(All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental)
I nervously reached in to my purse and took two un-crumpled thousand rupee notes and placed it on the small bed space between us.
The Nepalese woman showed no emotion as she took the money and slid it inside her blouse. “Just twenty five miutes sir”, she reminded me harshly.
I cleared my throat and declared, “I am a journalist”.
For the first time she looked at me in the eye. The cold stare nearly unnerved me.
“I cannot give you more time just because you are journalist”, she scorned.
A deep sense of pain seared right through my heart. How much would this woman have suffered to speak like this.
I opened my back pack and switched on a small micro-recorder. She looked at the piece of equipment and quickly dragged her pallu back on her body.
“Leave now sir”, she ordered, as she switched off the micro-recorder.
“I am a journalist and want to help you out”, I replied.
“I have seen enough policemen, journalist and social activists in my life sir. Nobody can help me. So please leave”, she spoke as she threw my money right into the bed space where I had placed it initially and looked away.
I took out the article “Lost Girls” and placed it in her hands. She quickly recognized it and eyes moistened. Her fingers ran through the picture of the six women.
I took out the gruesome pictures of the four women who had been murdered brutally and handed it to her.
“The fifth woman was murdered yesterday. I believe you are next”, I coldly reminded her. I could feel a sense of fear running through her spine as she shivered and struggled to hold on to the pictures.
She took a moment to steady herself and opened the curtains allowing sunlight to fill in the room.
“It’s a long story”, she sighed.
“I have 19 minutes” I responded. She smiled weakly. Perhaps it was first time she had smiled in years!!
I switched on the micro-recorder and listened attentively.
“I come from Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal. It’s a beautiful place, filled with great people and my best memories”
I wanted her to cut the long story and tell me information that would help me catch the killer. But I didn’t want to spoil her mood, thereby alienate her and sat there silently.
“I was born to a high class lawyer family. From time immemorial, our generation had been the guardians of law and we worked with Britishers to govern our land. As I turned sixteen, my family decided to get me engaged to my uncle’s son who had been practicing law in England. Being naïve, I vehemently opposed the decision, for I wanted to lead my life on my terms”
I could relate to that as most women that I knew wanted to do the same thing.
“We used to go to our school in a hand-pulled rickshaw cart. I liked the uncle who used to drop us everyday for nearly ten years. Suddenly one day, he fell ill and his young son decided to take over from him. I instantly fell in love with him. We both liked each other a lot and I told my parents that I have decided to marry my lover. My family fiercely opposed my relationship”
The usual love story and it's fight!!
“That was when we decided to elope to south Nepal where he had a few friends. Our family pursued us and with no choice left we crossed the border and landed in Uttar Pradhesh.”
The story was beginning to take a sudden twist.
“We got married and were very happy for the first three months as we lived off on money that we obtained by selling the jewels that I had stole from my family. Things soon began to turn south as he could not find a job and I soon became pregnant. He would drink and beat me everyday. I thought the birth of our son would change our fortune, but I never knew that it was going to take a turn for the worse”
A small tear glistened down her cheek. She wiped it off and continued.
“My husband sold me and my kid to a broker in Delhi who ran a flourishing flesh trade in South Delhi. For the first few days, I was locked up in a small cellar with five Nepalese women who had suffered similar fate like me. That was when the Delhi police busted the place and a journalist reported about us”, she spoke pointing to the news article in my hand.
I nodded and questioned, “So how come you are here then?”
“As we women thought we had finally escaped, our fate took an even more cruel turn. We were locked up in the police station as we had no travel permissions to enter India. That was when a high ranking politician entered the police station and took us away to his guest house on the outskirts of the city”
I raised my eyebrows curious to know the name of the politician.
“You may not want to hear what happened to us. Perhaps I can give you the list of the politician and his friend who did bad things to us”, she spoke trying to hide the bitter truth.
“I would like to hear the whole story”, I replied gathering all my courage to hear the worst.
“Each one of us were..”, her voice trailed as tears flowed rapidly, “.. day and night for two weeks, till we could no longer stand up.”
The brutal treatment of these women evoked my sense of anger and I was ready to smash those crazy people. Suddenly another thought struck me.
“What happened to your son?”
She looked again and shook her head vigorously refusing to speak more. She held the curtain for support but soon she slid down on the small bed.
“They..”, she heaved a deep sigh, “they burnt his tongue as he was crying too much seeing me in the bad shape”
I stood up and banged my fist into the wall. Bastards!! I was going to kill them all.
“There are many women who have suffered my fate and many more who will if somebody does not fight these people or this system”, she spoke holistically.
I let the anger sink in and sank into the small bed again. My mind quickly began to formulate a plan.
“Do you know who the kingpin of this operation is?” I posed a direct question to her.
“I am not sure. I have very faint re-collection of what happened twelve years ago”, she replied.
My heart sank for that was the end of road. I could arrange for some NGO to pick her up but the major players would escape.
“But I have something that might help”, she spoke as she rummaged through her belongings and brought out an inland letter and handed it to me.
I took the letter and checked if there was any address at the back. Finding none, I opened the letter. It had been written in Hindi and dated the January of last year. A month before she was brutally murdered.
“I don’t know hindi as I was sent to Chennai twelve years back. All that I know was that it was written one of the five Nepalese woman”, she spoke.
I thanked my hindi prachar sabha classes and started reading through the contents. It spoke of similar brutality and a decision made by four of the five woman to expose the politicians. Now all things became transparent.
As I read till the end of the letter, the last line contained the name of the Kingpin, Amit Ray.
Damn!! Amit Ray!!
This piece of news was going to finish my career or become the story of the year.
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I sipped the frappuccino as I looked out at the flowing traffic outside the café coffee day.
“Did you meet my dad?”, she questioned.
“Yeah, It went really bad”, I replied.
“Don’t worry about that. I will handle that. But there is much bigger issue”, she spoke as I glanced at her curiously.
