The Aarushi-Hemraj Double Murder Case - Guilty?

I am a self-confessed media junkie with an (until recently) unshakable belief in the system despite its obvious shortcomings. I like to believe there is such a thing as unbiased media, that the spirit of responsible journalism is not dead and that mainstream media is, in these times,  the most powerful weapon in the hands of the common man. I also like to believe that the system has been designed with a view to protect our interests as citizens of this country and hence, it cannot be used to work against us if not for us. I am forced to rethink my convictions now.

The Aarushi-Hemraj double murder case has garnered a tremendous amount of media attention in the last five years or so. Now I have not been to the scene of the crime to review the evidence for myself nor have I any means at my disposal of verifying their credibility personally. I have not spoken to anyone associated with the case. What I know, like every other person, is what I read in the print media and watch on TV. This is an article I happened to read - a 10,000 word investigative report on the case as published in the Tehelka magazine. (And no, I'm not willing to listen to anyone question the credibility of this report because of the charges against Mr. Tarun Tejpal because honestly, this has nothing to do with that. If you have ANY other grounds to do the same, I am very much open to it.)

http://www.tehelka.com/framed-the-aarushi-hemraj-murder-case-an-investigation/

What I also saw and heard of, were exclusives on televised NEWS channels that put forth strong allegations regarding Aarushi's 'promiscuity' as a teenager, her 'questionable' relationship with the 45-year old house-help, her fathers extra-marital affairs, wife-swapping (I don't even know what that is) and her mothers failure to break down on national television while talking about her deceased daughter. That proved to be their undoing in the eyes of the general public. They did not cry enough. Forget the mystery behind the pillow-case that was put down to a typo, the suspicious and drastic changes in the CBI's view of what happened, sudden retractions on statements given by the doctors who examined the bodies, the three helps, once the prime suspects, and not given a second thought following the change in the CBI team investigating the case and the fact that the Talwars urged for the investigation to be carried on after a closure report was filed by the CBI admitting it did not have enough evidence to convict the father. But they did not cry enough!

With all the speculation that it created, all the unverified 'facts' it propagated and all the wrong sort of questions it raised, what the media created was a swarm of general public biased in their opinion on the case - a nation incapable of neutral thinking and objective assessment. It is only human that once an idea takes root in us, every thing we see and hear we use to strengthen our motive for acceptance of the same. I fail to understand when it was that the media went from presenting the NEWS as it is to attempting to manipulate and dictate our judgement.

What the Talwars had to deal with were an evidently biased team of CBI investigators, an investigation that was shoddy from the very beginning (The police did not open the terrace door where the body of Hemraj was discovered later on, because they weren't handed the keys to the blood-stained lock. This was later blamed on the Talwars.), a public that asked for justice without complete knowledge of the facts and a media that was speculating on why they did not cry enough. My opinion is also completely based on what I have read from multiple sources and while I am open to argument, I simply do not see the logic in this conviction when there are, apparently, so many glaring loopholes in the evidence. It scares me to know than an individual can be convicted of so serious a crime when there are so many questions that can be raised with respect to the proof of him/her being guilty beyond reasonable doubt. The Court has awarded them a life sentence. The Talwars will undoubtedly appeal. The outcome of this tragic case will go down in the history of our nations judiciary and it will not paint a pretty picture of it in the eyes of the country and of the world. In the meantime, I am left with a highly depleted sense of trust in the system and the fear that what happened to the Talwars could happen to me. 

TO THE JACKS OF THE TRADES

Whoever came up with the absurd notion that being the jack of all trades and the master of none is necessary a bad thing was, well, wrong. It is almost like telling someone that given you enjoy milk chocolate, you should definitely stick to milk chocolate and not try that strange chilly flavoured one. Or something along those lines. I’ll have all the chilly and curry flavoured chocolate as I please, thank you very much!

Are you one of those people blessed with an angelic serenading voice that can drive Lea Michelle crazy? Are you capable of doing a full mid-air split? Or are you one of those who play professional football while they take a break from the theatre group that they rehearse with when they find time off B-Boying or skateboarding or playing the Cello in the middle of their drawing studio? If you are, and I honestly mean no offence, you are easily responsible for my latest near-quarter life crisis.

You see I am a student of architecture who can sketch just about well enough to scrape by, dance quite decently enough, write a few lines when in the right mood, sing better than Celine Dion in the shower and cook a pretty neat Omelette under the right circumstances. Can I ever aspire to produce anything remotely brilliant on canvas? Nope. Can I do a mid-air split? Nope. Can I ever dream of creating something like Harry Potter? *Laughs at self.* Nope.  Hell, I sound like a dying walrus outside the shower and, left unsupervised, I will positively set your kitchen on fire. Winning Gordon Ramsey’s heart is a pretty long shot.

