Monica Bedi was no Madhuri Dixit but she was attractive—Pardesi thought she fit the bill of a mobster’s moll perfectly. He wondered how this otherwise naive-looking woman could have gotten involved in such a mess. His boss, deputy inspector general of police, CBI, Omprakash Chhatwal, signed the official documents and nodded at Pardesi, who moved cautiously towards Abu Salem.
‘So, you are Salem?’ Pardesi asked.
‘Are you from the Crime Branch?’ Salem’s voice betrayed fear.
‘No, we are from the CBI,’ Pardesi replied.
Salem seemed to relax when he heard this. ‘Then, saab, let’s leave for our country.’
The motley group began walking towards the huge Russian-made cargo plane of the Indian Air Force that was waiting for them on the tarmac. The CBI had finally managed to get Salem and Monica on a flight to Mumbai.
The entire mission to bring Salem and Monica back from Lisbon to Mumbai had been a secret operation. The CBI agents were apprehensive of any political pressure that might be exerted to obstruct their plans. When it came to secrets, the Parliament was the leakiest ship in the country.
Further, Monica—after an interview with a local channel—had managed to create a huge sympathy wave among the Portuguese, especially nuns. During her three years in a Lisbon jail, public opinion had shifted in her favour, and any move against her might have provoked the locals and proved detrimental to the Portuguese government.
While planning how to get the don and Monica Bedi back to India, the CBI had decided against a civilian aircraft, and opted for a cargo plane instead. The plane they were embarking now was just a box with wings. Once you entered its wide body, you found yourself in a massive open space with one line of metallic benches fitted on each side. There were ropes hanging from the ceiling and also a mini crane at the far end, near the cargo hold. The plane had a urinal, but no decent commode.
Both Salem and Monica seemed to be visibly affected by the sight of the plane that would take them back home to a posse of policemen and hordes of journalists. The bleakness seemed to portend their future and the duo looked disturbed. Once inside the plane, Pardesi handcuffed Salem to one bench, to prevent any attempts the don might make to hurt himself. If anything happened to Salem en route, human rights activists would haul them over the coals.
‘Saab, can I meet Monica for one last time?’ Salem pleaded. A thick curtain separated the two.
‘Don’t you dare move from where you are,’ Pardesi said, glaring at him.
The behemoth revved up its engine and, with an earsplitting roar, began taxiing for takeoff. The couple had no view of the country they were leaving behind.
On the other side of the curtain, Monica sat calmly, showing no signs of anxiety or eagerness to speak to anyone on board. She was reading her copy of the Bible when Pardesi went and sat beside her. Monica seemed reluctant to speak to the CBI officer; she clutched her Bible firmly and shut her eyes instead, sinking deep into thought and reminiscences.
Monica heaved a sigh of relief as the plane climbed higher and higher. Soon she would be back in Mumbai, the city she had left hurriedly over four years ago. Would the city and its people embrace her again, she wondered. Would her co-stars and friends speak to her? She feared the worst.
After four hours, the plane landed at Cairo International Airport. Chhatwal and Pardesi disembarked to stretch their legs while the aircraft was being refuelled. Salem was not allowed to move.
After a stopover of two hours, the plane took off for its final destination of Mumbai. The long journey had finally made Salem open up. He chatted with Pardesi, the deafening roar of the engines notwithstanding. He spoke of Monica and his family. On the other side of the curtain, Monica didn’t say a word as she read passages from the Bible. At 7.30 a.m., IL-256 landed at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport in Mumbai.
Gangster Abu Salem was finally back in the city that had given him his livelihood when he had landed there from the boondocks of Azamgarh in Uttar Pradesh. The city had brought him notoriety and elevated him to gangster status. Chhatwal and Pardesi were relieved. They had managed to bring Salem and Monica back and successfully carry out the biggest assignment that the duo had been given in their respective careers.
