“Subbu shared the entry code with me. Why didn’t you ask me, Myra? The cops asked all kinds of weird questions. You know I would never hurt you. You know that Myra, right?” he’s looking at me directly and I can tell he’s worried. He has enough shit in his past. Getting sacked from work because of misappropriation of funds and now a police enquiry. He could do without being under the scanner.
“Deepak, why don’t you take the elevator. I’ll take the next one. Please. I just want to be alone.” I’m saved by the elevator doors that slide open and Deepak walks in.
“And yes, by the way, since you told them our story, I decided to tell them your story. About Gautam, Ravesh and now Arjun. It’s always best to tell the cops everything, isn’t it? I told them you’re a gal who likes to go around…you know what I mean.” He winks at me as the door shuts. I want to puke. I need water. I need to be someplace far away from here. But I need to get back to work. I have to.
I take the next elevator, get off at the lobby and walk towards Starbucks. I don’t want my usual cup of caffeine fix. It used to be my morning ritual; buying a cup before going up to my office. Today, even though I don’t want one, my legs follow the aroma of coffee beans that is wafting through the hallway.
“Your usual, Myra?” Suraj the store manager greets me at the counter. I mumble yes and try not to look him in the eye. I know he knows about it. Everyone knows about it.
“How do you like my new look?” Suraj touches his bald head and gives me a cheery smile.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t notice it.” He has shaved his hair. His thick wavy hair. That’s the first thing I’d noticed about him when I met him a few months ago.
“Men shouldn’t be allowed to have such lovely hair. Makes us women feel shitty about ours.” I’d told him. He loved his silky mane, tied it in a man bun, sometimes a jolly ponytail. He got complimented for it by men and women.
“Why did you shave your head, Suraj? You had lovely hair.” It feels good to have an inane, normal conversation; almost makes me forget everything.
“I donated it for cancer patients. They make these wigs. And this is my ghar ki kheti. Ugh jayegi.” He smiles at me. Our eyes meet for a second and then as he hands me my coffee, there’s a foil-wrapped something that he hands out too.
“Just a tiny something, Myra.” I open it and it’s a small slice of walnut brownie.
“Don’t refuse it. I know it’s extremely high calorie. Full of everything sinful, but just what you need today. Okay?” he tosses his head and then realizes there’s no hair to flick back and starts laughing. “Old habits die hard, don’t they”? I bite into my favourite cheat food. Walnut brownie. I close my eyes, as I bite into it; feeling the crunch of walnut and the gooey chocolate spreading in my mouth. I know I should rush to the office but I give myself another minute of indulgence.
“Thanks, Suraj. I really needed this. Though I haven’t been to the gym in a week.”
He signals a woman to take over the counter as he walks around the counter to join me. “It’s okay, Myra. The gym isn’t going anywhere. Give yourself some time. Pamper yourself now.” A simple act of kindness and an understanding word from a man I barely know, tears spring into my eyes and I gulp them away angrily. I don’t recognise this woman I have metamorphosed into. Shivering and trembling in the semi-dark basement, fearful of shadows, teary eyes. Get a fucking grip on yourself! I almost scream that aloud.
“Thank you, Suraj.” Our eyes meet, he smiles and I smile back. I’ve known him only for less than a year. He’d joined Starbucks recently as the store manager. Reticent, talks only when spoken to, blushes when women comment on his hair, keeps his head down; it’s only by chance that I found out about his hidden talent. He draws cartoons of people and does it amazingly well.
“Any new cartoons you’ve drawn, Suraj?”
“Yes, I have.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “Come down during lunch if you can and I’ll show you.” A group of executives enter. I know he can’t stay and chat. He has to attend to people.
“I better rush too. Getting back to work after 10 days.” I shrug my shoulders that feel heavy. I suddenly feel them droop, my feet feel heavy and drag on the floor as though reluctant to move. I get into the elevator that will take me to my 27th-floor office. I look at my phone. A ton of work awaits. Waiting to fall on me like an avalanche. Mails, messages, meetings, calls and more of that. I’m looking forward to getting busy with work, immersing myself in my crazy schedule so that I don’t think about what happened.
