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TALAASH 2 – Pilot Script

“TALAASH 2 – The Answer lies in the City”

(Pilot Script)

By – Rahul Nilangekar



“The best way to predict the future is to create it!”

He smirked, glorifying himself aloud for his wife in the SUV.

Roads of South Mumbai, past 2am, are a nefarious tale stitched up by the soothing lonely silence around; accompanied only by a crimp of breeze, subtly cooled by the sea.

Anuj Bajpai was aware. He wheeled the Hummer zipping past the Bademiyan corner (a famous South Mumbai spot for nocturnals) on the Colaba Causeway at a breakneck pace.

Happiness had hit him after a long stretch of clamber – A career strike that he had always dreamt of right from the hellbound days at the Premier Institute of Management to his stint at McKinsey & Co. He was, finally, made a partner in the firm.

Unvanquishable. He felt it. Perfectly.


CUT TO (INT.): Colaba Police Station, Mumbai


Tambey, tii Red-Light waali file

gheun ya zara

(read – Tambey, bring the Red-Light file)”

Devrath Kulkarni was queasy.

The recent streak of raids and sting operations under his supervision, unearthing prostitution rackets veiled under business conferences and commercial events in and around the city, had parented an unending stir everywhere – much to the dismay of the top brass of Maharashtra Police, the politicians and a few corporate gaffers alike.

Atmaram Tambey, with his belt barely gibing his corrupt paunch, arrived at Kulkarni’s table.


“Imagine someone sitting on a pile of

grenades waiting to be exploded.

That’s how I am feeling right now!”

Kulkarni was on the verge of a breakdown.

Tambey was not expected to respond. He did not. Though his thoughts ran unrestrained relating the situation with that of an ex-policeman from the past. Tambey was a knavish man.


“I am wondering what

Shekhawat sir would have done.”

Kulkarni had always considered himself a protégé of Surjan Singh Shekhawat (a.k.a Suri), a voluntarily-retired ex-cop. The last case they had worked together had turned out a mishap for Suri, juddering his mental state. Post the closure of this presumably “A Final” case, the superiors in the department had questioned Suri’s ability to discern reality from fabrication. Suri had remained silent and had tacitly accepted to retire immediately. On his own accord.

Kulkarni was ambitious and agile but lacked his mentor’s righteousness. His nimbleness, though, had earned him the control of Colaba police station after Shekhawat’s departure.


Sahib, Shekhawat sir hotey toh ye case bhi

aatmao se hi solve karwatey!

(read – Shekhawat sir would have come up with

some supernatural angle to this case as well!)”

Tambey giggled and left the room.


CUT TO (EXT.): Lamington Road, Mumbai

The dreary night bosomed the river of dark seedy smoke as KHANGRA puffed a chillum, resting himself against the steel-rimmed frigid bus-stop bench. No work nor intentions of doing any.

Khangra was one of the many unwitting outcomes of the Dongri Remand Home in Mumbai (police-run minor/children remand home). Born in Saikhul, in Churachanpur district of Manipur and parented by two jhum field workers, he found his way to Mumbai and then to Dongri Remand Home at an early age. An incisive larcenist in the books of Mumbai Police, he had an uncanny ability to be thoroughly shrewd in most of his off-colour jobs. Yet, like every other crook, he was foolishly impatient with his dream of that ‘one last big-score’ in Mumbai.

Khangra’s dreamless slumber turned a short-lived one interrupted by his gaudily loud mobile ringtone.

“Hello” he answered.


“Hmmm” he answered again, aptly recognizing his informant Chillar – a 12 year old waiter at a tea stall in the area.

“There’s a Hummer. MH-02-MC-1111. Abandoned. Check it out! ”

As hastily as he could, Khangra covered his distance canvassing the Lamington Road and each and every alleyway leading to it. He had walked for a couple of miles when his eyes rolled over a black Hummer parked just beside the NO-PARKING zone. He went for the door. Unlocked. He started searching the interiors and found a blue Nike bag full of mid-sized packets.

“Coke..its coke!” he assured himself as he sniffed a pinch of the substance packeted in the bag.

FADE IN (INT.): Morning. Bajpai residence, Juhu

“I don’t remember anything from last night. Do you? How did we get back home?” Anuj was trying hard to make sense of things. His wife was numb.

“I think…” she paused. Her eyes were grievous. “They molested me! All of them.” Her numbness cracked open with a drop of tear casting over her bruised cheek.





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