Iqra stood resolutely between her parents, stoically taking the brunt from both sides. Iqra replied, “No, Ammi Jaan. I don't want to get married to Dubai Latif. And Abbu, I don't want to work in your tailoring shop.

Her words started a fresh tirade, and Iqra waited patiently until her parents were out of breath. “Yes. I do have some ideas about what I want to do with my life. I want to start a detective agency.”

The following verbal assault made her cringe, but she held her own with determination. Iqra’s basic philosophy in life was, ‘There is always another way’. If you refuse to take ‘NO’ for an answer and try hard enough, you will definitely find a solution to any problem.

Her steadfast gaze held theirs. “Yes, it’s true.  I’ve always stood first in the examinations and have finished my engineering, but I don't think that means I’ve to join TCS or Infosys, unlike the neighborhood kids.”

Iqbal looked at his daughter in exasperation. “But why a detective?”

“Abbu, I can help society by being a detective. We don't have a single detective agency in the whole of Dharavi!  Do you remember our neighbor Saira? She got married to that UAE fellow without any background. If there had been an agency at hand, they could’ve found out that he was a wife-beater and had a couple of other wives living with him, and Saira wouldn’t have ended her life in desperation.”

Iqbal’s thoughtful expression deepened. Don't you need some experience to be a detective? No one in our circle has ever tried it. How can you begin without any knowledge?

“Abbu, this isn’t that kind of a business where the experience is confined to what happens inside an office. I believe I’ve been a detective all my conscious life. Do you remember how your measuring tape went missing when I was only eight years old? I had observed that the kid who came with his mother had been playing with it after you finished measuring. I guessed the kid must’ve taken it home. Then you went and checked, and sure, it was in the lady’s bag, planted there by the kid. That's when I knew I was observant and intelligent enough to connect my observations with deductions.”

Rahmat fidgeted with the end of her dupatta. “Beta, if you’re a detective, bad people will chase you on bikes and harm you. You’ve to fight back. How can you manage all that?”

Iqra smothered the smile that threatened to spill out as a laugh. “Ammi, that happens only in movies. Nowadays, most detective work is done using the phone and Googling for information. Look, I promise I won't do any dangerous work that can hurt me.”

“Beta, How about money? You know we can't afford much.”

“No, Abbu. I don't need any investment of money initially. I won't have any office. I’ll spread the word that I’m available for detective work. I’ll try solving a few cases coming up my way. If I’m successful and make money, I’ll open an office.” 

“Wait. Let us strike a bargain,” said Iqbal. “Your TCS job will start in three months. If you can solve a case by then, you can continue with your detective agency plans. But if you can't, you’ve to pack your bags and move to Bangalore”.

Iqra nodded obediently. Three months is a long time.


***

Iqra looked at herself in the fly-blown, dusty mirror that hung rather crookedly from a rusted nail on the dirty wall. She had an unremarkable, average build and a plain-looking visage. She was pleased because her sleuthing could happen unobtrusively and unobserved. Her only notable features were her dark flashing eyes that could burn with anger and a soft, generous mouth that could smile with joy.

Iqra unlocked her bicycle and set off. She passed through the narrow, smelly pathways lined with ugly huts covered by corrugated tin roofs.  The shanties were made up of uneven walls of clothes and cardboards.  But neither the view nor the noxious odor made any difference to Iqra.

This was her city. This was her life, and she loved it. 

***

Iqra got busy creating a website for ‘Raftar Detective Agency (RDA)’ at the internet cafe. She added ‘for quick action.’  as the agency’s tagline. The logo comprised of a large ‘R’ with the ‘D’ ensconced inside the upper part of ‘R’ and ‘A’ wedged into its lower half. The legs of R and A together projected a pair of running legs.

She created a WhatsApp message with her phone number, email, the website link, and the information that RDA would undertake any kind of detective work. She meticulously forwarded it to all the people on her contact list, requesting them to forward it to all their Whatsapp Dharavi groups that they belonged. 

***
The following day, when she heard the sensational news, all thoughts of the agency flew out of her mind. 

‘Popular actor, Manas Kapoor, found dead.’ screamed the headlines, followed by the news that he was murdered. There was total disbelief from the public. 

