Mumbai is getting ready to kickstart the festival season with Janmashtami, celebrated on the eighth day of the Krishna Paksha in Shravan Maas. This year, Gokulashtami falls on 16 August, and our agile Govindas are busy rehearsing for the annual ritual—the gravity-defying human pyramids.
It’s a street festival like no other, with wildly cheering crowds encouraging daredevil Govindas to climb higher and higher until they reach the handi (earthen pot), and break it to claim the prize money. All eyes will be on which political party indulges in the ‘mine is bigger than yours’ game. I’m referring to the size of the handi and the prize money, of course.
Maybe the popular Bambaiya slang, “bhandaa phodna (breaking the pot)”, comes from this festival. The phrase defies easy translation, but when someone is accused of breaking someone else’s bhaanda, watch out! There’s big trouble ahead.
Of ‘bhandaas’ & bahus
Lots of gigantic bhandaas are being broken in Delhi right now. Let’s call it the latest high–profile ‘saas-bahu society saga’ in overdrive. On paper, it is being presented as a corporate battle. At the centre of the drama is grieving matriarch Rani Kapur, attempting to reclaim her rights to an empire established by her late husband, Surinder Kapur, after the death of her only son, Sunjay (53). The family bhaanda was dramatically broken by Rani recently, when she issued a statement—her first after the tragedy—challenging the veracity of the information around Sunjay’s untimely death on 12 June during a polo fixture in Windsor. She labelled the hasty findings “highly suspicious”. The heartbreaking news of Sunjay’s passing caused ripples across the country. The freaky bee story sounded beyond bizarre. Who dies like this? Allegedly, an errant bee had flown straight into Sunjay’s wide–open mouth and got stuck in his windpipe, choking him to death. Why would a seasoned, competent polo player (captain of his team), keep his mouth wide open during a high-velocity chukker, while riding a galloping pony? Hours after the terrible news broke, a sneaked video surfaced, showing paramedics administering CPR as Sunjay lay lifeless on the ground.
Quick question: Was the bee found? There was a post-mortem, right?
A high-profile death of a billionaire celebrity under unusual circumstances inevitably generates controversy. Wild stories did the rounds inside swanky salons across continents. Despite rumours, the Kapur clan was united in grief. Or, so it appeared to the watching world that followed the Delhi funeral coverage on 19 June. Sunjay’s three wives (just two present at the funeral) were not warring, the loyalists insisted. Everyone agreed the sad occasion was conducted with dignity and restraint. The blended parivaar participated in the funeral rites together—they were all there to stand by one another, particularly to support an emotionally shattered Rani, through her darkest hour. “So civilised,” social media chorused.
Phut! The bhaanda broke. Things turned ugly.
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‘Cherchez la femme’
How did Mumbai see this debacle? The way it sees most things: “Who gets the money?” Mumbai, the city of dhanda (business), gets to the point very quickly. Cuts to the chase. Nobody wastes a minute on emotions. So it was when the news first broke. “Oh… Sunjay Kapur… that Delhi dude. Wasn’t he married to Lolo?’’ Identifying actor Karisma Kapoor in a familiar way as “Lolo” to establish a bond that does not exist, but sounds like it does. “How much will she get? Are the kids mentioned in his will?” The sad story became all about money and the millions she was likely to inherit. Then came the funeral in Delhi.
“Surely Bebo (Kareena Kapoor, to you) and Saif will attend?” They did. Sunjay’s widow, former model and bizwoman Priya Sachdev Kapur, barely figured in Mumbai media’s breathless coverage. The story quickly died once the cremation was over and Lolo-Bebo-Saif jetted back to Mumbai.
Till another bhaanda broke last week.
Rani struck back. Her narrative has found several sympathisers—mainly affluent senior citizens who have erroneously, foolishly, trustingly signed over their wealth and power to their children during their own lifetime. Rani’s letter to shareholders and the Sona Comstar board was made public by senior advocate Vaibhav Gaggar. In Mumbai, inevitable comparisons to industrialist Vijaypat Singhania’s sorry tale did the rounds—there were far too many parallels. Both individuals were former Chairpersons of their respective empires and had handed over the company on a platter to an offspring. Like Rani, Vijaypat too expressed anguish and deep disappointment when he discovered he had voluntarily given up a fortune. “I was made to sign documents under coercion,” Rani said, echoing Vijaypat’s lament.
While social circles in Delhi speculate and take sides, so far, the odds favour the widow over the mother, purely on technical grounds. The centre stage has been smoothly grabbed by Priya Sachdev in the tumultuous Rs 30,000 crore succession battle. Despite Rani’s strident protestations, the AGM happened on 25 July. And Priya waltzed into the boardroom, leaving Rani out in the cold.
“Cherchez la femme,” the French say. When there’s trouble, “Look for the woman”. In this case, who is going to cherchez which femme?
“Leave it to the courts to decide,” is the considered view from Malabar Hill.
Like there is any other choice. Unless there are more bhandaas still left to be broken.
Shobhaa De is an author, columnist, social commentator, and opinion-shaper. She has written 20 books. She tweets @DeShobhaa. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)