Every eye in the office turns towards me. I’m the woman who got raped in her own house. In her bedroom. Some of them pretend not to see me so that they don’t have to make eye contact and then say something. I don’t blame them. I would've done the same. What do you say to a woman who has been raped in her bedroom?
Anushka isn’t one of them. She is the nastiest of them all. She waddles over, literally. When will the excessive lump of lard and triglycerides lose some weight and get healthy? A short trot from her room to me as I walk towards mine and she is panting. How, how can anyone be so blasé about one’s health and appearance?
“I’m so happy to see you’re back, Myra. Please accept my…” she stopped mid-sentence. Was she about to offer condolences? I am not dead. I look at her, stop for a while, and then decide to put her out of the dilemma she’s in.
“It’s okay, Anushka. Thanks for your concern. I’m back. Catch you later.” I walk away before she can say anything more. I can see Anushka make her way towards the conference room and I remember. There’s an important meeting that I’m late for.
“You go for the meeting, Myra.” Judy meets me before I reach my room. She takes my tote, hands me my laptop and walks towards my room.
“Thanks, Judy.” I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, take a deep breath, and head towards the conference room to plunge back into the whirlpool of issues, deals, and deadlines that I know is waiting for me.
Chapter 10. Myra
It’s been a fortnight since that night. No arrests have been made yet. I got a call last evening from the office of SP Aditi Patel to be at the police station today. I shuffle my work meetings in the morning and arrive 5 minutes before time, as I always do.
“I’m Myra. I’m here to meet SP Aditi Patel.” The receptionist looks sharper and more alert than what I remember her to be on the Sunday morning when Hridi and I had come in. The presence of a senior officer has cured her of her tardiness. I don’t sit, I pace around instead.
The declared AQI for the day is 450. It’s a death trap outside. The air is toxic and yet, the reception doors are wide open. No one is wearing a mask. There’s no air purifier anywhere in sight. The government, the police don’t care. I keep my N95 firmly on the bridge of my nose. The huge open waiting area has many posters on the wall. All of them say the same thing.
All women police station for women to feel comfortable about reporting crime. Smiling faces of women cop standing next to women, timid-faced women; they must have come in to report and were dragged in for photographs. Where was their sensitivity when they questioned me? Their judging eyes, snarky tone and complete lack of empathy… singed in my memory forever.
I see a familiar face in the posters. Dipti Beniwal. The SHO of the all-women police station. I hate to admit but she does look smart in the pictures, though she needs to lose some weight.
I have nothing good to say about her. Every word she has spoken has been an insult; sometimes veiled, often open and direct. Bloody hell! She can’t even get my name right. Calls me Meera all the time.
“Miss Myra.” I turn at the sound of my name and look at a young, perky thing with the name tag Sonali Sharma pinned on her crisply ironed shirt. She is beaming and smiling like the usher at a wellness spa. I almost expect her to bow low, join her palms in a welcome.
“Sir and madam are waiting for you.” Perky Sonali leads the way, almost hopping and skipping as she walks. I follow her.
The enthusiasm of the n
ew recruit. Eager to please. I try not to smile as I walk behind her.
I’m ushered into a large room where an air purifier is noisily doing its job. Three cops – two women and a man are waiting for me. Inspector Dipti walks towards me. She points towards the other woman in the room.
“SP Aditi Patel. DIG Rakesh Bhatia.” Dipti almost clicks her heels as she speaks. She is introducing her senior officers. I can hear the hint of nervousness in her voice.
“Thank you, Dipti. I’ll take it from here.” Aditi speaks up.
“Jai Hind.” Dipti does a quick salute and backs out of the room and shuts the door behind her. She isn’t senior and important enough to be present. I’m in the room with senior, seasoned cops.
“Please have a seat.” SP Patel points towards an empty chair. Earlier when Dipti introduced her, she had extended her hand and shaken mine with a firm grip as her eyes stayed on my face.