Manas Kapoor, a ruggedly handsome Bollywood actor with almost 50 movies under his belt, was the hot favorite. With a mop of thick, dark hair falling over his forehead and a stylishly positioned pair of sunglasses over his brown, sparkling eyes, he was the Bollywood idol, the heartthrob of all his fans. He could make young female hearts go aflutter with just one smile. The thick wavy hair and the sunglasses were part of his brand, his identity.

There had even been a comic strip from one of his detractors that showed Manas asleep on the bed, with his neatly coiffed hair intact and sunglasses set stylishly on top of his sharp nose.


***


Manas’s palatial Juhu bungalow, Aashray, always had fans hanging around. He was a Good Samaritan known for his charitable acts. In fact, he often offered penurious people jobs. Manas had seen a young man, working as a stuntman, being kicked out of the shooting, and after finding out about his qualifications, hired him as his manager. A lady working as a makeup artist, whom a heroine harassed continuously, got the job as his cook. His gardener, too, was a guy who turned up at Aashray with a sob story.

And now Manas Kapoor was dead! 

Palpable gloom hung over the slums. MK, as he was popularly known, was from Dharavi. He was born in one of those shanties covered in the ubiquitous blue tarp. People of the slum worshipped him. He was their success story, their inspiration, their passport to glamour.

MK had not forgotten his roots. He had bankrolled a few public toilets with running water for the slums. He’d occasionally drop in along with the entourage of press and bodyguards and let the photographers click a few pictures with his arms around some of the Dharavi residents.

But, MK kept his private life well-guarded from the media, and no one knew much about his wife, Mitra. Rumors of separation and imminent divorce were rife.

Iqra meticulously followed the news, gathered information, and stored it on her laptop. But there was no hope for her to flex her detective muscle because it was an open and shut case.

MK’s manager, Varun, was working in his room at Aashray when he heard a scream and scuffling sounds coming from the actor’s room. MK had a cabin attached to the room where he’d receive guests. It was tastefully done with expansive windows covered with sleek Roman shades in muted colors. A workstation made of expensive natural wood dominated the room. There was a luxurious futon on one side that MK occasionally used when he needed to rest briefly between meetings. This was MK’s private space. An automatic door led to the visitors' room, where he would meet the producers, fans, and other Bollywood folks.

On the day of the murder, hearing the unusual noises, Varun had hurried into MK’s chamber and saw that the actor reposed on his back and a knife stuck out of his ribcage. Thick blood had congealed, surrounding the wound. 

Oddly, still neat and shiny, the brown mop of hair lay awry, exposing the actor’s bald pate. His sunglasses rested askew, the bridge broken, one lens on the forehead and another below the eye, giving his face a lopsided look.

The knife was the one that usually lay on the table. MK often used it to cut fruits whenever he felt like snacking. The cook, Najma, and the gardener Somayya had also rushed into the room. 

Lokesh, who ran a small shop selling helmets, a few meters outside MK's bungalow, was found on the scene, caught with his hands on the knife. A bundle of notes amounting to a lakh was found hurriedly stuffed into his back pocket. Lokesh looked dazed and was not replying to questions.

According to the police, Varun’s statement went thus.

He had received the amount of one lakh from the producer, put it into an open envelope, and placed it on the table. MK still hadn’t come down from his upstairs bedroom. Varun had left Aashray to run some errands and returned an hour later. He had seen Lokesh sitting uncomfortably in the visitors' room. When questioned, Lokesh said he wanted to ask MK for a loan. The actor did have a nodding acquaintance with him.

When Varun entered the actor’s chamber, MK was at the table, working on his laptop. He had wanted a cup of tea, and the manager had called up Najma on the intercom, informed her to make some, and gone straight into his room, which was right at the back of the house. He had been there, working till he heard the thudding sounds.


Varun had rushed into the room and found Lokesh on the floor next to the actor: his hands still on the knife lodged in the actor’s chest.

Varun had pulled him away and called the police after ensuring the actor was not breathing. The gardener and the cook had helped Varun hold him until the police arrived.

In his defense, Lokesh had related an incredible, fanciful story. 

The version of the murder given out by the police was that MK must've refused when Lokesh had asked for money. Lokesh may have noticed the envelope containing cash on the table and snatched it, and MK must’ve tried to stop him. Lokesh could’ve grabbed the knife and stabbed him in the ensuing scuffle. Because it wasn’t a premeditated crime, he hadn’t planned his getaway well.