At the airport, the officers were greeted by Intelligence Bureau agents who took Salem along with them for a brief grilling session. Meanwhile, Pardesi took Monica to a waiting room. He would be handing Monica over to the CBI sleuths from Hyderabad, who were expected any moment. Monica was going to be arrested for securing a fake passport from Kurnool in Andhra Pradesh in 2001, under a fictitious name and address. She had already been booked under sections 420, 471 and 468 of the Indian Penal Code, 13 (2) to be read with 13 (Id) of the Prevention of Corruption Act and 12 (IB) of the Passport Act.
In the room she sat silently, even as Pardesi scanned her documents. She still held on to the Bible firmly. ‘Are you Christian?’ Pardesi asked her. She nodded. Pardesi observed her carefully. He couldn’t stop wondering how a beautiful starlet had landed up with an uncouth and cold-blooded gangster like Salem.
‘I am curious ...’ he said after a few minutes of silence. Monica looked at him, and he continued, ‘You knew that he was a wanted gangster .. . a ruthless murderer with blood on his hands. And yet, you decided to stick with him. Why?'
‘It was a mistake. I made the mistake of falling in love with him,’ is all she said, and then she broke down.
Chapter 2
BOLLYWOOD DREAMS
T
hat one phone call changed my life.
My career was finally taking off and I was revelling in my new-found success. After struggling for nearly a decade, I had finally managed to get a break in A-grade Bollywood films like Jaanam Samjha Karo, Jodi No.l and Pyaar, Ishq aur Mohabbat. Romancing actors like Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt and Arjun Rampal onscreen meant that I had arrived and had opened the floodgates to new offers from reputed filmmakers.
Everything seemed to be going perfectly, just like a fairy tale, until that one phone call.
‘Take the first flight to Dubai, because you are in big trouble,’ he told me.
Without weighing the implications of what he’d said, I hurriedly arranged for a ticket, packed my bags and rushed to the airport. Fortunately, I had no assignments or shoots lined up, so I could leave in peace. Despite his words, I wasn’t overly worried; I didn’t really sense anything amiss.
At the end of the day, I was going back to the man I loved. A man I loved so much, that it had blinded me to the trouble I was getting myself into.
I walked into the plane and took my seat. People looked at me, recognising me, and I smiled back at them. There was no doubt that they knew who I was. This sort of fame and success hadn’t come easily to me. My life is an example of a girl who was born in the back of beyond, and yet rose to fame and success.
I was born to a middle-class Sikh family in a small village in Chabbewal, fifteen kilometres from the town of Hoshiarpur in Punjab on 18 January 1975. My village has seen many of its families migrate to the West. Ten months after I was born, my father Dr Prem Bedi, a practising doctor in Punjab, and my mother, Shakuntala Bedi, decided to migrate to Norway.
In the 1970s, the Indian community in Norway was small, just a few hundred or so of us, which is why we were all very close. In Norway, my father quit his medical practice and started his own garment business in the city of Drammen, forty-five kilometres from Norway’s capital, Oslo. As a child, I enjoyed a protected life, free of any worries. My parents too ensured that my brother Bobby and I were never denied anything. The only Hindi films I saw then were on video cassettes that we watched at home.
Then, in 1992, when I was barely seventeen, I decided to move to England to study English literature. I’d always been a good student but it was a difficult decision for my family because, while I wanted to live independendy, my parents were protective and thought I was too young. In the end, I convinced them. England was beautiful and I really began to enjoy the freedom livi
ng in a different country gave me. However, I soon knew that this wasn’t what I really wanted to do. But since I had persuaded my parents to send me to England, I had no option but to continue.
After studying for a few months in England, I went on a brief holiday to Mumbai. It is then that my life suddenly took a U-turn. I made certain decisions that changed the course of where I was heading. I don’t know what drove me into doing what I eventually did but it all started with my meeting with yesteryear Bollywood star Manoj Kumar.
During my stay in Mumbai, I had enrolled at the Gopi Kishan dance classes to learn Kathak. One day, while I was at the class, Manoj-ji happened to drop by. The hero of Roti, Kapda aur Makaan and Upkaar was a shadow of his former self, but his magnetic charm still lingered.
