In the late 1990s, I had the opportunity to interview a Mumbai underworld gangster implicated in orchestrating around 22 high-profile murders. Despite the serious allegations, none of the cases against him had been proven, allowing him to earn a living by renting out his shopping mall in Mumbai and enjoying his life.
Although he confessed much to me, he insisted that I keep everything confidential so that the truth would remain hidden. I honored his request, but now, 25 years later, it all seems irrelevant, especially since he was killed in a police encounter in 1999.
Of everything he shared that day, there is one particular incident that has stayed with me to this day.
His wife had gone to Chennai for safety reasons, but while there, she faced harassment from a fisherman. He would follow her, whistle at her, and even board the same bus just to leer at her. Unable to endure the torment any longer, she called her husband, who flew to Chennai that very evening.
I honestly anticipated some major drama would unfold. I imagined he might arrive with a machine gun like Tony Montana from *Scarface* and take the guy out. Or perhaps he would pull out a gun and execute him as casually as Joe Pesci does with the hotel waiter in *Goodfellas.*
None of that happened. PK (the gangster) instructed his wife to go to the same bus stop as usual while he positioned himself across the street, holding his DSLR with a 70-200 mm lens. When the fisherman arrived, he immediately fixated on PK’s wife and approached her, asking for her name. She ignored him and boarded the bus.
The next day, PK returned to Mumbai and assured her that the case was closed. She felt a twinge of worry about whether that might make it 23 on his list, but she didn’t press him for details. The fisherman never returned.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity and asked PK, “What did you actually do to deal with him?” He finally replied, “I took a picture of him approaching my wife and then followed him to his house in the slum.” “And?” I probed further. “Well, he had a wife and a daughter,” he added. “And?” I pressed him again. “Nothing much. I just developed the photo in the evening and showed it to his wife. From now on, she’ll take care of it,” he said.
What an anticlimax! I thought to myself, coming from a Mumbai gangster. Noticing the disappointment on my face, he said something significant that has stuck with me ever since. He remarked—
“There are a hundred ways to permanently solve a problem, and killing another human being should always be the last resort. Most of the time, it’s neither needed nor necessary. You can’t just kill everyone who crosses your path. If that were the case, only those with guns would survive on this planet, and no one else.” He continued, “I explore every possible avenue—talks, negotiations, threats, corruption, violence—and if nothing works… nothing. That’s when I load my gun.”
I said my goodbyes and never saw him again.