It was a big day for Subbu. His real name was Subramanian, but on those streets of Bombay where one dared not walk without a machete, he was known as Supplier Subbu. Originally from Chennai, Subbu was a gregarious man, and had incredible networking skills. He had moved to Bombay many years ago, for the opportunities, and he quickly found that networking was his forte. He knew so many people, in fact, that he had to buy a 16 GB pen drive just to store all his contacts from Maharashtra, Tamil Nadu and beyond.
Subbu, as evidenced by his street name, specialized in supply and delivery. People would call him from all sorts of places, asking for specific "products". Now, he was a middle-man. He would acquire these products from one of his contacts, and then have them delivered to his customer for a fair price. Subbu had contacts for everything, local or foreign, legal or illegal. From apples to alcohol, combs to cocaine, iron filings to ivory, Subbu knew more than a dozen people for each.
Just last week, Subbu had had a particularly difficult order to complete. The ringleader of a small newly-formed band of gundas had asked him for some weapons. Now, regular weapons were standard orders for Subbu. Quick calls to Talvar Tarun, Bandook Bhargava, and Goli Gopi (usually called 'Golgappa') pretty much covered any ordinary order that he might get. But for this order, he had been asked for something quite unorthodox: shurikens. Inspired by movies, these dilettantish gundas were naively convinced that shurikens (or, "ninja stars") were the ultimate weapons to rule the streets of Bombay. Naturally, they had made an order for 600 of them.
Subbu was never a man to discourage an order. He took it as a personal challenge to complete this delivery. Contacting various weaponry specialists, he explained his specific requirements. Many declined his request, some saying it was too difficult to manufacture, others saying it was an insult to their profession to make these "toys". He contacted connoisseurs of Japanese artifacts but they did not have shurikens in the quantity he required. Undeterred, Subbu kept trying. After being declined over a hundred times, he finally remembered a retired old friend of his, who owned metal milling machines. By coaxing his friend with monetary offers, and reminding him of old times, Subbu managed to get the man to manufacture 600 6-point ninja stars made of iron, within the week, but at a lofty price. The gundas then bought the exotic weapons from Subbu for double that price, faute de mieux. Subbu had dinner that night at The Oberoi.
But back to why it was a big day for Subbu. He was going to deliver the biggest order he had ever received. Subbu seldom did his own deliveries. He had subordinates to do them. But today, he could not risk that. He would be doing the job like he used to, in the inceptive years of his business.
The order was incredibly difficult, not only because the commodity asked was undoubtedly illegal, but also because it was widely considered a social taboo, and very few people dared to deal in the business. It made the shuriken order seem trivial. Subbu, himself, did his best to avoid the product. This time, however, a powerful connection was at stake. The man making the order was probably the most respected and feared gangster in the disreputable circles of Bombay. If Subbu could make this man his ally, it would immensely benefit both, his business, as well as his personal safety.
Fortunately, some years ago, Subbu had met a young man, Singham, who specialized in the product he currently required. Subbu had never expected to need to contact the man, but when he got this order, Singham was the first person that Subbu thought of. Singham was great at his job, and even better at hiding from the law, virtues that Subbu greatly valued in anyone he worked with. Subbu had visited the man a day before the day of his delivery. Singham had deftly packed the goods, and had kept it ready for Subbu. A large sum of money was exchanged for the recherche product and Subbu returned home with the large package, thinking about meeting his client the next day.
On the morning of the delivery, Subbu was pumped up. A bit of a masochist, Subbu stared at his ugly face in the mirror. He smiled and rehearsed what he would say to his client. Satisfied, he got ready and left. The meeting was to be held at a dilapidated, abandoned house. His client had not remained untouched by the law all these years without being a master of inconspicuousness.