***


Iqra was on her way back from the public washroom after bathing. The feeling of freshness dissipated into a bout of sweat even before she turned the corner. Iqra carried a bucket filled with neatly washed clothes she had worn the previous day. She found her dad waiting for her outside their shanty. As soon as he saw her, he hurried up to her and whispered, “Someone has come home looking for you. They have a detective job for you.”

Iqra immediately planted the bucket in her dad’s hands, hurriedly combed her hair with her fingers, and walked in.

***

Two people sat down on the floor. The eyes of the young lady were puffy and red with tears. She looked tired and washed out. The other was a young transgender person.

There was a brief silence in the room. 

The transgender person cleared her throat and said, “I’m Lakshmi. This is Fatima. I got a WhatsApp forward with the information about a new detective agency. I remembered it when Fatima needed the help of a detective.”

Iqra introduced herself and gestured for her to continue.

Lakshmi explained. “Fatima married a Hindu boy much against both the families' wishes. I live in the hut opposite theirs and am their friend. I work in a garment factory. Now that Fathima is in trouble, both the families don't want to help. As a transgender person, I know the pain of being abandoned. So, I’m here for Fatima and Lokesh.

Iqra tried to sound professional and asked, “How can I help you?”.

Lakshmi and Fatima looked at each other. It was Lakshmi who explained. “You must’ve heard about film star MK’s murder? The film hero? The police have arrested Lokesh, and he’s in a lockup. Fatima is his wife. She believes he’s innocent.”

A skeptical look passed through Iqra’s face before she could check it. Lakshmi noticed it and nudged Fatima, who wiped her face with a dirty handkerchief and sobbed. “Lokesh is the kindest and sweetest person I’ve come across. He won't hurt a fly. Lokesh murdering someone? Impossible!”

Fresh tears sprang up in Fatima’s eyes, and she began sobbing. Lakshmi patted her on her shoulder and continued, “It seems MK would smile and nod at Lokesh whenever he passed him on the street. Lokesh works hard, is trustworthy, totally honest, and has great respect for the star. Fatima thinks that there’s definitely some mistake somewhere. No way he’d turn a murderer overnight.”

Iqra shared the shanty with her extended family. As they were talking, her cousins and aunts kept walking around, giving them curious stares. Iqra felt they needed privacy.

She suddenly remembered the crude terrace on the opposite hut, used as waste storage. They climbed the rickety ladder and landed in a tiny space with broken chairs and sofas. It was definitley shabby but totally private.

Iqra spoke, “Look, I find it unbelievable that the police would make such a huge mistake. Also, all the evidence points directly at Lokesh.”

Lakshmi and Fatima looked crestfallen.

“Do you have any evidence to prove that Lokesh hasn’t committed the murder?”

Fatima shook her head, but Lakshmi said in a thoughtful voice, “This isn’t proof that he didn’t commit the crime, but evidence about his character. I have often offered Lokesh money to take Iqra out for dinners or movies, but he has always refused. Do you really think such a person would murder for money?”

Lakshmi’s words touched Iqra. “Okay. I’ll try talking to Lokesh, and if I’m convinced of his innocence, I’m willing to take the case up.”

“How can you talk to Lokesh? The police won’t allow anyone except Fatima to meet him in the lockup.”

Iqra’s voice sounded thoughtful as she asked Fatima to describe the police procedure for the meeting. After hearing her out, she explained to them what needed to be done. 

Lakshmi and Fatima hesitated as they were leaving. Iqra immediately understood and assured them. “I won't be asking for a large fee. Pay me whatever you can.”

***

The police sentry guarding the lockup watched as the auto stopped and Lokesh’s wife stepped out along with Lakshmi. The figure in the burqa took out her Aadhar card and showed it to him.

He irritatedly warned her. “You came yesterday too. If I tell the inspector that you’re coming daily, he’ll stop you.”

Lakshmi, right behind, took out a hundred rupee note and handed it over. The guard pocketed it in a sleek motion that talked about the million times he had performed it.

“You’ve only one hour. Finish talking to him fast.” The sentry opened the gate and let her inside. 

***
Iqra whispered to Lokesh, “I hope Fatima explained everything to you yesterday that I’d be coming in her place today. We don't have much time. Please describe to me exactly what happened on that day.”