“Where did you go yesterday?”, she demanded.
“I..”, the words were stuck in my throat, “I had gone on a official trip”
“To where?”, she probed.
“I said right.. official trip”, I responded getting little pissed off. I knew I was in big trouble.
“Official trip to North Chennai and that too to that place”, she concluded. Damn!! I was dead meat.
“I said right. It was official. I cannot talk about it” I quickly put an end to this conversation. I was in no mood to discuss about my professional work with anybody.
She got up, “Drink your coffee, pay your bill and don’t call me hereafter. We have broken up”. She took her bag and started walking.
Shit!! How do I explain everything to her?
I ran behind her and stopped her. “Listen, I can explain. But it’s a long story”
As she sat next to me, I explained the entire story and my plan to catch all the culprits involved.
As I turned around, I could see two plain clothes men, sitting on the other side of the shop. Suddenly I felt a tinge of fear run through my spine.
I was being followed by the Police!!
----------------------------------
I quickly double checked the empty street once again, as I led the Nepali woman into a well lit small room. I had shaken off numerous trails en-route this hiding. I motioned to sit on the small chair placed in front of the camera.
“Start speaking when I say yes”, I ordered. I switched on the record button in the digital camera placed on a small tripod stand and walked into the other room. I had to heart to listen to her horror story again.
I peeped out of the window, but could not see any sign of being watched. The recording went on for half an hour and I fast forwarded it to check whether the contents had come on correctly.
“Thank you for all the help” I replied.
The Nepali woman immediately fell on my feet and started crying. I immediately picked her up and asked her to wipe off her tears.
We were going to nail the bastards.
“The video will air soon on the news channels and some NGO group will rescue you. So don’t worry. If not..” I told her of an alternate plan and led her through a back door.
I put on my leather jacket and strolled out casually and started my bike that I had parked ten buildings away.
As I was about to start the bike, my mobile rang.
“Hey darling..” I started the conversation.
“We have your darling. Come and pick her up and also bring the cassette”, a cold voice threatened me.
I started my bike and raced towards the destination. I stopped at the gate of the empty mill on the outskirts of the city but suddenly doubted whether I was proceeding to the correct destination. To erase my doubts, my mobile rang again and I answered it.
“You are on the right track. Park your bike and walk 300 feet inside the mill. There will be a lighted area. Stop there” the instructions continued.
I walked to the destined well-lit place and looked around. Suddenly, Deeksha came running up to me and hugged me.
“We have no intention of hurting a journalist”, a cold voice boomed from one end of the dark tunnel.
A person wearing a black jacket walked through the empty tunnel and stood in front of me. One look at his shoes told me that he was an officer on duty.
“We just need the cassette”, spoke another voice standing right behind me.
“Don’t give them the cassette”, Deeksha pleaded.
“You don’t understand dear”, I tried to explain it to her.
“Damn it Anush”, she shouted. “This is not your small cases where you just leave the culprit. All the perpetrators have to be brought to book”, she yelled. The courage of a policeman’s’ daughter showed up clearly. But this was no time for her bravery.
The black jacket man brought out his gun and placed it on the Deeksha’s temple and spoke, “Enough of this nonsense. Hand over the tape or take the dead body with you”
I immediately took the cassette from my back pocket and handed it to the aggressor. Deeksha gave me a cold stare as I turned my head away from her. I had other plans.
The other guy brought a portable digital player in which they inserted the cassette and played it. Both of them nodded their heads.
The black-jacketed guy took out his mobile and rang a number and spoke, “Hello Fareed, we got it.”
In an instant of extreme madness, Deeksha jumped at the black jacketed guy and snatched the cassette and in the process both of them rolled over and I heard three shots fired.
I immediately threw a punch on the man behind me and ran towards Deeksha. Blood flowed copiously from her abdomen.
Oh Deeksha!! Why did you have to do this? I bent down and took her head in my lap. A quick glance told me that the black-jacketed person was dead as both the shots pierced through his heart.
I bent down closer to Deeksha and spoke, “Why did you do this? I will call for an ambulance”
She shook her head, “I will live for 5 minutes max. The bullets have hit my spleen and caused an internal bleeding”. The nurse in her was finally speaking.
She coughed up some blood and took a deep breath and spoke slowly, “Forgive me for everything. I should have told you”, she paused taking a deep breath, “that I started loving you before you even waved at me. It’s my bad luck that I...”
As she was about to finish the conversation, I felt a searing pain in my back and blood gushed out of my chest. I bent down and checked out a big knife had been thrust from behind my back. It had pierced my lungs and stuck out from my chest. Damn!!
Deeksha head slipped from my lap and with searing pain, I turned around and saw the bloody face of the second man whom I had knocked unconscious a few minutes ago. Even though he had successfully thrust the long knife into my body, the impact had thrown him to the ground.
Damn you!! I bent down and reached out the 0.9mm caliber gun that had killed my sweetheart and fired three rounds at my opponent. He immediately collapsed.
I could feel the chillness in the air, as my eyes started blurring and I felt my knees buckling down. I dropped the gun and lay beside Deeksha. I planted a kiss on her cheek and hugged her as a white misty blanket covered us. We were always destined to be together either alive or dead!!
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(Six Months Later)
As Anu walked up to the main building, she felt a nostalgic pain hit her. She had given birth to twins and had decided that her life revolved around these two god sent angels. The news of Anushmans’ disappearance caused her to further dislike her job, the same job which she loved before.
She proceeded to desk and started packing all the things. She noticed a bulgy envelope lying on her table. She had harshly scolded anybody who had tried to clean her desk and was not surprised that nobody had opened the parcel. She opened it and found a cassette, an inland letter and an open letter. She read the letter slowly.
“Dear Anuradha, My name is Sakshi. Anushman sir had been trying to help me escape my dungeon. You will find a cassette recorded by me and a proof from my friend about the involvement of a high ranking official, Amit Ray in the flesh trade business. Anushman had asked me to post this mail to you in case he wasn’t able to publish the news. Please help me!!”
