The dons of Mumbai

Sheela Raval’s ‘Godfathers of Crime’ gives a sneak peek at the mafia in the country

The Grand Hyatt on Sheikh Rashid Road, Dubai, is a magnificent property that stands out even among the glittering skyscrapers of this oil—rich city. It’s, Baniyas Grand Ballroom is fittingly opulent — an ideal place to hold a spectacular ceremony.

On the evening of 22 july 2005, the huge hall had been decorated in an elegant and classic style, in white, gold and dashes of pink here and there. The tables across the ballroom were each set for eight guests and had large candelabras at their centres with four candles each. The stage was set for a grand candlelit dinner.

The bases of the candle-stands were covered in pink and white roses. Each table had eight packets of chhuwaras (dry dates) and other dry fruits traditionally served at weddings. The stunning chandeliers created dramatic light effects.

Huge screens were placed in all corners so that guests could follow every detail of the ceremony. The stage for the couple had been draped in white, with its approach decorated with orchids and pink roses. A pair of green Chesterfield armchairs were placed at the centre of the stage for the newly-weds to sit on and greet the guests.

The event was being captured live by over - 1000 cameras positioned strategically, not just around the ballroom but also in the corridors leading to the hall. I was at this venue to cover the high—profile and closely monitored wedding reception of Dawood’s eldest daughter Mahrukh to junaid, the son of former Pakistani cricketer Javed Miandad.

That evening I had come to the walima on behalf of Star News (now ABP News), responding to an invitation issued by Miandad to the channel during an interview aired a week earlier. Though there were plenty of other reporters from other channels who wanted to cover the wedding, they had all been turned down.

I had not expected Miandad’s invitation to be honoured or that I would be allowed inside. But here I was, although getting in had hardly been a cakewalk — but more on that later. While I waited to be taken on-stage to greet the couple, I scrutinized the hall, watching out for familiar faces and levels of security.

It was at this time that I noticed Dawood Ibrahim, the don himself, sitting in an enclosed area, as narrated in the beginning. Till the time I got a glimpse of the don, the only image of him that Indian television channels repeatedly aired was that of Dawood sitting in the gallery of Sharjah’s stadium, watching a cricket match, surrounded by his cronies and Bollywood celebrities. He looked a bit different in real life, I thought.

Instinctively, I turned to walk towards him, but the two men beside me — Fayaz and jaber, my escorts at the wedding — immediately sprung into action. They stopped me, saying that he was sitting in an all-male section and I could not go there.

I said I just wanted to say hello to Dawood Bhai. They turned towards the don, and after some sort of communication between the two men and Dawood, Jaber told me he would talk to me later, once the function had ended.

It was 1.30 a.m. already, and the event would go on for at least another hour. I would have told him if I could that all I wanted were some visuals that would prove my presence at the walima of Dawood. Ibrahim’s daughter’s wedding.

I tried again, asking him if I could have my pictures taken or perhaps shoot some footage while I wished the couple. I promised I would not make the images public until I had their permission.

(Excerpt from ‘Godfathers of Crime’; Sheela Raval; publisher Hachette India; `299)