Lokesh took a minute to collect his thoughts and narrated. “MK had never talked to me before. He’d smile at me passing my roadside shop. That’s why I was surprised when he stopped the car that day, lowered the window, and gestured for me to come near. When I did, he told me that he had always admired my sincerity and hard work and wanted to present me with a job opportunity so that I didn't need to stand in the sun to earn my living. I was surprised but happy too. MK asked me to get into the car. I hesitated only for a second. I covered the helmets with a tarp and left with him in his huge car. He took me to his house and asked me to sit in the waiting room. He said he’d call me as soon as he was ready.”

Lokesh took a breath, continuing, “I waited sitting in the visitor's room. After about fifteen minutes, the manager came in and asked me why I was there, and I answered. He went back into the actor's room, and again I waited for a long time—still, no word. Nearly an hour passed, and I became worried about my shop. So, I hesitatingly knocked and got no reply. I pushed the door open and entered. I immediately saw that the actor lay on the carpet with the knife sticking out of his chest. I got distressed, screamed, and ran straight to him, trying to pluck the knife out, thinking of saving him. 

Hearing my screams, the manager came running in, saw me with the actor, and assumed I had stabbed him. He immediately rushed to me and pried me away. By the time the police came in, I was held captive by all of them. I tried telling the truth, but they laughed and refused to believe me.”

“What about the money found in your pocket?”

“I’ve absolutely no clue how it came there. I didn’t have it when I went into MK’s house. I didn’t take it from anywhere.”

***

The next evening Iqra and the other two gathered at the terrace. Lakshmi and Fatima looked at her hopefully.

“My gut instinct says that Lokesh is telling the truth, however bizarre his story may sound. I don't think a liar can come up with such an unbelievable story.”

Lakshmi and Fatima smiled at each other hopefully. 

“But don't get your hopes too high. We have a long way to go. I need to get my hands on all the information the police have about the case.” Iqra Googled if she could access the files through the ‘Right To Information’ but drew up a blank as police records fell under Section 24 related to security aspects.

Lakshmi, who also had been busy on the phone, said, “Wait, I think I can help. My friend’s cousin works in that police station. I know he’ll do any work for money. Tell me what exactly you need?”

Iqra told her that he should take photos of the relevant files and the crime scene pictures. 

Briefly hesitating, she informed them that this was her first case and she did not have any money to invest. She explained to them how winning or losing this case would determine her future.

Lakshmi immediately replied, “Don't worry, Iqra. This case is important for you as well as Fatima. I’ll help you in whatever way I can. Though it’s not much, I do have one lakh rupees in my savings. After all, I don't really have any family to spend it on. But I want something in return.”

Iqra looked at her apprehensively. 

“Don't look so tense; it's nothing big. I always wanted to be a detective too. I’m a good actor and can help you in any way possible. I’ll be happy if you just let me be a part of your investigation. You know, as transgender people, we’re a close-knit community. So I have a huge network of friends who can help me with information.”

Iqra and Fatima gave her their full attention.

Lakshmi continued, “Also, we, the transgender people, have a lot of freedom compared to the others. For example, a girl loitering outside at odd hours would be vulnerable to all sorts of rascals. But not us. If a man is sitting around on walls or benches for a long time, he may be questioned, but not us. So I can go to places and do things you never can.”  

Iqra looked at Laksmi with a smile. She was beginning to have a sneaky admiration for the youngster. Her cheerful disposition, helpful attitude, and fun-loving personality drew Iqra to her.

“If we crack this case, I’d love to work for Raftar Detective Agency.”
***
By evening Iqra was in possession of all the documents and photos the police had. She charged and took her emergency lamp into her ‘office’ as she had begun to call the terrace. Iqra dusted and cleaned up one of the comfy-looking sofas and sat there, browsing through the files that didn’t contain any new information she had culled from the newspapers and articles. By the time the sun began to set, she had switched on the lamp. She examined each photo under its light when she suddenly spotted something that didn’t make sense.

She closed her eyes to give them rest, took a deep breath, and rechecked the photo. She had remembered reading about this aspect in a Sherlock Holmes story. But she wanted to verify it, so she Googled and was sure that she was onto something.