Subbu found the address without issue, and as expected, saw it guarded by two enormous gundas, actual ones, not the fake, shuriken-carrying type. They took a step forward. One took the package and his precautionary dagger, which he volunteered forward, while the other frisked him for any other weapons. It had been a long time since Subbu had personally made a delivery, and even longer time since he had been frisked. He had developed a reputation for trustworthiness throughout Bombay. This deal, he knew, however, was too important for him to risk taking offense, so he allowed himself to be frisked by the hippopotamus. His package was returned to him, and he walked up the creaky stairs to meet the most feared gangster in Bombay. This was the moment.
He entered a room, and he noted there was already another guest there. A man was sitting in a chair, no, tied up in a chair, staring at a large fancy table that looked odd in the run-down house they were in. The man in the chair was trembling and whimpering, probably someone who had cheated or stolen from his captors. Subbu, in the line of work he was in, had seen many such incidents and was unperturbed. If there wasn't a more important job to do, Subbu may have been slightly curious as to what the tied-up man had done. But Subbu did have a more important job to do. He was looking at the man sitting at the fancy table, his client.
Detonation Sundaresan was an average-sized man with big biceps, and an enormous head. He wore a grey T-shirt and ostentatious jewelry all over his body. He sported a bushy French beard and two little pig tails were tied upwards on either side of his head. It occurred to Subbu what a striking resemblance he had to a spanner.
An assistant of sorts took the package from Subbu and handed it to his boss and went back to his designated spot. Sundaresan slowly unwrapped the package. He held the product to his nose, taking it in. In those long moments, Subbu empathized with MasterChef participants waiting for Gordon Ramsay's verdict, which would most probably be acrimonious. After what seemed like forever to Subbu, Sundaresan signaled to his assistant, who went to another room, brought a suitcase, handed it to Subbu and, again, went back to his original spot. Subbu knew better than to count the money, but from the weight of the suitcase he figured that he had been given more than was the deal. Subbu smiled.
"A little extra, for your troubles. Cocaine, Heroin and all are great, but as of late, this is so much harder to get. I have been waiting so long for this," he said smiling at the package. The boomerang assistant went to a different room, brought a plate, and went back to his spot. Like a dehydrated man coming upon a river, Detonation Sundaresan pulled a large juicy slice of beef from the package, onto his plate, and attacked it.
Once Sundaresan had had enough to satisfy his temporary gluttony, he looked up and asked Subbu, who had been watching awkwardly, where he had got the beef from.
"A young man named Singham, sir, Slaughter Singham. He owns a slaughterhouse. For the sake of his safety and privacy, I cannot reveal any more about the man."
Sundaresan seemed to find this fair, and told Subbu to give Singham his regards.
Subbu, perfunctorily asked about the quality of the meat, knowing fully well that Sundaresan had loved it. Upon getting a response, he announced that he was going to leave. With finesse, Subbu gave his card to Sundaresan and said, "for anything that you may need delivered, call Supplier Subbu, and consider it done." Detonation Sundaresan was visibly impressed. The alliance was made.
Baffled looks on the faces of some of my slower friends have shown me a need to add this explanation. If you are wondering, "why beef?", it's because I was alluding to the recent ban of beef in Maharashtra.
Subbu, as evidenced by his street name, specialized in supply and delivery. People would call him from all sorts of places, asking for specific "products". Now, he was a middle-man. He would acquire these products from one of his contacts, and then have them delivered to his customer for a fair price. Subbu had contacts for everything, local or foreign, legal or illegal. From apples to alcohol, combs to cocaine, iron filings to ivory, Subbu knew more than a dozen people for each.
Just last week, Subbu had had a particularly difficult order to complete. The ringleader of a small newly-formed band of gundas had asked him for some weapons. Now, regular weapons were standard orders for Subbu. Quick calls to Talvar Tarun, Bandook Bhargava, and Goli Gopi (usually called 'Golgappa') pretty much covered any ordinary order that he might get. But for this order, he had been asked for something quite unorthodox: shurikens. Inspired by movies, these dilettantish gundas were naively convinced that shurikens (or, "ninja stars") were the ultimate weapons to rule the streets of Bombay. Naturally, they had made an order for 600 of them.
