav bhai se shaanpana karta hai, saaalaah!!", said an absolutely ferocious homosapien clad in a white kurta with a jean.

A band of ruffians had now caught up with a guy in kurta-pajamas as he had tripped & fallen down as if paying a tribute to all those filmi heroines who judiciously stumble on something when chased by rowdies.

By now the crowd had gathered closing all exits for the victim to escape. I was stunned to see them do that, "how could they watch instead of helping him?", I said to myself, diligently stepping & becoming one with the onlookers!!! You see, I am after all a lesser mortal.

The leader had a wonderful stone face, enough to put some 'bollywood sitarein' to shame. In a second he swirled his hand back to pull out a knife whilst the guy on the ground was struggling to get away from the kicks of the other ruffians. "Mujhe chhod do, mi asa nahi karnaar...koi mujhe bachaao..." shrilled the young man. He was surrounded by 6 goondas and another concentric circle which featured me amongst the others in the crowd. Sweat beads were all over the faces in the crowd. Not a single man, even the one who looked like a 'pehelwan', dared to go near to help. Prudence pulled me back.

"Kisse pooch raha hai bachaane ke liye, kutthe? Yeh saaley, sab hijre hain. Kisi ek mein kya himmat hai ise bachaane ki..aaah?", yelled the handsome goonda leader. His comments almost made me clap my hands, for it was inch perfect by any dialogue delivery standards. But, thank god, I stopped for I would have proved his words right!!!!

"Tu gaya aaj", said he & pulled out a deadly designer knife. It was a chrome plated knife, beautifully carved. The leader must be the right hand of Jadhav bhai, I thought. "Kitni baar... kitni baar bola tujhse, bhai se panga nahi lene ka", said he slapping the now half-dead victim, & repeated the lines slapping as many times. I could not watch the proceedings & closed my eyes with both palms, but the devil in me made me peep through a pin hole from my "hand made" blanket.

The poor soul begged on his knees saying "Nahi bhai, nahi.. aise kabhi nahin karoonga...mujhe maaf karo..mujhe maaf karo, bhagwaan ke liye....mujhe maaf karo". His face was thoroughly bruised & smeared with blood. There was nothing more left in him as he cried & cried till his voice turned low. All these fell to deaf ears, or atleast everyone was pretending to be deaf. My heart went out for the poor chap, but my mind pulled it back & placed it in the rib cage.

Sonu bhai was in no mood to listen. With the dagger shining under the station's lights he swirled his hand and....

"Aiiiga...maaar daala, is kameene ne. 14 take hue, par yeh item abhi tak is shot ko khatam nahi kar paaya. abe yede, teri tho...", yelled the director. The brilliantly crafted dagger had escaped Sonu bhai's sweaty palms & fallen on the railway tracks. The victim got up in a fit of anger & blasted at the now half-dead Sonu! "Aaj tak, ek kaam theek tharah se kiya hai kya tune, yede! Isko kis jungal mein pakda yaar aap logo ne? Mera poora paisa, lagta hai is ek scene me chala jaayega. Hat saaley!" It was obvious to me that it was the producer & his anguish was justified. The crowd was amused & so was I. Boy, that was something close to live of what I had thought about the Maratha land!

I picked my luggage which by now had gotten into a nap amidst the hullabaloo. I came out of the station to see the two rickshaw drivers in a war of words.