***


The following day, the trio met at the ‘office’ again, and Iqra explained what she had discovered and its significance in proving Lokesh’s innocence. There was sudden excitement in the air. Fatima’s face streaked up in a smile.

The most practical among them, Lakshmi immediately asked, “What next?”

Iqra thought for a while and said, “If I can talk to the forensic people, I can have more clarity on what this means. But my age and inexperience will be against me because they may refuse to meet a ‘wannabe’ detective who doesn't even have a visiting card.”

Laksmi said after a brief silence, “Can you give me the name of the person you would want to talk to and the location of his office?”

Iqra got busy on her phone and replied, “Dr. Manohar, whose offices are in Kalina”.


***


It was the following day that she got a call from Lakshmi. “Dr. Manohar has the habit of dropping for a coffee daily at the Cuppy cafe on his way back from the office. You can try meeting him there. If this doesn't work, we can always think of another way.”


***
Iqra was nervous and tensed as she saw Manohar nodding to the waiter. He looked aloof and formidable. She gathered her courage and approached him with a fake smile of confidence. He looked at her questioningly. She sought permission to sit at his table. Manohar looked intrigued as he nodded. She explained about her detective agency and her connection to the MK murder case.

“I’m listening. Please proceed.”

“I looked at the pictures, and in a close-up of MK’s body, I noticed that the blood around the wound had congealed. According to Varun’s statement, he had apprehended Lokesh as soon as the murder was committed. If that were true, the blood would still be fresh and flowing and not coagulated.”

A sudden light leaped into Manohar’s eyes. “Yes. You’re right. I had pointed out this fact to the police. But in Mumbai, everyone is overworked and doesn't have time to waste. Because the police found the culprit red-handed, literally, with the blood on his hands, they didn’t look further. I, too, dropped it because I have a huge backlog of work”.

Iqra was elated with the validation, but Manohar’s following words dampened her. “Because of my position at the Forensics, I cannot help you in any practical way by going back on our reports. But your observations are spot-on, and you should continue with your efforts”.

***

The trio celebrated their tiny victory by having a cutting chai. Iqra said, “I need to talk to the staff at Aashray. But I’m sure if I go as a detective, trying to prove Lokesh isn’t guilty, they’ll clam up on me.”

Lakshmi piped up, “Why don't you pretend to be a reporter? They’d get excited to be in papers and may slip up.”

***

Iqra was at Aashray, claiming to be from a news magazine, and said their photos would be in newspapers if they agreed to be interviewed. Iqra looked her part, dressed in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, her hair up in a pony and a tiny recorder (which actually didn’t work) in her hands.

The first to be questioned was Somayya, the gardener. He more or less confirmed all the events as they had been reported. Iqra asked him if anything strange or out of the ordinary had happened recently.

Somayya hesitated and reluctantly said, “Yes. I was puzzled by something. But it happened a week back, and I can't think how the murder can be connected to it. So I didn’t tell the police.”

Iqra said authoritatively, “WE will decide if it’s connected or not. You tell me about it.”

Somayya looked furtive and said in a low voice, “You know that MK has a wife. Mitra and Mk have been fighting, and she had left him to live with her parents. Because his image as an actor shouldn’t suffer, MK had kept it a secret. Last week Mitra was at home, and she was very secretive.”

“Did you hear her and MK quarrelling?”

“I don't know what happened inside. I only saw her furtively sneaking into the house.”

***
After taking Najma, the cook, through the events, Iqra asked her the same question about any strange incidents. Najma said she couldn’t think of anything.

Iqra asked, “Somayya claims he saw Mitra visiting Aashray last week.

Najma became silent.  Iqra had to prod and threaten her before she reluctantly agreed that she had seen Mitra at home. “Sir had helped me so much when the film industry heroines were harassing me. That's why I didn’t want to talk about it. Mitra had called me to her room and explained that she and sir were still happily married, and the whole drama of separation was because they needed to save on taxes. If the divorce happens, there will be more money for them. That's why she occasionally secretly visited him, and they spent time together.”

“What about the day of the murder? Had she come on that day too?”

“No. Madam is out of the station. Last week, she told me that she was going to her native place and will return next month.”

***


Varun’s statement also didn’t vary much from the newspaper’s version. Iqra asked him about the Mitra angle, and he looked contrite. “I don't know what exactly is happening between them. I don't think it’s anything to do with taxes. But, yes. Madam occasionally visits MK, and it's all supposed to be a secret. But they have indeed applied for a divorce.”