Anu sank into her chair. She slowly recovered, picked up the phone and dialed the Editor-in-Chief and spoke, “Chief, code black”.
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(Three Days Later)
Anu finished cleaning her dishes when she heard one of her kids cry. She wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the young kid and switched on the TV.
A young reporter could not bear his excitement and he spoke excitedly, “The external affairs minister, Amit Ray, has been arrested on charges of leading the biggest flesh trade business in the history of this country. His charges also include cover up of murders and misusing official power. An early morning raid on his farm house has uncovered two decomposed bodies allegedly belonging to reporter Anushman, from Channel 11 News, and his girlfriend. All the women in his farm houses and brothels have been released and sheltered in various NGOs”
Anu literally dropped her kid as tears swelled up in her eyes. At that point of time, the door bell rang. Anu wiped her tears and walked to the front door and opened it.
“Anuradha?” questioned the courier boy. Anu nodded her head and he handed a parcel which had been forwarded from her office.
She opened the parcel and found out a hand-drawn picture of Anushman. Below it were written the caption, “My God”. There were no guesses from whom it came from.
He truly was a God, a God who had saved many people!!
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(THE END)
(In 2010, over thousand people were forced into flesh trade from Nepal!!)
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Operation S (First Part)
(All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental)
As I stepped down from my shinning new Eliminator bike, I could hear the roar of the waves crashing against the coast. I quickly parked my bike on the East Coast Road (ECR) road and started walking into a long narrow road leading to a freshly painted beach house.
The ECR road has been the best maintained route to Pondicherry. Its elegant curves dotted with small villages had made it a good destination for my most cherished Sunday morning ride.
But today was different. As I reached the huge gates of the beach house, the sentry stopped me and questioned me for my ID. A short, stout police constable came running in from inside the house and spoke to the sentry. I was let in to the sprawling mansion like beach house.
“You are late”, muttered the constable under his breath quite angrily.
I looked at him with disdain and walked up to the porch of the beautiful marble floored bungalow. Such legal and illegal guest houses lined up at frequent intervals along the ECR road. Wonder whose house this is?
“Where is she?”, I questioned the constable.
“Sir”, he scratched his head, which was quite reminiscent of any government worker asking for a small token payment, for letting me know of the news so quickly.
I thrust a fifty rupee note into his hand.
“Second room” he replied and saluted. Money power!!
I gingerly entered the first room. The stench of the dead body came floating in and hit me hard. I nearly vomited but quickly bent down and reached for my hand-kerchief to cover my face.
My childhood fear of dead bodies and ghost movies would come back to haunt me every now and then. But my career choice of an investigative journalist clashed directly with my absolute fear.
As I summoned all my courage and proceeded to the second room, I simply stood aghast by the gory murder. The brain matter was splashed all over the wall. A women in mid-thirties lay seated at the end of the empty room with the back to the wall. Her face and body was covered with blood. Her green saree was also soaked completely in blood and looked bright crimson with the last rays of the sun bursting through the window-sill and falling upon her. She looked very different from the local Chennai people, perhaps a north-eastern woman.
I quickly unloaded my Canon D5 camera and shot some pictures at various angles. A barely noticable news at the end of third page.
I usually tried to come to a murder or robbery site before the police came, just to make sure they did not divert the case and this had helped me earn considerable amount of money and reputation.
“Sir..” came a quick shout from the constable. I surveyed the room once again to check whether I had missed any important clue to the murder. Finding none, I quickly backed out to the front porch.
“Inspector will come very soon sir. Please L..”, he had not even completed his sentence, when I could hear the undistinguishable shrieking police car sirens.
“Quickly sir, this way”, the constable led me through a back route which opened into the private beach behind the bungalow. I had been very lucky to have been unnoticed as I had parked my bike far away from the bungalow.
I quickly made my way out and hid myself behind a small over-turned boat. I had never seen a huge posse of policemen for a single murder. After few minutes, I gathered all my courage and ran up to a huge crevice in the outer-wall of the bungalow and peered through.
What the hell.. DSP, IG and entire police top brass, all in one place??
A stream of many high ranking police official cars lined up at the front of the beach house. The buzz surrounding the place was quite different from any of the other murder sites. However, the clean-up operation seemed to be proceeding smoothly with the IG and DSP coordinating all the activities.
I soon lost interest in the proceedings and backed away from the beach house and took a long route to reach the ECR road. I quickly hid my ID card and proceeded towards my bike. I could see two constable drinking tea in a nearby shop. I quickly walked to my bike and started my bike.
“Sir”, called out one of the constable. I turned back to face the constable as he walked towards me and he switched off my bike and took the keys out. My heart skipped a beat.
“What are you doing here sir?” he questioned.
Mind your damn business!
I took a deep breathe to calm my senses. “I just parked here to take some pictures”, I replied sensing the fact his eyes were rooted to my camera.
“Can I see them?” he replied.
“Sure sir”, I replied. I had already planned for such a scenario and took a few pictures of the sea. But just seven pics..
As we reached the end of sixth pic, my hands started shaking.
“Hold tightly”, ordered the constable as I hit the next button.
“Tamizh…” shouted the other constable pointing at his watch to let him know that they were supposed to move on. The constable next to me turned to face him for a second and that was just the time I required to switch off the camera.
As the constable turned back to face me, I made a depressing face and explained that the digital camera had run out of battery.
As I thanked my stars and was about to start my bike, a pachai nirame ring tone reminded me of my missed appointment.
As I brooded on a plausible list of explanations, I heard her speaking calmly, which was usually a sign of a storm waiting to unfold.
“Satyam Escape – 20 mins”, she spoke and hung up. As I slung my backpack and my camera, and started my bike, I could still feel the constable’s eyes zooming in on me. Something was definitely wrong.
