She was 6 months pregnant. They pushed her off her 5th
floor balcony.
She was my age. Daughter of my father's friend.
Her crime?
The millions her father had already transferred to them
weren't enough. They wanted more. More of her father's
properties. More of his enviable stocks. More of his sweat
and blood. When they realised there was only so much she
would ask her father to do and had booked a one way
flight ticket back to Mumbai from Delhi they got rid of her.
They killed her at 5 a.m. Called an ambulance at 6 a.m. to
make sure she was past saving. Lying like a street dog in
a pool of blood and uterine fluid, in their meticulously
manicured garden. They presented themselves at the
hospital at 9 a.m., well after being informed that she had
passed. They arrived in their Mercedes, the husband and
father in law dressed like true blue Delhiites in their
custom made Italian suit knock-offs, fresh off a boutique
in Saket, in their fake Ferragamos strutting placidly
towards her corpse being wheeled for the mandatory police
post mortem.
Not a tear, not a grimace. The police was told that they
just woke up in the morning and saw her sprawled in their
front lawn. Of course she was happy. The marriage was
fine. Her god bharai was around the corner. She had
mental issues.
A month it took for the heartbroken father to shake off his
grief and file a complaint. But nothing prepared them for
the smirks that greeted them when they visited the family
of murderers in prison.
No regret. No worries. They laughed. Said they will be free
in a few days.
She was my age.
Agle janam mohe bitiya na keejo....
- Shefali Samdaria !
::::: PK <3 MâĎĎÝ :::::