Iqra’s next question came out of the blue. “What about the will? Do you’ve any idea who benefits from it? Do you know if your name is in it?”

Varun was thoughtful before he replied. “I think MK once mentioned that he has left me a small amount. Maybe a lakh or two. I guess that his entire wealth, including Aashray, will go to his wife because their divorce hasn’t gone through. if it had happened before his death, then madam would’ve got only half the property.”

“One last question. Can I take a photo of the room where the tragedy happened?”

“Yes, of course. Follow me.”

***


Iqra was back on the terrace and looked at the crime scene photos one by one. When she came to the one that the press had used, she stopped and looked at it for a long time. MK reposed on the floor with the knife sticking out of his chest. His wig lay askew; the iconic pair of glasses broken at the nose had settled asymmetrically on the face. 

Suddenly Iqra's face split up in a smile as she understood everything. She called Lakshmi and asked both of them to meet her.

Iqra explained as Lakshmi and Fathima sat listening. “If Lokesh wasn't the murderer, it had to be someone in the house. That's why I went to speak to them. I also went to the room where the murder was committed. Then I checked the photos once again, and now, I know who did it.”

Lakshmi sounded excited, “Tell me soon, or my head will burst with the suspense.”

“I knew that this was a well-planned murder committed by someone intelligent because he had also found a scapegoat to take the blame. Also, my firm belief is that generally, the only motives for murders are personal gain or a woman's love.”

She had the full attention of her audience.

Iqra added, “In this case, it was both.”

Fatima’s and Lakshmi’s were agog.

“MK had become synonymous with his mop of thick hair and sunglasses. It's very easy to imitate him, especially for a person who had been a stuntman and knew the art of body language. Varun had planned very meticulously. On the day of the murder, it must’ve been very easy for him to enter the room, plunge the sharp knife into MK’s chest, make sure he was dead, and hide the body behind the futon in the room. I had personally checked: the futon was large enough to conceal a body. He wasn’t bothered by his fingerprints on the knife's hilt because he could always claim he had cut an apple for MK. Then he pulled the wig out, put on the sunglasses, took the car, and picked up Lokesh, spouting a ridiculous story while pretending to be MK.

Once Lokesh was established in the waiting room, Varun called Najma from the intercom and ordered MK's tea. When she brought it, Varun sat there pretending to be MK, busy on his laptop. After Najma left, he must have gulped up the tea. Having established that MK was alive at that time, he pulled out the body from behind the futon, put back the wig on the head, broke the sunglasses artistically, and arranged it on the actor's face. One of the very few mistakes Varun made was breaking the glasses. MK was found lying on his back. Then how did his glasses break at the nose? Because it was not damaged by MK’s fall. It was done later, and the easiest way to crack glasses is using a stone on its bridge.


Then, he must have gone into his room and pretended to work and waited for Lokesh to find the body. After hearing the chaos, Varun rushed into the room. Poor guy, Lokesh, played into his hands by trying to pull the knife out.

In the confusion, no one noticed him slipping the money into Lokesh’s pocket.

Lakshmi asked, “But why? Why kill the actor for a paltry lakh or two? MK had been so kind to him and given him a life.”

Iqra sounded way more mature than she was when she stated. “Women and wealth are the biggest polluters of a man’s mind. Varun was not after the money MK had left him. He was playing for a bigger stake. I’m sure MK’s wife Mitra was the mastermind behind the murder. She and Varun must be having an affair. This was their plan to get the whole property for themselves. If the divorce came through, they would only get half the property. Mitra had been visiting Varun on the sly, and they made up some lame excuses when the staff spotted Mitra. Because she was the major beneficiary of MK’s death, she ensured she had an alibi by visiting her native place. Varun didn’t get any major benefit through MK’s death. So he actually committed the murder because he didn’t have a motive.”

All three of them were happy and grinning from ear to ear when Lakshmi stopped and asked, “Now what?”

Iqra replied, “We cannot go to the inspector who had arrested Lokesh. He’ll try to sabotage our story because it puts him in a bad light.”

Lakshmi said, “I’ll find an inspector who’s known to be honest and not corrupt from my network. Let’s take our findings to him. We’ll get justice, and Lokesh will be released.