I have missed pondering on my keyboard for quite sometime now and it feels good to be back on track with it. I haven’t uploaded my blog for a long time, and I apologize.
I just started working as a journalist for a new newspaper and the job put everything else in the backseat.
Finally, the paper is on the stands and hopefully I can claim my life back, bit by bit. The mundane life of a novelist is on hold as an exciting life of a journalist takes over.
Every day is different from the day before and I love it. There’s a chance to meet new people, make new contacts and get a perspective on the world.
I suddenly seem to have an opinion about everything, and beware, they are volatile opinions.
But yes, each day leaves behind a distinct imprint on the book of my life. Some days are exciting, some ordinary, some unnerving and some just depressing.
One such day was the day that followed Adnan Patrawala’s abduction and murder. At 11.30 pm, I wound up my Harry Potter and cosily hushed myself to sleep under my blanket. I was ready to be lost in the world of my dreams when my work mobile tinkled. I knew it was an emergency. I cursed and answered it. It was my editor breaking the news of Adnan Patrawala to me. “We want you to try and find out about the boy. Since in such cases, they are more forthcoming to women, will you go to Andheri early tomorrow?” I nodded and said yes.
I couldn’t sleep all night. That boy left home with friends and suddenly, his dead body’s been found.
The shock was to hit me worse the next day. All the newspapers carried a profile on the Adnan case. ‘Adnan was a spendthrift’ ‘Loved zipping around in cars’ ‘Adnan was reclusive and spent too much time on the internet’. I felt numbed by these reports branding the boy.
What’s more, an email briefing me about my report awaited me. My colleague had gone on to mention that this 16 year old sported a bottle of alcohol in his hand and hence was a ‘spoilt-brat’. I shook with anger. I remembered the picture with a breezer. Why was the media justifying the cause of the killers by branding this juvenile boy as a spoilt brat?
The journalist in me ached to find the real Adnan. I set off to Andheri and made way to his residence. It was a glum place, as my article mentioned. Plastic chairs were lined out in the compound to make place for the male relatives. Women scurried through the lift to console Adnan’s family. I ventured inwards, and started talking to people.
“Please go away,” one of the members of the family requested. I nodded and made my way outside. I couldn’t bring myself to explain to them that I was there to try and help them. I knew I was lying.
I had become one of the lots. I had encroached into the privacy of a grieving family to prove that I was good at my job. What was I doing?
In the depressive state I walked into Adnan’s college. I told the principal that I wanted to know who Adnan was. And contrary to the media reports, the pained principal described the 16 year old to me.
Adnan was like any other 16 year olds. Only, he was given the financial liberties that he could not deal with. Sure, it was his parents’ fault but what price did they have to pay for it? Was it fair?
Not in the least. The thirst for money forced Adnan’s killers to plan his kidnapping and then to murdering him in cold-blood, and no I don’t think the killers are to blame either. I think it is the growing gap between the rich and the poor. It is the increasing need for money to be able to eat at fancy restaurants, wear swanky jewellery, carry least gadgets and afford designer labels.
Adnan’s murderers do deserve a harsh punishment but we as a society have lead to young Adnan’s murder… Think about it.
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