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BYCULLA TO BANGKOK FREE PDF

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Read "Byculla to Bangkok" by S. Hussain Zaidi available from Rakuten Kobo. Violence and deceit one expects to read of, but the strength of this book is also. Byculla to Bangkok by S. Hussain Zaidi - Ebook download as ePub .epub), Text File .txt) or read book online. a good history about m. Byculla to Bangkok completes my previous book, Dongri to Dubai (D2D), which chronicled the. Mumbai mafia and its tryst with the city in the last six decades. Chhota Rajan, Arun Gawli, Amar Naik, Ashwin Naik, Suresh Manchekar, Sunil Sawant, D. K.


Byculla To Bangkok Free Pdf

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Arun Gawali, wheelchair-bound Ashwin Naik who was also a civil engineer of the city and an accomplished gangster, the much-awaited sequel to Dongri to Dubai After the huge success of Dongri to Dubai, members worldwide, 'Byculla to Bangkok' is a detailed account of political. Read reviews from world's largest community for readers.

Specially this one, byculla to Bangkok deals mainly with three gangs of Bombay - the Arun Gawli gang. Byculla to Bangkok is largely a story about Mumbai s Hindu gangsters. Byculla to Bangkok - Kindle edition by S. Online or for free download in PDF or. Byculla to Bangkok Here comes its much awaited sequel, social scenarios Byculla to Bangkok is exceptionally well written and gripping.

Find all the books, major characters in this book include are Arun Gawli. FREE shipping on qualifying offers. A bank account with no unnecessary fees that pays you up to two days early. Mumbai is a daunting place. Byculla to Bangkok by S! A good history about m I have just modified external links on Byculla to Bangkok. Ghafoor hoped the Makadwala encounter would bolster the sagging confidence of the police force. He knocked and entered the cabin, followed by his team of police officers, who formed a row and gave Samra a stiff salute.

The turbaned Sikh cop looked up at Ghafoor curiously, asking who the men were and what had brought them there. I thought you would want to see them and commend them on their good work. Why have you brought them here? Ask them to get out of here. They stopped only at the reception, where they waited for Ghafoor to join them. None of them uttered a word until they saw a flustered Ghafoor emerging from the office of the police commissioner, beads of sweat and worry lines on his face.

We retaliate to save our lives. And these men were with Makadwala. For us, each of them was as dangerous as Makadwala was. The much anticipated success party had ended in an anticlimax, throwing another pall of gloom over the crime branch. Soon, Hasan Ghafoor was shunted out of the crime branch, apparently for administrative reasons, and posted at the nondescript Anti-Corruption Bureau.

Two police officers, though, were unperturbed by these developments: Vijay Salaskar and Pradeep Sharma. They continued to work in the crime branch and nursed other plans — known only to the two of them. Jamsandekar had been shot dead in March , at his residence in suburban Ghatkopar. Gawli was accused of having paid Rs 30 lakh to his men to kill Jamsandekar over a dispute regarding a piece of land.

He and eleven others were found guilty by the court. The court sent Gawli to jail for twenty years: ten for being a member of a murderous, organized crime syndicate and ten for extortion.

This was in the confines of Harsul Jail in Aurangabad, in Harsul is one of the largest jails in Maharashtra, and Gawli and his gang had found themselves cooling their heels there and eating spicy Aurangabad curry; it was the only place they could rest without crossing swords with other mobsters owing allegiance to other bosses.

At the time, I was barely two years into the profession and was accompanied by my wife Velly Thevar, by then an established crime reporter. The trigger for the interview was my amazing boss, Sai Suresh Sivaswamy, at the time the editor of the newly launched Express Newsline. The idea of a city pull-out edition along with the mother brand was just catching up. Bombay Times, unlike its tame avatar now, was posing a challenge to readers of its main newspaper, the Times of India, and in response, both the Asian Age and the Indian Express had launched their own city editions: The Mumbai Age and Newsline respectively.

Sai and I hit it off instantly. Unlike other editors, he did not bark out instructions but threw out challenges instead. And so I set off brazenly for Aurangabad, unsure whether I would bag the interview in the first place and wondering how the hell I was to circumvent jail regulations.

I first landed at Dagdi Chawl to get a contact from the gang, and finally got introduced to Santosh. At the Harsul compound, we did not flaunt our press cards. Velly was essentially a reporter and I must say I have not seen a journalist quite like her. While I was waiting for my contact to appear and take me inside the jail for the interview, she was already walking around and listening to the stories of the people sitting on their haunches inside the compound.

She later told me, with much regret, that she had witnessed an amazing sight and, for the first time in her life, felt she had failed as a journalist. She had met an old man waiting with impatient eyes and an obvious eagerness for somebody. When she checked with the cops, they told her that the man had just come out of jail after spending almost a lifetime there. Velly tried to talk to him, but he was too preoccupied. The man ran to her and they hugged and cried like young lovers.

