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She was confident that the case was a routine affair and that she would soon be out of it. She spoke in an even voice, devoid of any emotion, and answered all our questions. I told myself, вЂњYeh dabbe main uttar gayi.вЂќ Shiva and I started asking her about the case and her involvement in it. When aapa finally spoke, all she said was, вЂњPoocho kya poochna hai.вЂќ You may not be guilty, I said, but being DawoodвЂ™s sister, youвЂ™ve always been accused without any fault. I sent up a silent prayer, and told her: You need to speak to be able to clear all the allegations. We started by saying that the media had been writing only one-sided stories and no one had bothered to understand her version. The trick that I had learnt on the job was that if you need to speak to an accused, you need to be on their side to convince them to talk to you.

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We were offered sheer korma but my mind was racing with ideas on how to get her to talk. She waved at a woman and in a deep, heavy voice, instructed her to get us something to eat. Straight off the bat, ParkarвЂ™s daughter announced that aapa would not be speaking.Д®ven though she just sat there, Parkar was an overwhelming presence in the room. I knew I would be talking about this interview with friends and colleagues for many years, but what twist it would take, I then had no idea. She would be the high point of my journalism career. Within a few minutes, a plump woman in a burqa, a little over 5вЂ™2вЂќ feet walked into the hall and sat opposite us. So I had to introduce myself as a journalist from Inquilab, MiD DAYвЂ™s Urdu publication. If I were to introduce myself as a MiD DAY reporter, there was no telling how things would turn out. Just that morning, MiD DAY had carried a news report against Parkar. WeвЂ™d already been warned against attempting to shoot or record anything. I sorely wanted to take in as much as I could, but I also did not want to piss anyone off by looking too curious. ParkarвЂ™s daughter answered the door and led us into a huge hall. Since we had Illias bhai with us, we were spared any probing questions.

Gordon Hall is an old eight-storeyed building, guarded by assorted muscle-bound types. Now, Parkar lorded over this kingdom of organised chaos. In the early years, Agripada was known for вЂњsoda baatliвЂќ fights, where empty soft drink bottles would turn into improvised weapons between gangs over time, the baatlis had morphed into rampuris. Dawood had once held court over its grimy gallis.Д¬hhota Shakeel, Asif Baatla, Ahmed Kashmiri, and several others had once ruled here. As we crossed Agripada, I thought about the areaвЂ™s long affair with the underworld. WeвЂ™d both driven there on his Yamaha RX 100. I met him outside Gordon Hall, along with a colleague named Shiva Devnath, who was then working with Mumbai Mitra newspaper. I pushed Illias bhai for a meeting with her and we agreed on an August afternoon. And an interview with Parkar would be a total coup for a young journalist like me. It was an exciting time for a newsroom in the early noughties.