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“You look very beautiful when angry”, I tried to pacify her before it took an ugly turn. Her kohl-filled eyes, contrasted perfectly to her bright red chudidhar and her wheatish tanned skin. Her bindi, pink lipstick,small cute earrings.. few words to describe such beauty!!
She shook her head, released her folded hands and walked into the GAP showroom inside the huge Satyam Escape mall which was the biggest mall in Asia. I sighed despondently and followed her.
Perhaps all beautiful girls have this stupid ego.
“No ego” she muttered. I stood bamboozled by her mind reading skills.
“Any girl waiting for half an hour would have gotten damn angry and left off. I am just waiting because ..”, she didn’t have words to fill it in, but I knew.. because she loved me. But it was never in her gene to accept anything so easily.
She moved on to the Men’s section and started hunting for a trouser. “What’s your size?”, she questioned as she ruffled through the formal trousers. I immediately breathed in heavily, to tuck in my beer-filled tummy and make it resemble a six pack.
“There is no point doing that”, she spoke even without turning back. She chose a 34” black trouser and slung it across my shoulder.
I hated formal wear. I liked this journalist job because it paid me well and also let me wear any kind of jean and t-shirt I liked. But all that was about to change.
She quickly plucked out a white cotton shirt and checked out its compatibility my mock-measuring it along my back.
“This should be good. Go to the trial room on the left” she ordered me. I gently shoved my back-pack and my camera onto her and quietly made my way to the trial room. Where have I got myself into?
I changed into the formal wear, which fit me perfectly and was about to change back into my jean, when I heard her call, “Come out. I want to see you.”
I gingerly opened the door and stood in front of my examiner. She nodded her head in self appreciation and smiled.
As I changed back to my jean and came out, I found that she had jumped to the saree section. How can girls live without buying more and more sarees?
I grumpily tugged along her side and started looking around.
“Don’t sight aduchufy the other females”, she warned. I blushed! She is a goddess of everything.
After waiting beside her for ten minutes, I decided that it was a never ending process. She would smash me if I tried to take leave of her. I found a small stool next to me and sat on it and looked at the pinkish-orange saree she held in her hands.
Where did I find this masterpiece? She was a strange girl who had not accepted my proposal till now but would call me to come with her whenever she ventured out. It all started six months ago, when she landed at an apartment in the next block. I used to catch a glimpse of her every morning at 6:15 AM and soon the usual sightings gave way to me waving my hands to capture her attention, until one day when she landed right in my home demanding an explanation. I told her the truth, that I loved her.
There are always two reactions from a complete stranger for those words. Slap or a hug!! But she was unique.
She blushed for a second and then stared angrily at me for the next ten seconds. Then she turned back and went back to her home as if nothing had happened. Later I got to know that she was angry at me for waving out to her mom, who looked so much like her. But for some reason, she never responded to my proposal.
She picked up the final selection of her pinkish-orange saree and held my hand and led me to the billing counter.
“You brought your salary right?”, she spoke nonchalantly.
I quietly nodded. What a waste of money..
“Nothing is a waste” she replied. I stopped thinking any further. She took a bunch from the wad, paid the cashier and thumped the remaining ones in my shirt pocket.
“Wear this and go to K7 police station at 11 AM tomorrow”, she ordered and gave me instructions on whom to meet and what to talk. I quietly nodded and walked out to the main door and was about to leave the place when I realized that I had mistakenly placed my camera on top of a small table nearby.
I quickly ran up to the saree section and heaved a sigh of relief to have found out my camera. As I picked up my precious, I noticed some smudge marks on the lens and quickly switched it on. Just as I had expected, all the pics had been deleted.
----------------------------------
As I tentatively made up to the K7 police station the next day, I heard the unmistakable voice of a gentleman that I had heard in my nearby apartment.
“How old are you?”, he questioned a frightened young guy.
“25 sir”, he replied gingerly.
On my.. am also 25.
“What do you young guys think.. huh? You make some money in some stupid IT company and elope with a girl. Do you ever know how much it pains the family of the girl?” he thundered.
“Sir, we both are major and we have the right to marry”, defended the girl bravely as her lover cowered behind her.
“Shut up!!”, the sub-inspector roared.
Just then their families made a hasty entry into the police station and dragged their kids away.
What a timing!! I quietly made a retreat and was about to walk out when a heavy set of hands caught me firmly on the shoulders.
“My daughter has told me about you”, sub-inspector spoke. I started sweating profusely.
“You are sweating hard. You should come in” he offered. He placed a glass of cold water, which I drank bottoms up.
“So what is your name kid?”, he questioned. Kid.. Damn..
“Anushman”, I spoke cautiously.
“What do you do?”, he probed further.
“I am a free lance journalist, but I work most of the time for Channel 11 news”, I replied a little confidently.
“How much do you earn?”. His distaste of me liking his daughter was clearly evident.
I took a deep breath and was about to reply, when he raised his hand symbolically asking me to stop speaking.
“I don’t care what my daughter likes about you. I don’t like you and that is final. You better leave her or you will land right there”, he pointed right to the dark cell which housed some suspicious inmates.
As I bid a bitter good bye to him and started my journey back to office, I felt I had a big issue to deal with. Why the hell did the stupid girl ask me to meet her dad and that too at a police station..
As I parked my bike in the rear bike stand of Channel 11 office, I brooded on the next step for saving my love. Leaving Deeksha was not an option.
I took the service elevator right up to the top floor and started walking when a very nervous looking intern bumped into me.
“Am so sorry sir”, spoke Swetha. She was perfect example of beauty with no brains.
“It’s ok”, I tried to move on when she replied, “Anush sir, I have a question. Where are the 2010 murder files located?”
I would have told her about two thousand times but she never seemed to remember anything. I shook my head disparagingly and pointed to the room right at the end of the floor. She gave me a stupid smile and hurried to find her documents.