But hey the thing about being exemplary at one thing? The pressure to remain so. And people talk of you using words like ‘exemplary’ and ‘fantabulous’ because ‘fantastic’ or ‘fabulous’ cannot begin to describe how GOOD you are. The perks of being ‘ok’ at a lot of things? One. Nobody really expects a lot from you and that being so, you are allowed to screw up once in a while. Two. Nobody notices if you do screw up because they are all watching that kid who is exemplary at his stuff. Three. Despite the fact that you could potentially screw up, you get to test the waters everywhere anyway because face it, you’re not that bad either and they could always use you. Which is why I have a blog that not too many people pay much attention to but my content is still out there. I am not criticised half as bad about what I write as, say, Arundhati Roy or Shobhaa De. (Not that I imply I am anywhere in the same league). Also I’m allowed to write for the college magazine. I am part of the official college dance crew, forever positioned in the right corner, second line from front. And my mom lets me cook as long as it is just an Omelette.

Point is I thought a lot about it under the covers with the lights off and everything after watching the latest SYTYCD auditions where 18 year olds do all the things I had aspired to be able to do when I was 18. I am almost 21 now and I’m not even close. But I digress. Point is, it is perfectly okay, I guess, to not be exemplary at anything. The important thing is to be able to be open enough to try everything out! And being ‘acceptable’ at a lot of thing leaves you a lot of room to take a bite of every cake with minimum possible disappointment. Plus nobody pays you a lot of attention anyway so even if you fall flat on your behind on stage you can simply dust yourself and join in again like nothing ever happened! Does not work with being in the centre of attention. And you only get to be the centre of attention if you’re truly exemplary at stuff. ‘Exemplary’. What a funny word.

I feel better already!

Untitled

Ok so I am no poet. I only dabble in poetry in utmost secrecy.  I am just a person with a major issue with leaving things unfinished. I scribbled the first four lines on a sketchbook in class one day simply because I cannot draw well enough to make any sensible doodles. It took me three months but I FINALLY finished it! This piece has been the sole cause of my excruciating writers’ block lasting the said months. And that is the only reason I’m daring to put this up.  Here goes!

A cruel game of love it goes, cupid once chose to play

He, a dark knight and she, the fair queen - the story came to be

A lonely glance, not one word, consumed all lines drawn

A set of rules, a game of chess and all else in between.

It rained lives on the battlefield, the story goes to say

The stench of hope, a peaceful wind with haunting nightmares to keep

The moon in all his silver glory, bright over the crimson ground

Shone over the knight’s studded sword and the queen’s golden crown.

And soon enough they heard, it’s said, a strange melody in the air

A tune so slow, an eerie steady, much too silent to be

As walls collapsed, a fire so great it tore down the guards of will

The Gods of fate sat far above, conspired in misguided glee

A test of loyalty, a clash of faiths – the story then comes to speak

Of sleepless nights under glittering skies, a tale not meant to be

The gift of choice, a bane so great, the truth so wrong and yet so right

For what is choice but a fanning breeze in a storm when destinies collide.

She felled his castle and bishops too; he, her soldiers and her pride

In a perfect world they’d leave it all but not in here- not black and white.

As each raced towards the other’s king, neither did dare look behind

For what they feared was a ray of hope, a promise of release so divine.

His armour glistened in the sun, the rays danced on his shivering arms

A clash here and a quick swish there, the fair king’s neck under his sword

He caught a glimpse of her golden hair, soon swept away in a tide of victory

“Checkmate!” came a disembodied voice, a voice that quivered with boundless joy

The Gods looked down as they rejoiced in the triumph of scripted destiny

And so it ended, another game, another day, yet another loss

But their little game had changed it all, a divisive kink in the chain of fate

That bend all rules, even those of chess, should such a second choice be made.

Put in shackles with her head still high, she watched him lead the victory march

He, the dark knight and she, the fair queen – the story so came to be

He turned around, a second glance that yet again consumed all lines drawn

For today there were no more games and nothing else left in between.

Of Freezes and Falls

I am a dancer. In fact, if you ask me who I am I would probably shuffle between that and ‘I am a writer’ depending on who you are. But in the present context and with reference to this note, I am, first and foremost, a dancer. Because that is what I have been doing from when I can remember. 

There is no rush like the one you get when you are on that stage, the music so loud you almost feel the beat hit your heart and the crowd is cheering you on. Or when you get your ever first standing ovation. Or when in between a routine you look through the corner of your eye and find 8 others in impeccable synchronisation with you. Or when you get good enough to call yourselves a 'dance crew'.

This is my crew - my 'after-hour activity'. And this is one of the best and one of my last times on stage with them. With only 9 very average dancers and a fancy name nobody could really pronounce to start with, you could say we have come a decent enough way. Those 8 hour after-class rehearsal sessions weren't for nothing after all.