The story should have whimpered itself to death, neglected and unnoticed, but it did not. As we idled over the electronic records of Sabharwals’ companies available on the website of the Ministry of Corporate Affairs, we realized the first exposé was not going to be the last on this issue. Each document listed with the Ministry was a story- independent and at the same time part of a pattern in blatant misuse of position, power, and money.
The documents challenged our intellect, our skills, and we were game. We pored over every word, intent on teasing out the truth which we sensed lay buried somewhere in the seemingly sterile text of agreements, forms, and registrations.
Once again, it was an address which tantalized us, beckoning us to follow the footprints of a privileged few. The address was 7A Amrita Shergill Marg.
The documents filed by Nitin and Chetan Sabharwal with the Ministry of Corporate Affairs listed Anjali and Kabul Chawla as partners in their company, Pawan Impex Private Limited. While Kabul Chawla became a director in the company on October 23, 2004, Anjali was taken on board on February 12, 2005. Pawan Impex, which had a measly share capital of Rs 1 lakh, turned into a Rs 3 crore company in 2006 after the Chawlas became equal partners in it. Anjali and Kabul invested Rs 75,00,000 each in the company, at the same time the Sabharwals chose to infuse the firm with similar cash.
Who were these Chawlas? Why would they invest such a huge sum in a company with an extremely modest share capital of Rs 1 lakh? I didn’t have a clue but the street the Chawlas lived on
smelt of money and power. Amrita Shergill Marg is arguably the most expensive area of the Capital, an oasis of luxurious bungalows with Connaught Place as an illustrious neighbour. It is the very heart of the city where the rich and the famous play out their lives.
We decided to pay the Chawlas a visit, albeit surreptitiously. The tree-shaded Amrita Shergill Marg, with its massive bungalows shuttered in with iron gates and smartly turned out guards, did not invite familiarity. Tayal and I got dropped off some distance away from the Chawlas’ bungalow while Tyagi remained in the car, camera on the ready.
There was a guard in the sentry box at the gates of the bungalow. We had practised our act, and spun out a sorry tale of unemployment, misery and faint hope, which the sympathetic guard readily accepted. We told him we were from Bihar,desperate for a job, and an acquaintance had sent us to the Chawlas for help in finding some work.
“They are not home. Kabul sa’ab and Anjali Memsa’ab have gone to office,” the sentry said. We looked suitably dejected, letting the sentry know that we had left our town with great hopes and now it all seemed futile. Moreover, we had nowhere to go in the city. After a meandering dialogue of this sort, we tried to find out what ‘office’ meant and what exactly did the Chawlas do for a living.
‘ BPTP ka office hai,(Its the office of BPTP)” the guard told us
I did not know what BPTP stood for. I realise I am deserving of contempt from business journalists and I plead guilty. My brush with financial journalism was limited to playing badminton with the staff of Financial Express in a triangular patch outside the Indian Express building. So BPTP, which would have excited any business journalist, was not known to me, at least not its acronym. I had reported on crime, politics, terrorism, entertainment, and even a limited war with Pakistan, but BPTP never figured in any of my stories. Tayal was equally lost and we returned from Amrita Shergill Marg, scratching our heads over this new puzzle.
Let’s Go Malling!
To be Continued
Time&Tide 