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and a couple of green chillies. And those who were not familiar with his shenanigans would approach him in awe and wonderment, exclaiming that they were stunned to see the commissioner of police indulging in such simple fare; to this, he would throw back his head and fake a hearty laugh and reply,
‘Mein garib kisan ka beta hoon. Yeh sab kha ke hi toh yahan tak pahooncha hoon.’
After delivering this dialogue, he’d get up from his seat and leave, saying he was getting late for a meeting, then dash over to the Delhi Durbar restaurant nearby and tuck into his favourite chicken biryani, mutton korma and kebab paratha, washing it all down with a tall glass of sugarcane juice. The fact that Commissioner Ghankar was a petty, vindictive individual who hated the SCS was no secret, but Hoshiyar Khan did not let such a thing get to him. He wasn’t bothered when the commissioner’s office would call, informing his squad that one of their cases was being taken away from them; neither did he lose his composure when the office of the SCS was shifted from Crawford Market to Carter Road. On the contrary, Hoshiyar welcomed any reduction in his considerable workload and considered the shifting of his office to the sea-facing Carter Road a blessing. This was not because that particular stretch of road had transformed into one of Mumbai’s leading hubs of leisure and activity, with its numerous restaurants and cafes, apart from a bustling promenade, and the famous Jogger’s Park, dedicated to the good health and well-being of the citizens of Bandra, frequented by everyday folks and celebrities alike; the reason Hoshiyar was very content with the location of his new office was that it was less than five minutes away from his home, which was a small, but charming bungalow, located at the end of Sherly Rajan Road, gifted to him by his family the day he got married, making it the only gift he ever accepted and purely for the sake of the enchanting Rumi begum, his incessantly inquisitive but well-meaning better half, because he knew well enough that she would have found it very difficult to adjust to his one-bedroom police quarters, never mind how hard she tried. In fact, it was immediately after the honeymoon that Hoshiyar discovered he had been right about his wife, when Rumi begum moved into their new home in Mumbai, accompanied by her cook, Kamru mian, her chauffeur, Sharf-ud-din, and her personal maids, Shabbo, Najjo and Bano, all of them from her family home in Lucknow, who had tagged along to look after her every need. However, this particular arrangement ended up working in Hoshiyar’s favour, because he could go to work every day secure in the knowledge that his wife was able to carry on with her day-to-day routine just as efficiently and without any hindrance as she did back home in Lucknow before their wedding. For instance, while Hoshiyar’s day would begin with a brisk walk along Carter Road at around 6 a.m., followed by breakfast and the morning paper, after which he would leave for the SCS headquarters literally down the road, a little before nine, Rumi begum would see her husband off, then go back to bed and wake up at around eleven, after which she would have her breakfast outside in the lawn, then instruct Kamru mian what to make for her husband’s tiffin, which she would supervise and have it delivered to him by two o’clock, by when it was time for her to indulge in a bit of social work by holding her daily durbar in the lawn over lunch, when domestic helps from the neighbourhood and even their acquaintances would come to her with their problems that would keep her occupied for the next few hours; then she would catch up with her best friend Minoo Dadichand over a cup of coffee, and finally finish her day with a workout at the local gym or a walk around the busy neighbourhood, taking in the evening sights and sounds, before heading back home, just in time for her husband’s return after a long, hard day. And yes, along