I quickly walked up to Anuradha place. Anu had been my best working buddy. We had cracked open many closed chapters, the latest being a five year old kid killed by an army jawan, when the kid tried to enter the army premises. Fearing backlash from the government, we had disclosed this news to the all news channels for a huge amount of money. Through this we made sure that we created no permanent enemies and also earned enough money to bolster our meager salaries.
Unfortunately Anu had decided to put an end to our adventures and had got married to her college sweetheart. One look at her bulging stomach made me realize that she was quickly and correctly on the production line status.
“So what did the doc say?” I questioned.
“Four months to the finish line”, she replied as she gobbled a piece of samosa and sipped her hot ginger tea. I smiled gently. I cared for Anu like my elder sister and she always pampered me like one. She pushed one of the remaining Samosa towards me. I declined it and started looking out of the window.
“How did your morning trip go?” she questioned. I displayed thumbs down signal without turning back.
“Don’t worry kiddo. She will be all yours. Be strong and love her lots” her words of encouragement had always guided me during tough times. The problem was I did not know whether Deeksha loved me or not.
“Ma’m, here are the 2010 murders in Delhi”, Swetha handed Anu a huge set of files.
“Thank you. Arrange the 2011 murder files and bring them to me” ordered Anu.
“Take a look at this”, Anu offered. I had discussed yesterday’s murder with Anu and told her about the suspicious deletion of pictures on my camera.
I took a quick glance at the picture and shot a quizzing look back at Anu. “It’s the same girl”, I spoke.
Anu nodded her head in disagreement. “These four north-eastern girls who look alike were killed brutally in Delhi last year. All had their brains blown up”. I was shocked to see such brutality.
“Now check this out”, she spoke handing me a scrap of news clinging on to the edge of the newspaper.
I silently read the news article titled “The Lost Girls” and nodded in amazement. The girl that I had seen yesterday was surely the second girl from right. Now, Anu nodded in agreement.
“So what’s the connection?”, I spoke throwing my hands up not able to connect the dots.
“There were originally six girls in the group. Four of them were suddenly killed brutally for apparently no reason. The fifth one was murdered yesterday. And so, there is only one way to find out the truth”
“To find her” I concluded. “But where… is the question?” I muttered under my breath.
“I cannot find everything out for you, Mr. Journalist” she replied with a smile.
“We shall call this case as Operation S” she concluded providing a casual explanation for what S stood for. I stood up to stretch myself and ponder about the case.
Perhaps it was time for me to grow up from a junior partner to a fully fledged journalist.
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The first month of national level search with our news partners about the missing woman yielded little results. However soon, I was lucky enough to find out more information. These girls were from Nepal against the earlier assumption of them being North-Eastern girls. All of them were aged around 18-20 when they had initially come to India and two of them belong to high caste rich families.
A month later, my luck started improving drastically and the woman’s whereabouts literally landed on my lap. One of my informers, Hasoor, introduced me to Khadir bhai. As I showed the girl’s photo to Khadir bhai, he took me to a crowded part of North Chennai.
“You must act like a customer” he advised as he guided me through a maze of small alleys.
I pretty soon understood his meaning as I walked up the stairs of a dingy old building. The clinkering of bangles and the high pitched laughter was unmistakable.
“Come in Khadir”, welcomed a fat lady with a huge red bindi. Khadir bent down and touched her feet and whispered something into her ears.
She smiled at me and asked me to proceed to the last door to the right. I curiously walked down the dimly lit place and gently knocked on the door.
I heard a clinking of bangles and anklets as a petite girl came and opened the small door. The sixth girl!! As the door creaked open, she motioned me inside and she went and sat on a small bed.
I quickly searched for something to sit. Finding none, I quietly went and sat right next to her.
She removed her pallu and spoke harshly, “I have just thirty minutes for you Sir”
The words hit me hard. I realized I was sitting right next to a prostitute. Oh my God. Deeksha and her SI dad are going to kill me now!!
CLICK HERE FOR NEXT PART
As I stepped down from my shinning new Eliminator bike, I could hear the roar of the waves crashing against the coast. I quickly parked my bike on the East Coast Road (ECR) road and started walking into a long narrow road leading to a freshly painted beach house.
The ECR road has been the best maintained route to Pondicherry. Its elegant curves dotted with small villages had made it a good destination for my most cherished Sunday morning ride.
But today was different. As I reached the huge gates of the beach house, the sentry stopped me and questioned me for my ID. A short, stout police constable came running in from inside the house and spoke to the sentry. I was let in to the sprawling mansion like beach house.
“You are late”, muttered the constable under his breath quite angrily.
I looked at him with disdain and walked up to the porch of the beautiful marble floored bungalow. Such legal and illegal guest houses lined up at frequent intervals along the ECR road. Wonder whose house this is?
“Where is she?”, I questioned the constable.
“Sir”, he scratched his head, which was quite reminiscent of any government worker asking for a small token payment, for letting me know of the news so quickly.
I thrust a fifty rupee note into his hand.
“Second room” he replied and saluted. Money power!!
I gingerly entered the first room. The stench of the dead body came floating in and hit me hard. I nearly vomited but quickly bent down and reached for my hand-kerchief to cover my face.
My childhood fear of dead bodies and ghost movies would come back to haunt me every now and then. But my career choice of an investigative journalist clashed directly with my absolute fear.
As I summoned all my courage and proceeded to the second room, I simply stood aghast by the gory murder. The brain matter was splashed all over the wall. A women in mid-thirties lay seated at the end of the empty room with the back to the wall. Her face and body was covered with blood. Her green saree was also soaked completely in blood and looked bright crimson with the last rays of the sun bursting through the window-sill and falling upon her. She looked very different from the local Chennai people, perhaps a north-eastern woman.
I quickly unloaded my Canon D5 camera and shot some pictures at various angles. A barely noticable news at the end of third page.
I usually tried to come to a murder or robbery site before the police came, just to make sure they did not divert the case and this had helped me earn considerable amount of money and reputation.
