Mumbaistan Read Online Free Page A

Bazaar. Popular Jewels had earned a reputation for being one of the last few shops that provided superb traditional craftsmanship at affordable rates. The owners were known for their honesty, but on the flip side, the shop also had a reputation for a laid-back attitude towards security.
    It was, therefore, not a shock when a gangly well-dressed young man walked into Popular Jewels without being stopped. He had been following Rabia ever since he had received the tip-off from the bank manager. He sauntered up to Rabia and without warning, snatched her Rexine handbag off the glass-topped counter where she'd placed it while trying on the jhumar. Rabia blinked, confused, not understanding what such a well-dressed young man would want with her bag. But when the man loped towards the exit, she displayed an alertness alien to her otherwise languid nature. She rose, screamed 'Chor! Chor!' and, with a speed seen only in professional sportspersons, sprang behind the thief, who had just about managed to reach the exit door.
    The store's lax attitude was on full display—the security guard's chair by the door was empty. As a considerate afterthought, the guard had left behind his antique 12-bore rifle propped against the wall, perhaps hoping that its presence would deter a thieving mind.
    In fact, this kindly act was what saved the day. Rabia, chasing after the thief, grabbed the rifle instinctively and emerged with it on to the crowded street. The sight of a burqa-clad woman brandishing a 12-bore rifle on the busy street, combined with Rabia roaring 'Chor!' had its effect. Most passers-by leapt out of the way. Fearing for their lives, they ducked down to avoid any errant bullets. This gave Rabia a clear view of the running thief. She raised the rifle, as if ready to fire.
    'Stop!' she yelled, as the thief was clearly in her sight. But nearby was also a police constable, who had just turned the corner, curious about the source of the commotion. All of a sudden, Rabia seemed to come out of a trance. The realization of what she had been about to do hit her in the gut. In a flash, she lowered the gun. But not before the constable, too, had ducked to the side, fearing that he might encounter a bullet from her rifle. While doing so, he bumped into the thief, who was swerving past to avoid him. The thief was thrown off balance and landed on the dirty street with a loud thump. His head hit the ground and he was out cold. The constable, trying to regain his balance, saw that Rabia was still standing with the 12-bore in her hands, in a state of scared confusion. Equally confused, he grabbed the rifle from her and asked her to kneel on the ground. Between her gasps, Rabia tried to explain the sequence of events, but the constable would have none of it. A small crowd surged around, flinging questions at them and at each other.
    To Rabia's luck, Zohra arrived on the scene right then. She lifted her veil and gave the constable a beaming smile. He blushed, self-conscious. She placed a soft hand on his wrist and took him aside, casually pressing her breast on to his arm as he stepped away with her. Having caught his absolute attention, Zohra started recounting the chain of events to him to prove that Rabia was actually the victim. Meanwhile, Rabia stood on one side, catching her breath and examining the contents of her handbag, which she had managed to extricate from the unconscious thief's grasp.
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    Tanvir walked through the crowded streets, almost zombielike. The weight of the world seemed to sit on his shoulders. The noonday sun beat down on his already hot head. Realizing that his energy was draining fast, he stopped at a roadside nimbu sharbat wallah. He picked up a chilled glass of nimbu sharbat on display. Downing the tangy-sweet syrup in one gulp, he experienced the surge of courage that he had been desperately looking within himself for. He asked for another glass.
    Across the street, Tanvir saw a constable talking on his mobile phone,