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  • Writer's pictureKitaabfarosh

Trespassers in death!!

On the media circus after the Arushi-Hemraj double murder.

Eavesdropping into a conversation...

"Jack n Jill

Went up the hill

To Fetch a Pail Of Water

Jack Fell Down and broke His Crown...

But Jill, where's Jill? Oh! Jill never came tumbling down," exclaimed a journalist high on Vodka but low on his spirits to one of his friends in his sarcastic state of stupor.

His equally sozzled up friend who was also a cop replied, "but you've made a Shakespearean tragedy out of a nursery rhyme. After all Jill did come and that too tumbling down. Why are you making a mess of it? Bereaving a simple nursery rhyme of its simplicity." Now was the time for my journalist to hit back.

"Why, if you can make Sherlock Holmes and Feluda turn in their graves by your Noida murder investigation, If you can make a mortal reporter like me into an immortal Mr. Know-it-all of the Talwar household, turn every Saas-Bahu home into a narco-analysis laboratory, and graduate every Paanchi-Paas into a forensic expert, why can't I make a Shakespearean tragedy out of a nursery rhyme? You've ruined it all Mr. Cop by your Kindergarten investigation of Aarushi-Hemraj murder", exhorted the reporter.

"You know Mr Cop... My neighbours are asking me if we can use this lie-detector test on their newspaperwala to know whether he has given the right newspaper on the given date and is not lying about it? Whether a narco can be done on their Doodhwala to know how much milk is there in their daily supply of water? You've made a mockery of these tools, made them a household name" grunted the reporter now finishing his last gulp of Russian spirit. The cop replied, "And ditto for you too... Mr. Reporter." And then they both dozed of.

They were so right. But eavesdropping into this conversation made me sick. I ran from there and kept running. Aarushi-Hemraj double murder mystery. I wanted to run from these words as fast and as farther as I could. These words were following me like a phantom for the past one-month and I really needed a break. Cricket would help, I thought but too much of IPL had already taken away the shine from the ball and it was nauseating. I ran from the thought of cricket and ran faster. A Shopping Mall would be a good idea, I thought, never mind the fat hairy bluetooth uncles and the fatter aunties, never mind the Generation 'Z' (after X and Y isn't it time for Generation 'Z' now- Zombie generation) walking around in Malls like flesh of impoverished intellect, guys with tattoos and anorexic babes. Yes, Mall would be a good 'idea'. It could change my life. A fresh cool air hit my temples as I descended on the Mall. My temperature fell down and perspiration vanished. AC's are really 'cool', so what if few AC's are noisier. By the way Shopping Malls are quiet a paradox in business ventures. The exorbitant shops are meant for the poorer section of society. You charge into a shop, don't buy anything and get out of it. The salesman/woman would then also retain his or her eternal Mona Lisa smile. Shopping Malls. A cult of penniless shopping (they call it window-shopping... Oh! how verbally bankrupt). I started my penniless tour of the Mall. My 'fat' auntie was pestering my 'blue tooth' uncle to buy her a huge gold necklace, as huge as the uncle's waistline. "kya jee aap mujhe yeh haar nahi dila sakte.." Uncle was touched by auntie's histrionics and it elevated his fat salary ego. Uncle had the Visa Power. He'll get that for auntie. And I was so right. Within no time the necklace was dangling from Aunties neck, like a gold noose...

"So what address should I write, Sir, in your receipt?" asked the frail salesboy. "We stay in Noida, Sector 25". "Noida, Sector 25, Aarushi's sector", shrieked the salesboy, as if sector 25 has some aphrodisiac value. This frail salesboy was metamorphosed into an energetic bundle of titillation. "Isn't that Aarushi's sector, Madame?" "Yes, the poor girl... got killed... Don't know why?" replied the auntie. In between the gold-bitten narration between the shopkeeper and the uncle-aunty came again the voyeur-bitten, the epic scaled alphabets. Aarushi-Hemraj. His gold deal safely sealed, the confident salesboy now wanted to know more, "Hey! Listen. Who could have killed Aarushi?" As though Hemraj was 'also' killed or a dead Hemraj is an axiomatic truth. There was a broad grin on Bluetooth uncle's face, his eyebrows lashing up giving salami and respect to the cerebral acumen of this salesboy on asking such a relevant question...

Heaved a sigh of deep breath and exclaimed "God Knows." He continued, "may be the servant, might be her father or a passion killing or..." he could have continued, but... Who Killed Aarushi, the words pierced my ear and heart. Uff... in the shopping mall also. Blood of Aarushi oozing out of every diamond ring and every gold necklace. Even the auntie's neck was all looking smeared in blood. I huffed n puffed and ran fast from that glittering shop. Aarushi-Hemraj... in a Shopping Mall. I thought again. My disturbing thoughts galloped to new lows. God forbid some enterprising entrepreneur might have fertilized the idea of a Aarushi-Hemraj doll! God forbid! I ran again as fast as I could, scuttling my way through a swarm of heterogeneous crowd. Whispers of Aarushi in Planet M's and Music World's, the music in the stores, lip-synched with Aarushi's life and her profile on Orkut.

Her DNA and RNA deciphered though with low decibels but I heard it all. The Orkutisation of the tragedy was complete. I again felt nausea. Running was the only option I had. Felt like throwing up lest I dirty the mall and 'their' world.

Running on the streets of Delhi, a Dilli Jal Board hole here and a PWD hole there. Men leering at women and a road-rage hit red light every now and then. Tabloids, on the street... Tabloids, on the traffic signal... In every SUV, and every prospective family car, threatened by Nano. Their headlines staring at me and screaming, 'Who killed Aarushi?' 'Honour killing or Passion Killing?' 'Father in custody' 'Narco Done, Lie-Detector conducted'... The bloodied words went on and on and on... People living in dark holes of civic authorities have found such a 'civilized' way of digressing from their dark existence. Everyone wants to throw his or her light/weight on the Aarushi-Hemraj murder (now mystery). I had to run and run fast to escape this blinding light of voyeurism. Soaring prices, nuclear deal, food crisis. Bull Shit. All they want is their job, dog, IPL, good sex, burgers, a TV reality show (better if musical) and Aarushi.

Running so fast I didn't realize that I've reached a bunch of 'civic' protestors. A candlelight march for Aarushi... Civilized activism. Certainly! But again the question intrigued me. WHY?

In my nursery rhyme Jill did come down after Jack. And there was no confusion about it.

I visited the Shopping Malls like any other ordinary person like you.

I watched IPL and enjoyed reality shows like your mumma, papa, nani, dadi...

But unlike you, I'm in pain. I'm in tears.

Unlike you, I'm being made the object of your voyeurism.

You never allowed me to live.

Leave me alone in my death.

I'm in pain.

I will never eavesdrop into your conversations.

You. Don't trespass me in my death.

Allow me to die completely.

I am Aarushi's soul.

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