things, small small things she’d written. On the 11th she had written a Mother’s Day card . . . She never believed in buying cards. She’d make, draw, write. She’d do it for everyone, Nana, Nani.
‘In fact I found a small diary, two–three pages only. One her
hisaab
, like chips, Kurkure, she had her account of what she had spent. Her pocket money was Rs 200, which never included phone and clothes. She used to say “phone and clothes yours”.’ Both parents laughed at that memory, as if it were a private joke.
‘One place she’s written, “Mom doesn’t know . . . but I didn’t feel like drinking milk that day, I threw it in the pot . . .”
‘I was reading it and thinking “she doesn’t know still . . . threw it in the pot . . .”’
Nupur Talwar trailed off, and looked down, overcome by emotion at the thought of this childish deception. Rajesh began to weep. ‘It’s very very painful what they are doing to her . . . I’m not saying because it’s my child. I’m saying because she was a good soul. All children are good souls . . . But you know, she never demanded anything or threw a tantrum. Never. Not even once.’
Nupur recovered her composure. ‘I remember one Christmas, 2006 or 2007, we decided to buy her an iPod. We told her, you have to go to Nani’s house, we have to go to the other flat to see what work is going on. I think she thought that there was something suspicious, but she said okay, I’ll go. We came back, we kept the packet somewhere. Next day we gave it to her. She was so excited, and she finally said, “I have a big stomach ache, so I have to tell you something.” I said, what? She said, “I knew you had gone to get something for me. So I even saw what you had got for me.”’
Nupur was smiling again. ‘So she did this whole drama about being excited about it . . . And then Rajesh one anniversary told her, come let’s go buy Mom earrings. So she told me that Dad wants to buy you earrings . . . she said she couldn’t keep the gift a secret.
‘You know, she may have been on Facebook, Orkut whatever, but there was an innocence about her. They’ve made her out to be secretive, hiding things . . . she was never like that.
‘They’ve made her out to be a 35-year-old. I remember, when I got bail and I was coming out, there was a jailor, he says I never say this to anyone but I am going to say you’re not going to come back. Then he says,
“Sunne mein aya aap ki bitiya tees saal ki thi.”
’ (We heard that your daughter is 30 years old.)
‘Hmm u hate me . . . I noe ma fault m such a frekin slut . . . I noe.’ The same girl who wrote to Santa also wrote this. It was a reply to her thwarted teenage suitor, Sankalp Arora. Sankalp had found out about Aarushi’s intention to ‘break up’ with him on social media. Trawling through her Facebook and Orkut accounts, the police found many such messages from Aarushi. Sankalp was persistent: his messages are filled with ‘ooo jaanu, lubh you, muah muah’—the kind of language that at a certain age may seem the best form of expression.
Aarushi had many male admirers. There was Ishan, there was Arnav, there was Sankalp after him, and Anmol after Sankalp. She indulged them in the way a 14-year-old would. A glimpse into her Orkut world is telling.
‘Which is the best couple in 8th?’ The polling numbers were out on Orkut under ‘kool 10th studentz of DPS’. The forum wasn’t restricted to just 10th graders; ‘popular’ girls and boys from other classes found a place too.
So along with Utkarsh–Vanita, Vaibhav–Surabhi, Dhruv–Avani and sundry other ‘couples’ is Aarushi–Arnav, who got a healthy 38 per cent of the vote. But that wasn’t all: Aarushi’s name was linked with Sankalp as well in the same poll (18 per cent).
That bit of ambiguity tells its own story. Was there a procession of boys courting Aarushi? Was she, therefore, ‘fast’? Or was she just what every other kid that age, in her
‘In fact I found a small diary, two–three pages only. One her
hisaab
, like chips, Kurkure, she had her account of what she had spent. Her pocket money was Rs 200, which never included phone and clothes. She used to say “phone and clothes yours”.’ Both parents laughed at that memory, as if it were a private joke.
‘One place she’s written, “Mom doesn’t know . . . but I didn’t feel like drinking milk that day, I threw it in the pot . . .”
‘I was reading it and thinking “she doesn’t know still . . . threw it in the pot . . .”’
Nupur Talwar trailed off, and looked down, overcome by emotion at the thought of this childish deception. Rajesh began to weep. ‘It’s very very painful what they are doing to her . . . I’m not saying because it’s my child. I’m saying because she was a good soul. All children are good souls . . . But you know, she never demanded anything or threw a tantrum. Never. Not even once.’
Nupur recovered her composure. ‘I remember one Christmas, 2006 or 2007, we decided to buy her an iPod. We told her, you have to go to Nani’s house, we have to go to the other flat to see what work is going on. I think she thought that there was something suspicious, but she said okay, I’ll go. We came back, we kept the packet somewhere. Next day we gave it to her. She was so excited, and she finally said, “I have a big stomach ache, so I have to tell you something.” I said, what? She said, “I knew you had gone to get something for me. So I even saw what you had got for me.”’
Nupur was smiling again. ‘So she did this whole drama about being excited about it . . . And then Rajesh one anniversary told her, come let’s go buy Mom earrings. So she told me that Dad wants to buy you earrings . . . she said she couldn’t keep the gift a secret.
‘You know, she may have been on Facebook, Orkut whatever, but there was an innocence about her. They’ve made her out to be secretive, hiding things . . . she was never like that.
‘They’ve made her out to be a 35-year-old. I remember, when I got bail and I was coming out, there was a jailor, he says I never say this to anyone but I am going to say you’re not going to come back. Then he says,
“Sunne mein aya aap ki bitiya tees saal ki thi.”
’ (We heard that your daughter is 30 years old.)
‘Hmm u hate me . . . I noe ma fault m such a frekin slut . . . I noe.’ The same girl who wrote to Santa also wrote this. It was a reply to her thwarted teenage suitor, Sankalp Arora. Sankalp had found out about Aarushi’s intention to ‘break up’ with him on social media. Trawling through her Facebook and Orkut accounts, the police found many such messages from Aarushi. Sankalp was persistent: his messages are filled with ‘ooo jaanu, lubh you, muah muah’—the kind of language that at a certain age may seem the best form of expression.
Aarushi had many male admirers. There was Ishan, there was Arnav, there was Sankalp after him, and Anmol after Sankalp. She indulged them in the way a 14-year-old would. A glimpse into her Orkut world is telling.
‘Which is the best couple in 8th?’ The polling numbers were out on Orkut under ‘kool 10th studentz of DPS’. The forum wasn’t restricted to just 10th graders; ‘popular’ girls and boys from other classes found a place too.
So along with Utkarsh–Vanita, Vaibhav–Surabhi, Dhruv–Avani and sundry other ‘couples’ is Aarushi–Arnav, who got a healthy 38 per cent of the vote. But that wasn’t all: Aarushi’s name was linked with Sankalp as well in the same poll (18 per cent).
That bit of ambiguity tells its own story. Was there a procession of boys courting Aarushi? Was she, therefore, ‘fast’? Or was she just what every other kid that age, in her
Similar Books