Velly was moved but did not feel like disturbing their reunion. Also, she was too worried about what I was up to inside the jail to chase the couple for a story. Unlike her, I was a rookie. I was only twenty-seven years old and had never seen the inside of a jail except in Hindi movies. Harsul was an awe-inspiring fortress, swarming with security personnel, and I was very anxious about the interview.

After passing unchecked through several big halls and labyrinthine corridors, we were finally led into a large room. It was sparsely furnished, with only two chairs and a bench. Daddy will come in a while. Why was a khaki-clad officer referring to Arun Gawli as Daddy? We waited for Gawli to appear. After a few minutes, we heard the clanging of a big iron gate and light footsteps like those of a woman or a child.

We looked up and saw a thin, puny man, less than 5 feet tall, frail but neatly dressed in a starched white kurta and pyjamas, a Nehruvian cap completing his attire. He was clean-shaven, with a neatly trimmed Kamal Haasan-style moustache and well-oiled hair, and flanked by two cops who seemed to be melting in awe of him.

He did not look like a prisoner.

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Gawli appeared well-dressed, comfortable and perfectly at home. I had to conceal my shock.

I had seen photographs of the man, but nothing had prepared me for this. After having been fed a diet of Hindi film villains with their larger-than-life personas — booming voice and broad shoulders — this was an anticlimax.

But his eyes were interesting. There was guile and many secrets in them: eyes that had lived life and thirsted for more. Arun Gawli folded his hands in the same gesture.

The way he spat out the words, it was like he was an emperor doling out largesse and I, a humble servant begging for an audience. I had to pinch myself to believe that I was standing before a TADA accused in a high-security prison.

Byculla To Bangkok

The don seated himself in a chair and offered me tea and snacks. I remember, as recently as three years ago, when my wife and I had gone to interview the sister of one of the most wanted men in India at her residence — my wife had come along because the journalist in her could not resist an interview with a female don — I refused to get up to greet her, and was chastised by my wife.

Any other man would have walked out of the interview after my self-righteous outburst, but not Gawli. His eyebrows arched, but he did not say anything. The interview began and I found myself in my element, refusing to play ball and asking him all kinds of uncomfortable questions. We spoke about his rivals: Dawood Ibrahim and those who were baying for his blood, including Bal Thackeray, the Mumbai police, etc. Twice, during the course of the interview, we were interrupted by a cop asking him to return to his barracks as the IG of prisons was about to go on his rounds.

Both times Gawli screamed at him, shooing him away. That was the first time I experienced the impotence of khaki.

First impressions rarely die; to date, few policemen — a handful, really — have managed to make an impression and rise above my general prejudice about them.

But I was a reporter and reckless. I returned and wrote the whole story in detail. Newsline ran the interview as an eight-column flyer across the page. It created a big hue and cry. Incidentally, Gawli went on to keep his promise and became a politician.

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Karkare, one of the best policemen the force has seen, was so right. Ranjit Singh Sharma, then joint commissioner of police, crime, summoned me to the crime branch office and asked me to disclose how I had managed to get inside the prison and do the story.

I refused to spill the beans. Sharma politely mentioned that he could issue summons against me under Section 60 of the Indian Evidence Act, I can sit behind bars for a few months, but I cannot disclose how I got the interview. When he realized that I was adamant and that a clash between the media and the police could get out of hand, he became concerned about me and warned me to be careful of the Gawli gang as they could make my life hell. Later, when Gawli got bail and I met him with some foreign journalists at his fortress at Dagdi Chawl, he looked at me accusingly.

Soon after my story was published, several jail officials got transferred and that had made his life miserable, he said. I was lucky to be spared. And then she did something reporters should avoid doing — after the story was published, she landed up at the infamous Dagdi Chawl for first-hand verification.

The party workers roughed her up. They assaulted her physically, causing injuries and bruises. Once upon a time, Dagdi Chawl was impregnable.

It still is, to some extent. His drawing room is lined with various pictures and idols of a pantheon of Hindu deities and looks like the sanctum sanctorum of a temple.

In Wadgaon Pir, where his in-laws live, he is revered like a saint. His other Maharashtrian peers have not been so lucky. Except for the Pathans, who never allowed a non-Muslim into their crime syndicates, the Mumbai mafia was a melting pot of cultures: a miniature Mumbai.

Bhaiyya means elder brother, but in Mumbai the Maharashtrians throw the word around as a pejorative to denote anybody who hails from the north of the Godavari.

In fact, the Mumbai mafia has never been racist or communal like the exclusivist American syndicates: in the US, you have the black mafia, Chinese mafia, Russian mafia, Pakistani mafia, Korean mafia, Italian mafia and so on. Bombay has always been an amalgamation, a confluence of cultures, a cosmopolitan city that was under the control of some foreign ruler or the other since the fourteenth century, all of whom left their imprint on the seven islands.