“Sir..” came a quick shout from the constable. I surveyed the room once again to check whether I had missed any important clue to the murder. Finding none, I quickly backed out to the front porch.
“Inspector will come very soon sir. Please L..”, he had not even completed his sentence, when I could hear the undistinguishable shrieking police car sirens.
“Quickly sir, this way”, the constable led me through a back route which opened into the private beach behind the bungalow. I had been very lucky to have been unnoticed as I had parked my bike far away from the bungalow.
I quickly made my way out and hid myself behind a small over-turned boat. I had never seen a huge posse of policemen for a single murder. After few minutes, I gathered all my courage and ran up to a huge crevice in the outer-wall of the bungalow and peered through.
What the hell.. DSP, IG and entire police top brass, all in one place??
A stream of many high ranking police official cars lined up at the front of the beach house. The buzz surrounding the place was quite different from any of the other murder sites. However, the clean-up operation seemed to be proceeding smoothly with the IG and DSP coordinating all the activities.
I soon lost interest in the proceedings and backed away from the beach house and took a long route to reach the ECR road. I quickly hid my ID card and proceeded towards my bike. I could see two constable drinking tea in a nearby shop. I quickly walked to my bike and started my bike.
“Sir”, called out one of the constable. I turned back to face the constable as he walked towards me and he switched off my bike and took the keys out. My heart skipped a beat.
“What are you doing here sir?” he questioned.
Mind your damn business!
I took a deep breathe to calm my senses. “I just parked here to take some pictures”, I replied sensing the fact his eyes were rooted to my camera.
“Can I see them?” he replied.
“Sure sir”, I replied. I had already planned for such a scenario and took a few pictures of the sea. But just seven pics..
As we reached the end of sixth pic, my hands started shaking.
“Hold tightly”, ordered the constable as I hit the next button.
“Tamizh…” shouted the other constable pointing at his watch to let him know that they were supposed to move on. The constable next to me turned to face him for a second and that was just the time I required to switch off the camera.
As the constable turned back to face me, I made a depressing face and explained that the digital camera had run out of battery.
As I thanked my stars and was about to start my bike, a pachai nirame ring tone reminded me of my missed appointment.
As I brooded on a plausible list of explanations, I heard her speaking calmly, which was usually a sign of a storm waiting to unfold.
“Satyam Escape – 20 mins”, she spoke and hung up. As I slung my backpack and my camera, and started my bike, I could still feel the constable’s eyes zooming in on me. Something was definitely wrong.
-----------------------------------
“You look very beautiful when angry”, I tried to pacify her before it took an ugly turn. Her kohl-filled eyes, contrasted perfectly to her bright red chudidhar and her wheatish tanned skin. Her bindi, pink lipstick,small cute earrings.. few words to describe such beauty!!
She shook her head, released her folded hands and walked into the GAP showroom inside the huge Satyam Escape mall which was the biggest mall in Asia. I sighed despondently and followed her.
Perhaps all beautiful girls have this stupid ego.
“No ego” she muttered. I stood bamboozled by her mind reading skills.
“Any girl waiting for half an hour would have gotten damn angry and left off. I am just waiting because ..”, she didn’t have words to fill it in, but I knew.. because she loved me. But it was never in her gene to accept anything so easily.
She moved on to the Men’s section and started hunting for a trouser. “What’s your size?”, she questioned as she ruffled through the formal trousers. I immediately breathed in heavily, to tuck in my beer-filled tummy and make it resemble a six pack.
“There is no point doing that”, she spoke even without turning back. She chose a 34” black trouser and slung it across my shoulder.
I hated formal wear. I liked this journalist job because it paid me well and also let me wear any kind of jean and t-shirt I liked. But all that was about to change.
She quickly plucked out a white cotton shirt and checked out its compatibility my mock-measuring it along my back.
“This should be good. Go to the trial room on the left” she ordered me. I gently shoved my back-pack and my camera onto her and quietly made my way to the trial room. Where have I got myself into?
I changed into the formal wear, which fit me perfectly and was about to change back into my jean, when I heard her call, “Come out. I want to see you.”
I gingerly opened the door and stood in front of my examiner. She nodded her head in self appreciation and smiled.
As I changed back to my jean and came out, I found that she had jumped to the saree section. How can girls live without buying more and more sarees?
I grumpily tugged along her side and started looking around.
“Don’t sight aduchufy the other females”, she warned. I blushed! She is a goddess of everything.
After waiting beside her for ten minutes, I decided that it was a never ending process. She would smash me if I tried to take leave of her. I found a small stool next to me and sat on it and looked at the pinkish-orange saree she held in her hands.
Where did I find this masterpiece? She was a strange girl who had not accepted my proposal till now but would call me to come with her whenever she ventured out. It all started six months ago, when she landed at an apartment in the next block. I used to catch a glimpse of her every morning at 6:15 AM and soon the usual sightings gave way to me waving my hands to capture her attention, until one day when she landed right in my home demanding an explanation. I told her the truth, that I loved her.
There are always two reactions from a complete stranger for those words. Slap or a hug!! But she was unique.
She blushed for a second and then stared angrily at me for the next ten seconds. Then she turned back and went back to her home as if nothing had happened. Later I got to know that she was angry at me for waving out to her mom, who looked so much like her. But for some reason, she never responded to my proposal.
She picked up the final selection of her pinkish-orange saree and held my hand and led me to the billing counter.
“You brought your salary right?”, she spoke nonchalantly.
I quietly nodded. What a waste of money..
“Nothing is a waste” she replied. I stopped thinking any further. She took a bunch from the wad, paid the cashier and thumped the remaining ones in my shirt pocket.
“Wear this and go to K7 police station at 11 AM tomorrow”, she ordered and gave me instructions on whom to meet and what to talk. I quietly nodded and walked out to the main door and was about to leave the place when I realized that I had mistakenly placed my camera on top of a small table nearby.