Subbu was never a man to discourage an order. He took it as a personal challenge to complete this delivery. Contacting various weaponry specialists, he explained his specific requirements. Many declined his request, some saying it was too difficult to manufacture, others saying it was an insult to their profession to make these "toys". He contacted connoisseurs of Japanese artifacts but they did not have shurikens in the quantity he required. Undeterred, Subbu kept trying. After being declined over a hundred times, he finally remembered a retired old friend of his, who owned metal milling machines. By coaxing his friend with monetary offers, and reminding him of old times, Subbu managed to get the man to manufacture 600 6-point ninja stars made of iron, within the week, but at a lofty price. The gundas then bought the exotic weapons from Subbu for double that price, faute de mieux. Subbu had dinner that night at The Oberoi.
But back to why it was a big day for Subbu. He was going to deliver the biggest order he had ever received. Subbu seldom did his own deliveries. He had subordinates to do them. But today, he could not risk that. He would be doing the job like he used to, in the inceptive years of his business.
The order was incredibly difficult, not only because the commodity asked was undoubtedly illegal, but also because it was widely considered a social taboo, and very few people dared to deal in the business. It made the shuriken order seem trivial. Subbu, himself, did his best to avoid the product. This time, however, a powerful connection was at stake. The man making the order was probably the most respected and feared gangster in the disreputable circles of Bombay. If Subbu could make this man his ally, it would immensely benefit both, his business, as well as his personal safety.
Fortunately, some years ago, Subbu had met a young man, Singham, who specialized in the product he currently required. Subbu had never expected to need to contact the man, but when he got this order, Singham was the first person that Subbu thought of. Singham was great at his job, and even better at hiding from the law, virtues that Subbu greatly valued in anyone he worked with. Subbu had visited the man a day before the day of his delivery. Singham had deftly packed the goods, and had kept it ready for Subbu. A large sum of money was exchanged for the recherche product and Subbu returned home with the large package, thinking about meeting his client the next day.
On the morning of the delivery, Subbu was pumped up. A bit of a masochist, Subbu stared at his ugly face in the mirror. He smiled and rehearsed what he would say to his client. Satisfied, he got ready and left. The meeting was to be held at a dilapidated, abandoned house. His client had not remained untouched by the law all these years without being a master of inconspicuousness.
Subbu found the address without issue, and as expected, saw it guarded by two enormous gundas, actual ones, not the fake, shuriken-carrying type. They took a step forward. One took the package and his precautionary dagger, which he volunteered forward, while the other frisked him for any other weapons. It had been a long time since Subbu had personally made a delivery, and even longer time since he had been frisked. He had developed a reputation for trustworthiness throughout Bombay. This deal, he knew, however, was too important for him to risk taking offense, so he allowed himself to be frisked by the hippopotamus. His package was returned to him, and he walked up the creaky stairs to meet the most feared gangster in Bombay. This was the moment.
He entered a room, and he noted there was already another guest there. A man was sitting in a chair, no, tied up in a chair, staring at a large fancy table that looked odd in the run-down house they were in. The man in the chair was trembling and whimpering, probably someone who had cheated or stolen from his captors. Subbu, in the line of work he was in, had seen many such incidents and was unperturbed. If there wasn't a more important job to do, Subbu may have been slightly curious as to what the tied-up man had done. But Subbu did have a more important job to do. He was looking at the man sitting at the fancy table, his client.
Detonation Sundaresan was an average-sized man with big biceps, and an enormous head. He wore a grey T-shirt and ostentatious jewelry all over his body. He sported a bushy French beard and two little pig tails were tied upwards on either side of his head. It occurred to Subbu what a striking resemblance he had to a spanner.