First, it was the Muslim rulers who annexed the islands way back in and refused to give them to the Mughal emperor Humayun. Sultan Bahadur Shah of the Gujarat Sultanate thought they were better off with the Portuguese, who ruled from to They married local women and established churches led by Portuguese Fransiscans and Jesuits. The king gave Bombaim to the East India Company, who brought in artisans and traders to settle the new town.

As early as , the Parsis also migrated to Mumbai; in , the British handed over a piece of land at Malabar Hill to them for the Tower of Silence. After the swamps were filled by the s and all the seven islands were linked to become one large island in , more people came to the city and made it their own, thus contributing to its growth.

The local trains, the first of their kind, brought even more migrants into the city. Initially, it was the mills that attracted the hordes, but post independence, pharmaceutical and engineering companies brought more workers into its fold. Technically the Kolis, who were fisherfolk, were the original inhabitants, but most Marathi-speaking people, even if they come from different parts of Maharashtra, consider non-Maharashtrian Mumbaikars to be the outsiders. This view also stems from the consistently right-wing policies of the Shiv Sena, which believes that the sons of the soil Maharashtrians from all over Maharashtra who speak Marathi deserve more.

Incidentally, all Muslim gangs in the early years had north Indian bhaiyyas in their ranks. Different communities jostled for space in all spheres of life in cosmopolitan Bombay and this applied to the mafia too. These gangs called the shots at Sankli Street and Madanpura in Byculla, which were essentially Muslim pockets. But they also had their fair share of Hindus, and conflicts were few and far between, except when women or wealth were involved. The conflict between Arun Gawli, the Marathi-speaking gangster of the BRA gang its name was taken from the initials of its three leading members, Babu Reshim, Rama Naik and Arun Gawli and the north Indian bhaiyyas was not based on regional prejudices.

It all began with territorial one- upmanship. Sarmalkar had considerable clout in Byculla West. He dismissed the BRA gang as inconsequential and refused to accept their supremacy.

Byculla to Bangkok

He wanted a larger canvas and sought to call his bunch of thugs the Byculla gang. But Gawli was opposed to this. Though Sarmalkar was a Maharashtrian and the leader of the Byculla gang, many of his top commanders were north Indians.

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Once he had prejudiced the local boys against the S-bridge gang, new recruits decided to join the BRA gang and scrupulously avoided the S-bridge gang. Sarmalkar was aghast. He started proclaiming that Gawli was an Ahir and that he was from Madhya Pradesh, a neighbouring state, and as such, was not a local. Sarmalkar, who was a hard-core criminal and boasted gang members like the Pandeys and the Dubeys, tried to claim that Gawli was a mill worker and did not know the ABC of crime.

They had six children, of whom four were boys. Gulab Gawli had worked at Simplex Mill and had high hopes for his children. He was eager that his children acquire a good education. Arun managed to complete matriculation, which was a big deal in the late sixties and early seventies, but his father left his mill job around this time. The reasons are not known. His mother, too, had worked for over ten years at the cotton mills.

In fact, most of the Gawli clan was employed as mill workers or government servants. Another sister, Rekha, was married to Digambar Ahir, who worked in the accounts department of the Central Railway.

Vijay Ahir, a relative, worked at Khatau Mills before he became a corporator. After his father left his job, Arun took up a series of jobs with various companies. In , he joined Crompton Greaves in Kanjurmarg. In the company of Sada, Arun took to anti-social activities. It was also here that Rama Naik and Arun Gawli met; they had earlier studied at the same municipal school in Byculla.

His penchant for getting into trouble meant he had to leave school before completing matriculation. His exit did not affect his friendship with Arun Gawli. Along with the other boys, they played kabaddi at the local Om Club. At the time, Byculla was just making its mark as the Palermo of independent India.

The Jaunpuri, Kanpuri and Illahabadi gangs were all big names in the area.Or need the bot to ignore the links, this is a meticulously researched tale of the Mumbais underworld.

At the Harsul compound, we did not flaunt our press cards. Arun Gawali, wheelchair-bound Ashwin Naik who was also a civil engineer of the city and an accomplished gangster, the much-awaited sequel to Dongri to Dubai After the huge success of Dongri to Dubai, members worldwide, 'Byculla to Bangkok' is a detailed account of political. The driver immediately reversed the car, turned and straightened it with amazing dexterity, wheels screeching loudly in protest, and began to climb the steep slope of Amrut Nagar, in the opposite direction.

None of them uttered a word until they saw a flustered Ghafoor emerging from the office of the police commissioner, beads of sweat and worry lines on his face. Within days of taking charge, however, he had come up against the enemy force in an unprecedented manner: the city suffered one of the most horrific attacks on it, on 12 March. Gawli appeared well-dressed, comfortable and perfectly at home.

Imports were halted and the textile mills made huge fortunes during the next ten years.