I quickly ran up to the saree section and heaved a sigh of relief to have found out my camera. As I picked up my precious, I noticed some smudge marks on the lens and quickly switched it on. Just as I had expected, all the pics had been deleted.
----------------------------------
As I tentatively made up to the K7 police station the next day, I heard the unmistakable voice of a gentleman that I had heard in my nearby apartment.
“How old are you?”, he questioned a frightened young guy.
“25 sir”, he replied gingerly.
On my.. am also 25.
“What do you young guys think.. huh? You make some money in some stupid IT company and elope with a girl. Do you ever know how much it pains the family of the girl?” he thundered.
“Sir, we both are major and we have the right to marry”, defended the girl bravely as her lover cowered behind her.
“Shut up!!”, the sub-inspector roared.
Just then their families made a hasty entry into the police station and dragged their kids away.
What a timing!! I quietly made a retreat and was about to walk out when a heavy set of hands caught me firmly on the shoulders.
“My daughter has told me about you”, sub-inspector spoke. I started sweating profusely.
“You are sweating hard. You should come in” he offered. He placed a glass of cold water, which I drank bottoms up.
“So what is your name kid?”, he questioned. Kid.. Damn..
“Anushman”, I spoke cautiously.
“What do you do?”, he probed further.
“I am a free lance journalist, but I work most of the time for Channel 11 news”, I replied a little confidently.
“How much do you earn?”. His distaste of me liking his daughter was clearly evident.
I took a deep breath and was about to reply, when he raised his hand symbolically asking me to stop speaking.
“I don’t care what my daughter likes about you. I don’t like you and that is final. You better leave her or you will land right there”, he pointed right to the dark cell which housed some suspicious inmates.
As I bid a bitter good bye to him and started my journey back to office, I felt I had a big issue to deal with. Why the hell did the stupid girl ask me to meet her dad and that too at a police station..
As I parked my bike in the rear bike stand of Channel 11 office, I brooded on the next step for saving my love. Leaving Deeksha was not an option.
I took the service elevator right up to the top floor and started walking when a very nervous looking intern bumped into me.
“Am so sorry sir”, spoke Swetha. She was perfect example of beauty with no brains.
“It’s ok”, I tried to move on when she replied, “Anush sir, I have a question. Where are the 2010 murder files located?”
I would have told her about two thousand times but she never seemed to remember anything. I shook my head disparagingly and pointed to the room right at the end of the floor. She gave me a stupid smile and hurried to find her documents.
I quickly walked up to Anuradha place. Anu had been my best working buddy. We had cracked open many closed chapters, the latest being a five year old kid killed by an army jawan, when the kid tried to enter the army premises. Fearing backlash from the government, we had disclosed this news to the all news channels for a huge amount of money. Through this we made sure that we created no permanent enemies and also earned enough money to bolster our meager salaries.
Unfortunately Anu had decided to put an end to our adventures and had got married to her college sweetheart. One look at her bulging stomach made me realize that she was quickly and correctly on the production line status.
“So what did the doc say?” I questioned.
“Four months to the finish line”, she replied as she gobbled a piece of samosa and sipped her hot ginger tea. I smiled gently. I cared for Anu like my elder sister and she always pampered me like one. She pushed one of the remaining Samosa towards me. I declined it and started looking out of the window.
“How did your morning trip go?” she questioned. I displayed thumbs down signal without turning back.
“Don’t worry kiddo. She will be all yours. Be strong and love her lots” her words of encouragement had always guided me during tough times. The problem was I did not know whether Deeksha loved me or not.
“Ma’m, here are the 2010 murders in Delhi”, Swetha handed Anu a huge set of files.
“Thank you. Arrange the 2011 murder files and bring them to me” ordered Anu.
“Take a look at this”, Anu offered. I had discussed yesterday’s murder with Anu and told her about the suspicious deletion of pictures on my camera.
I took a quick glance at the picture and shot a quizzing look back at Anu. “It’s the same girl”, I spoke.
Anu nodded her head in disagreement. “These four north-eastern girls who look alike were killed brutally in Delhi last year. All had their brains blown up”. I was shocked to see such brutality.
“Now check this out”, she spoke handing me a scrap of news clinging on to the edge of the newspaper.
I silently read the news article titled “The Lost Girls” and nodded in amazement. The girl that I had seen yesterday was surely the second girl from right. Now, Anu nodded in agreement.
“So what’s the connection?”, I spoke throwing my hands up not able to connect the dots.
“There were originally six girls in the group. Four of them were suddenly killed brutally for apparently no reason. The fifth one was murdered yesterday. And so, there is only one way to find out the truth”
“To find her” I concluded. “But where… is the question?” I muttered under my breath.
“I cannot find everything out for you, Mr. Journalist” she replied with a smile.
“We shall call this case as Operation S” she concluded providing a casual explanation for what S stood for. I stood up to stretch myself and ponder about the case.
Perhaps it was time for me to grow up from a junior partner to a fully fledged journalist.
-------------------------------
The first month of national level search with our news partners about the missing woman yielded little results. However soon, I was lucky enough to find out more information. These girls were from Nepal against the earlier assumption of them being North-Eastern girls. All of them were aged around 18-20 when they had initially come to India and two of them belong to high caste rich families.
A month later, my luck started improving drastically and the woman’s whereabouts literally landed on my lap. One of my informers, Hasoor, introduced me to Khadir bhai. As I showed the girl’s photo to Khadir bhai, he took me to a crowded part of North Chennai.
“You must act like a customer” he advised as he guided me through a maze of small alleys.
I pretty soon understood his meaning as I walked up the stairs of a dingy old building. The clinkering of bangles and the high pitched laughter was unmistakable.
“Come in Khadir”, welcomed a fat lady with a huge red bindi. Khadir bent down and touched her feet and whispered something into her ears.
She smiled at me and asked me to proceed to the last door to the right. I curiously walked down the dimly lit place and gently knocked on the door.