Sundaresan stared dispassionately at the man in the chair. He seemed to be deciding what to do with him. Subbu knew where his client had got his name, and why people all over Bombay feared it; the stories were famous. At a young age, Sundaresan had developed a passion for bombs. He loved Diwali and quickly graduated from Bijlis to 'Hydrogen bombs'. By the time he was 13 he realized that recreational bombs were not enough, and he started learning how to make real ones. At the age of 15 he made a small dynamite, and used it to maim a barber for shaving off his precious sideburns. At 17, he made a potent TNT bomb. By the age of 21, Sundaresan could make 25 different kinds of bombs of varying intensities. This expertise helped him get rid of people he didn't like. He was notorious for converting his enemies into organic debris.
With a grenade in one hand, and a knife in the other, he sat at the table, his cold eyes staring at the man on the other side of the table. He finally spoke in a deep voice, "let him go." His subordinates, mildly surprised, cut the ropes. The trembling man managed a "thank you" before limping out of the room. Subbu allowed himself the raise of an eyebrow at this display of mercy. Sundaresan was in a good mood.
Sundaresan then looked at Subbu. He pointed to the chair where the man had just been tied. Subbu nervously sat down, but nobody touched him.
"Vanakkam, sir," said Subbu, to subtly reestablish that he and Sundaresan had common origins. "I have brought the product just as you requested. Very fresh, sir." he said, trying to maintain the perfect balance between acquiescence and confidence.
With a grenade in one hand, and a knife in the other, he sat at the table, his cold eyes staring at the man on the other side of the table. He finally spoke in a deep voice, "let him go." His subordinates, mildly surprised, cut the ropes. The trembling man managed a "thank you" before limping out of the room. Subbu allowed himself the raise of an eyebrow at this display of mercy. Sundaresan was in a good mood.
Sundaresan then looked at Subbu. He pointed to the chair where the man had just been tied. Subbu nervously sat down, but nobody touched him.
"Vanakkam, sir," said Subbu, to subtly reestablish that he and Sundaresan had common origins. "I have brought the product just as you requested. Very fresh, sir." he said, trying to maintain the perfect balance between acquiescence and confidence.
An assistant of sorts took the package from Subbu and handed it to his boss and went back to his designated spot. Sundaresan slowly unwrapped the package. He held the product to his nose, taking it in. In those long moments, Subbu empathized with MasterChef participants waiting for Gordon Ramsay's verdict, which would most probably be acrimonious. After what seemed like forever to Subbu, Sundaresan signaled to his assistant, who went to another room, brought a suitcase, handed it to Subbu and, again, went back to his original spot. Subbu knew better than to count the money, but from the weight of the suitcase he figured that he had been given more than was the deal. Subbu smiled.
"A little extra, for your troubles. Cocaine, Heroin and all are great, but as of late, this is so much harder to get. I have been waiting so long for this," he said smiling at the package. The boomerang assistant went to a different room, brought a plate, and went back to his spot. Like a dehydrated man coming upon a river, Detonation Sundaresan pulled a large juicy slice of beef from the package, onto his plate, and attacked it.
Once Sundaresan had had enough to satisfy his temporary gluttony, he looked up and asked Subbu, who had been watching awkwardly, where he had got the beef from.
"A young man named Singham, sir, Slaughter Singham. He owns a slaughterhouse. For the sake of his safety and privacy, I cannot reveal any more about the man."
Sundaresan seemed to find this fair, and told Subbu to give Singham his regards.
Subbu, perfunctorily asked about the quality of the meat, knowing fully well that Sundaresan had loved it. Upon getting a response, he announced that he was going to leave. With finesse, Subbu gave his card to Sundaresan and said, "for anything that you may need delivered, call Supplier Subbu, and consider it done." Detonation Sundaresan was visibly impressed. The alliance was made.
Baffled looks on the faces of some of my slower friends have shown me a need to add this explanation. If you are wondering, "why beef?", it's because I was alluding to the recent ban of beef in Maharashtra.
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