The Hindu Business Line : The Italian connection in a Punjabi's taxi

STORY so far: As I get ready for my evening appointment, I track Jaanu's record in consultancy assignments. What I find is but a grand flop-show, with all the projects that he put his finger in failing miserably before taking off. What worries me is how Jaanu would impact my company's fortunes.

Episode 13Women are usually accused of spending too much time before the mirror, though the same could be said of most men these days.

Many of my classmates used to start at breakfast and finish at tea-break, or start at lunch and go on up to afternoon tea, to get ready for any occasion, giving themselves a clear lead time of 70 to 90 minutes, with an array of cosmetics lined up for varied operations such as a line here, a brush there, a tinge elsewhere, and a touch here and there.

I have read a story in Greek mythology — of Narcissus who loses himself staring at his reflection in a pond. There are at least two reasons why I don't spend more than the bare minimum time to groom myself: One, my budget doesn't allow me to invest in all brands of perfumes and toiletries, because I would rather put money in books; and two, there are umpteen other things for me to do, instead of doing fine adjustments to my hair and dress that nobody is going to notice.

So, it was about 6 p.m. when I was on the road, hailing a taxi. "Park," I said, getting into the first one that stopped, with a sardarji at the wheel. "Take the longest route to reach there by 6.25, but don't race," I said, plugging my mobile into the laptop and losing no time to connect to the net. There was still research to do.

"Tyoda na ki haga?" I asked him, and that's `What is your name?' in Punjabi. "Vikky," he said, happily. "Thodi edi valloom ghatao, pleez Vikky," I pleaded him to shut the `Balle Balle' bit that was rocking the car. "Sorry, ma'm," he said with a quick smile and took a leisurely U-turn at Gemini to head towards the beach. And I reckoned that, at 40 kmph, it would take 10 minutes to reach Gandhi statue and 10 to be back, but there was always the possibility of a jam at the AVM Hall and that could eat five more minutes.

Of the companies I had studied before I left home, there was one Italian lead that had those loose strands all over and my first hit was the Kotto Roach Company which had hired Jaanu for a plum fee to find a suitable partner in India to join hands with them. As if to add to my woes, there were those pages that Google showed with Italian written all over them. I kept an online Italian-English dictionary minimised on the screen to translate what I saw. And there were surprises.

KR was dealing in arms and had contracts worth millions. Some of its customers were names that hit the headlines across the globe, such as insurgent groups or militant organisations. The Indian associate of KR, who went by the name HB, was absconding and there was an Interpol alert. Very important, KR was suing Jaanu in Italy for damages running to several million liras and I was sure even if Jaanu pledged his life he would never be able to pay up.

Unfortunately again, for Jaanu, KR had deep ties with families in Sicily. When the former Italian PM Giulio Andreotti was convicted of ordering a mafia hit on an investigative journalist in 1979 — the investigation had tracked some of KR's directors to have been intermediaries in getting the `logistics' right for the assassins.

We were again at Gemini with the diminutive horse statue on leash staring at all the polluting vehicles around it, and I unplugged the mobile to call Jaanu on his landline. "Sta bene?" I asked him `are you all right?' putting on an Italian accent, having heard Sonia too frequently on the TV. "Okay," he answered, "Do I know you?" "I'm La Colpa," I said, "Coming to settle a contract of KR with you. Only I haven't decided the method of operation, boat or truck, belt or fan, syringe or bathtub." He seemed to be shivering already, as I could hear him gasping. "From Corsica?" he asked. "No, I operate from my yacht, which is right now parked at Muttukadoo." He began to plead, "Give me time," but I was relentless, "Just enough to allow you to leave the country and head to Maldives where we can talk other details." He was grateful, "Shall I call you from the airport?" I was taking a risk, "If you have my number on your caller id." He didn't have one and asked to note. "It's okay, I'll call you tomorrow on your global roaming cell that KR gave you. At the usual rendezvous point near Amex ATM opposite to the main post office."

"Park," called Vikky softly, as if not to disturb me from my catnap that had taken me all the way from Nungambakkam to Maldives, from Chennai to Corsica. Ah, the power of dreams, I wondered unplugging the mobile and shutting the laptop that was already hibernating with a low battery level. And Vikky asked me, "Sta bene?"

(To be continued)

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