I heard a clinking of bangles and anklets as a petite girl came and opened the small door. The sixth girl!! As the door creaked open, she motioned me inside and she went and sat on a small bed.
I quickly searched for something to sit. Finding none, I quietly went and sat right next to her.
She removed her pallu and spoke harshly, “I have just thirty minutes for you Sir”
The words hit me hard. I realized I was sitting right next to a prostitute. Oh my God. Deeksha and her SI dad are going to kill me now!!
CLICK HERE FOR NEXT PART
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Operation S (Teaser)
As I stepped down from my shinning new Eliminator bike, I could hear the roar of the waves crashing against the coast. I quickly parked my bike on the East Coast Road (ECR) road and started walking into a long narrow road leading to a freshly painted beach house.
The ECR road has been the best maintained route to Pondicherry. Its elegant curves dotted with small villages had made it a good destination for my most cherished Sunday morning ride.
But today was different. As I reached the huge gates of the beach house, the sentry stopped me and questioned me for my ID. A short, stout police constable came running in from inside the house and spoke to the sentry. I was let in to the sprawling mansion like beach house.
“You are late”, muttered the constable under his breath quite angrily.
I looked at him with disdain and walked up to the porch of the beautiful marble floored bungalow. Such legal and illegal guest houses lined up at frequent intervals along the ECR road. Wonder whose house this is?
“Where is she?”, I questioned the constable.
“Sir”, he scratched his head, which was quite reminiscent of any government worker asking for a small token payment, for letting me know of the news so quickly.
I thrust a fifty rupee note into his hand.
“Second room” he replied and saluted. Money power!!
I gingerly entered the first room. The stench of the dead body came floating in and hit me hard. I nearly vomited but quickly bent down and reached for my hand-kerchief to cover my face.
My childhood fear of dead bodies and ghost movies would come back to haunt me every now and then. But my career choice of an investigative journalist clashed directly with my absolute fear.
As I summoned all my courage and proceeded to the second room, I simply stood aghast by the gory murder. The brain matter was splashed all over the wall. A women in mid-thirties lay seated at the end of the empty room with the back to the wall. Her face and body was covered with blood. Her green saree was also soaked completely with blood and looked bright crimson with the last rays of the sun bursting through the window-sill and falling upon her. She looked very different from the local Chennai people, perhaps a north-eastern woman.
I quickly unloaded my Canon D5 camera and shot some pictures at various angles. Perhaps a small news at the end of third page.
I usually tried to come to a murder or robbery site before the police came, just to make sure they did not divert the case and this had helped me earn considerable amount of money and reputation.
“Sir..” came a quick shout from the constable. I surveyed the room once again to check whether I had missed any important clue to the murder. Finding none, I quickly backed out to the front porch.
“Inspector will come to come very soon sir. Please L..”, he had not even completed his sentence, when I could hear the undistinguishable shrieking police car sirens.
“Quickly sir, this way”, the constable led me through a back route when opened into the private beach behind the bungalow. I had been very lucky to have been unnoticed as I had parked my bike far away from the bungalow.
I quickly made my way out and hid myself behind a small over-turned boat. I had never seen a huge posse of policemen for a single murder. After a few minutes, I gathered all my courage and ran up to a huge crevice in the outer-wall of the bungalow and peered through.
What the hell.. DSP, IG and entire police top brass, all in one place??
The ECR road has been the best maintained route to Pondicherry. Its elegant curves dotted with small villages had made it a good destination for my most cherished Sunday morning ride.
But today was different. As I reached the huge gates of the beach house, the sentry stopped me and questioned me for my ID. A short, stout police constable came running in from inside the house and spoke to the sentry. I was let in to the sprawling mansion like beach house.
“You are late”, muttered the constable under his breath quite angrily.
I looked at him with disdain and walked up to the porch of the beautiful marble floored bungalow. Such legal and illegal guest houses lined up at frequent intervals along the ECR road. Wonder whose house this is?
“Where is she?”, I questioned the constable.
“Sir”, he scratched his head, which was quite reminiscent of any government worker asking for a small token payment, for letting me know of the news so quickly.
I thrust a fifty rupee note into his hand.
“Second room” he replied and saluted. Money power!!
I gingerly entered the first room. The stench of the dead body came floating in and hit me hard. I nearly vomited but quickly bent down and reached for my hand-kerchief to cover my face.
My childhood fear of dead bodies and ghost movies would come back to haunt me every now and then. But my career choice of an investigative journalist clashed directly with my absolute fear.
As I summoned all my courage and proceeded to the second room, I simply stood aghast by the gory murder. The brain matter was splashed all over the wall. A women in mid-thirties lay seated at the end of the empty room with the back to the wall. Her face and body was covered with blood. Her green saree was also soaked completely with blood and looked bright crimson with the last rays of the sun bursting through the window-sill and falling upon her. She looked very different from the local Chennai people, perhaps a north-eastern woman.
I quickly unloaded my Canon D5 camera and shot some pictures at various angles. Perhaps a small news at the end of third page.
I usually tried to come to a murder or robbery site before the police came, just to make sure they did not divert the case and this had helped me earn considerable amount of money and reputation.
“Sir..” came a quick shout from the constable. I surveyed the room once again to check whether I had missed any important clue to the murder. Finding none, I quickly backed out to the front porch.
“Inspector will come to come very soon sir. Please L..”, he had not even completed his sentence, when I could hear the undistinguishable shrieking police car sirens.
“Quickly sir, this way”, the constable led me through a back route when opened into the private beach behind the bungalow. I had been very lucky to have been unnoticed as I had parked my bike far away from the bungalow.
I quickly made my way out and hid myself behind a small over-turned boat. I had never seen a huge posse of policemen for a single murder. After a few minutes, I gathered all my courage and ran up to a huge crevice in the outer-wall of the bungalow and peered through.
What the hell.. DSP, IG and entire police top brass, all in one place??
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