Manoj-ji spoke endlessly about the Hindi film industry and paid me many compliments. He told me that my face had the perfect blend of the actresses of the’50s and’60s and was the novelty needed for Indian cinema today. Suddenly, I was filled with aspirations to glamour and fame.
After giving it some thought, I called up my parents and told them that I wanted to become an actor. They were reluctant initially and even tried hard to dissuade me. After a lot of dilly-dallying, they finally gave in. However, my decision came at a cost. I had to choose between my studies and a career in Bollywood. I opted for the latter. The glitter of glamour had obfuscated my own judgement. Since I was new to Mumbai my mother shifted base and moved to the city to stay with me. My struggle to find a footing in the Hindi film industry began.
I first got my portfolio made and started off with small assignments. However, the fast-paced life of the city soon began to take a toll on me. The film industry is like a hungry ocean, it takes a lot of effort to stay afloat. Someone told me that, in Bollywood, you either sleep your way to success or hobnob with filmmakers and get acquainted with them. So I began attending ‘filmy events.
I remember going to Bollywood director Subhash Ghai’s Holi party. Many aspiring and wannabe actresses would attend such functions, in the hope of meeting film directors and landing small roles in their films. I was raw and had no knowledge about the film industry. During the party, I met Rakesh Roshan. When I was a kid, I had seen some of his films and knew him as an actor; I did not know that he was also a producer and director. At that party, Rakeshji offered me a role opposite Bollywood heartthrob Salman Khan in his forthcoming film Karan Arjun. He said that he was looking for a fresh face and was going to start shooting for the movie soon. He also told me that he would like to see me in his office and gave me his phone number and office address. But I began to wonder why an actor would offer me a role. Since I was unsure about his offer, I didn’t visit his office and the role eventually went to Mamata Kulkarni. I had missed the opportunity to be launched in a big banner film because of my naïveté and lack of knowledge about the industry.
Capricornian women are said to be strong-willed and ambitious, yet shy and self-contained by nature. I was living proof of this. My biggest problem was that I was embarrassed to go out and ask for work. I didn’t have an ego but I couldn’t get myself to ask anyone for anything leave alone a film.
And so, even after struggling for months, I did not have anything on hand. Disappointed, I half-heartedly moved to Hoshiarpur with my mother. However, tragedy struck when a group of bandits attacked my family in Chabbewal, killing my grandparents in the most brutal manner and severely injuring my mother. My mother, who was traumatised by the incident, went to live with her brother in Delhi. She refused to relocate to Norway, even as my extended family moved there. Later, though, after much coaxing, my mother left for Norway.
I chose to come back to Mumbai in 1995. Now I was all on my own and was forced to fend for myself. I couldn’t allow my reserved nature to be an obstacle this time. And so I lapped up whatever small or big roles I got. It is during this time that I met film producer Mukesh Duggal, who signed me up for Suraksha, starring Saif Ali Khan and Suniel Shetty. Despite great actors in the lead, the film bombed at the box office.
But I didn’t give up. I began doing a lot of films with Duggalji. There were rumours that we were having an affair, which initially disturbed me, but I learned to take these things in my stride. I realised that when you are talked about by the media, it means you have arrived. Unfortunately, Duggalji was shot dead by the underworld in 1997. Once again, I was heartbroken. I had lost my only mentor in Bollywood to the mafia. Little did I know that my fate would soon be linked with the mafia.
Meanwhile, all my films failed to make a mark at the box office. I even tried my hand at Telugu cinema, where I did some quality work and was appreciated, too. I also did some small shows to make ends meet in Mumbai.
Then, one day, I got a call from a businessman in Dubai. He introduced himself as Arsalan Ali and said that he was organising a show, in which he wanted me to perform. I agreed. Arsalan told me that he would get back to me after all the formalities were completed. A few days later, he called me up again. This time, we hit it off and spoke for a really long time. I realised he did not speak English fluently. While I would occasionally break into English, Arsalan did not go beyond a ‘hello’ or a ‘thank you’. I did not have a problem with this because my Hindi wasn’t very good either at one point. Soon, the calls became very regular and I, too, started getting more than friendly with him. The strange part is that I hadn’t even met him. It was through our phone calls that I realised that we had a connection.
