Page 92 of Made in Mumbai

“I want you to draft two documents. One — a restraining order from Maya Kotak against her ex-husband Hem Sanghvi. Two — a relinquishing of paternal rights of Hem Sanghvi over Maya Kotak’s unborn child.”

“Sir, relinquishing paternal rights is not that easy in India…”

“Figure it out. And send me the final drafts before 5 am.”

The next call he made was to Arsalan Bhai. He wasn’t thick with gang lords, neither did he engage in shady business. But as a wealthy business owner with properties in multiple parts of the city, unions in his mills and many more organisations, he had made a lot of acquaintances in his ten years’ career. This one was a politically-connected goon who operated out of South Bombay.

“Gautam bhaaai!” The goon picked up on second ring. Ok, Gautam had funded a few of his candidates’ campaigns too. “Kaise yaad kiya apun ko? Woh bhi itni raat ko? Yaa advance mein Happy Diwali karne ko phone kiya?”

“Arsalan bhai, ek kaam tha.”

“Bolo,” his voice turned solemn.

“Ek aadmi hai.”

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Gautam strode down the 55th floor apartment alley of the tallest high-rise of Worli. The sun was not even fully out yet but the men behind him looked like they were primed and wired for it. He stopped before a sturdy door, the nameplate big and flashy. One of the men beside him rung the bell.

No answer.

He rung it again, this time in quick bursts of two.

“Kya hai! Doodh itni jaldi kyu…” the door opened and the squeaky voice shut off. Hem Sanghvi stood in his boxers, his face rumpled and eyes half-slits. Gautam pushed in. The man’s eyes widened as he tried to push back.

“Hey! Who are…”

Gautam punched him. The man went flying back into his massive hall. Gautam didn’t wait for him to recover but jumped on his body and went in with quick, hard hits — slapping, punching, kneeing. He had never learnt to fight fair. And didn’t fight fair now. All that mattered was that the opponent should go home in worse shape than you.

“Aye…” the reptile of a man tried to push him back. Gautam just doubled down harder, channeling the night’s pent up energy into pummelling the man who had dared to raise his hand at Maya. He kept going, until blood flowed and Hem cried. Cried.

Gautam pushed up to his feet before he lost consciousness.

“Scared?” He asked.

“Who are… you?” Hem cried. “Wha… if you want money I’ll give you… please leave me,” he folded his hands.

Gautam pulled the papers from inside his jacket pocket and slapped them on the floor in front of him. Then handed him a pen — “Sign.”

“Whhaaa… what?” He pushed his eyes wide, bleeding from his nose and mouth, trying to read.

“Relinquish of paternal rights over Maya Kotak’s child.”

“She is still pregnant?” He grimaced.

“Sign.”

He didn’t even hesitate. The man signed away his rights in half a blink. Gautam grabbed the papers and pinned the man to the floor — “You will be slapped with restraining orders against Maya Kotak in the next 24 hours. Acknowledge them, and stay away from her. If you don’t, I have her photos that show what you did to her.”

His eyes widened.

“If you want to live your life quietly in your circle, then keep your mouth shut and never cross paths with her again.”

He nodded, the fear in his eyes growing as the men gathered around them.

“They are here to clean you up. Or can you manage that yourself?”

“I… will not say this to anybody.” The bastard understood.

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