I really enjoyed speaking to him and would wait anxiously for his calls. I woke up in the morning anticipating a call from him and went to sleep at night thinking about the conversation we’d had during the day. Suddenly, I had begun to think less about my family and more about him. It was very strange: I hadn’t even seen him and I didn’t know what he looked like either, yet I was drawn to him.
Over the next few months, we became really close. It was only a matter of time before I knew that I was in love with him. Honestly, I never thought I’d ever fall for a man, merely talking to him over the phone.
We finally met in Dubai and it was beautiful. He proposed to me and I agreed without hesitating. I finally had someone in my life who genuinely loved and cared for me. After this, I visited Dubai once more. When he invited me to come for the third time, I asked him to visit Mumbai instead but he gave me some excuse or the other.
Since Arsalan was a Muslim, I was reluctant to tell my parents the truth about him. Instead, I told them that I was friendly with one ‘Sanjay’. They were happy for me.
In the initial days of our relationship, I couldn’t really make out what kind of person he was. I would be in Dubai for two or three days only and then I’d return to Mumbai. He was always on his best behaviour during my visits. He was privy to my struggles and he told me that he had good contacts in the film industry and that he would help me get good roles. He was true to his word. Good offers began pouring in quickly. I was first cast as a supporting actor in Jaanam Samjha Karo with Salman Khan and Urmila Matondkar. The movie wasn’t a super hit but it didn’t bomb like my previous films. Over the next two years, I got bigger offers, one from the director of comedies David Dhawan for a lead role opposite Sanjay Dutt in the film Jodi No. 1. The movie went on to become a huge box office hit—my first hit. I got another meaty role in director Rajiv Rai’s Pyaar, Ishq aur Mohabbat, where I was seen wooing upcoming actor Arjun Rampal. I knew that Arsalan may have had something to do with these films, and that he might have wielded his influence in the industry and pulled some strings. Meanwhile, the media tried to deride my success by planting stories of an underworld connection behind all the good roles I was getting. I rebuffed these rumours and didn’t think about it too much—I was too overwhelmed by my success. This was the happiest period of my life. I had a wonderful boyfriend and big movies in my kitty. My dreams were close to being realised. And then the phone call came.
Arsalan was waiting for me at the Arrivals section at the Dubai International Airport. He looked remorseful and I could se
nse a lot of tension on his face. He didn’t speak much in the car. I asked him why he had asked me to come to Dubai immediately but he sidestepped my questions. It was only when we were at his home that he spoke to me.
‘You can never go back to Mumbai,’ he told me. For a moment, I was stunned. I had left my clothes, my apartment, my car, everything behind because I thought I would be back in two weeks at the most. Now, Arsalan was telling me that I wouldn’t be returning to the city of my dreams.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘The police will force you to reveal my identity,’ he told me.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked him, confused.
This is when Arsalan revealed the truth to me. He told me that his name was Abu Salem and that he was not a businessman from Dubai but a gangster with underworld connections. The police had found out that I was in a relationship with him and he was afraid that they would detain me under some law. Which is why he had asked me to leave Mumbai immediately. I was stunned. Actually, even if he had introduced himself as Abu Salem earlier, I would have had no clue. I had only heard about Dawood Ibrahim and Chhota Shakeel. I had never heard of Abu Salem.
But nothing was as painful as what followed. Salem told me that he was already married to Samira Jumani and that he had a child with her. ‘But I only love you and want to start my life afresh with you,’ he said. I cried a lot that day. In fact, I had probably never cried as much in my life. Fate had now turned me into nothing more than a mobster’s moll.
Chapter 3
THE FUGITIVES
O
n 11 September 2001, suicide attackers from the Al Qaeda crashed planes into the iconic World Trade Centre towers, shattering the lives of several thousand Americans. There was a growing anti-terror and anti-Islam sentiment in the US, with almost every Muslim in the US fearing for his or her life. Salem and I were among the several anxious south Asian Muslims who witnessed this traumatic phase unfold, after 9/11.