“Thank you for coming here to meet with us.” She walks to the other side of the table and waits for her boss, DIG Bhatia to sit down first. He hasn’t said a word yet. Aditi wears a short crop, no mess, no fuss hair that tucks under her police cap with ease. There’s no jewellery, ring, or earring on her. Just a simple black leather strap watch on her wrist. Shirt neatly tucked in her pants, the front crease all the way down, her boots gleaming. She has a no-nonsense air about her, though she’s there in the room to make me feel comfortable; the new rule of having a woman officer present as male officers question. Something about her tells me she’s the one who is going to make me feel uncomfortable. It’s the way she looks at me. Rather glares at me, that says, women like you…I don’t know how she would complete that sentence but her eyes are cold and hard. Not sympathetic at all. Just cold, hard, and no trace of any emotion.
“Thank you for meeting with us.” DIG Bhatia speaks. I want to tell them; this is the last place on earth I’d like to be at. But I stay silent. I sit across the table. It almost feels like a job interview and I half expect one of them to say, tell us something about yourself.
They are looking at me, I’m looking at them and seconds tick by. After a while DIG Bhatia speaks up, “Ms Myra, we are recording today’s meeting. We will be presenting the information we’ve gathered from our investigation and will also ask you some more questions. So, do you consent to be recorded? It will be a video recording.”
I nod my head and he nods his head in Aditi’s direction, who turns on the video camera.
“Please state your full name, age, and place of residence.”
“Myra Mehta. I’m 32 and live in Casa Sara Towers, Golf course road.”
“Do you consent to be recorded?”
“Yes, I do. Do I need to have a lawyer with me?” suddenly I feel worried.
Their tone and the formality of it all worries me.
“Why would you? You aren’t the accused. You are the victim. And to be honest, this recording is more for our safety, just in case you decide after the meeting to accuse us of not treating you with dignity. We’d have a video recording to prove that we didn’t cross the line.” He allows himself to smile as do I. I wonder what the line is; where does it start?
“Myra, we have finished conducting interviews with all your friends who were at the party. We’ve also spoken to some of your colleagues and we have gathered the following.” He signals to Aditi to take over.
She clears her throat and says, “On Saturday night, you had a party in your flat. You’d invited 17 people but 30 turned up. Some of your friends bought their friends, people you didn’t know. Am I right so far?”
I nod and she continues.
“Myra … is it ok if I call you Myra?” she pauses.
I nod.
“A nod isn’t enough. You need to speak up, please.”
“Yes, I’d invited 17 people but 30 turned up. They came with those who were invited.
“Is that usually the norm? To have more people than what you invited?’
“It was an open door party. I encouraged my friends to bring along a friend. It was a party to get to know more people, expand our friend circle.”
Somehow I can sense where the conversation is going.
“You had a lot of alcohol. An unusually high alcohol content was found in your blood report and someone had drugged your drink too.” She stops and looks at me. I don’t know what to say or how to react. Is that a question? Sounded like a statement. What does she want me to say? She is silent, waiting for me to respond.
“Yes, I had a lot to drink. The party was at my place. In my home. I thought I am safe. That’s what your home is supposed to be, right?” I reply looking at her and then turn my gaze towards the man. Their faces don’t reveal what they are thinking.
Aditi continues. “Myra, don’t take this the wrong way.” Every time anyone says this, it’s almost a given that they have something not so nice to say.
“Some of the men who were at the party… you’ve been…” she clears her throat before carrying. “You’ve had sexual relations with Gautam, your fitness instructor and with Deepak. Then there was Ravesh, also.” Where is she going with this? I can feel my eyebrows crunching with a question. “And now Arjun and you are partners, am I right?”
“What are you trying to get at? I’m sexually active so I should be raped?” I try to control my rising decibel.
“No. That’s not what we are saying at all. Rape is horrible. It’s a crime. We are just stating all the information we found. You’ve had multiple sexual relationships with men.” This is not looking good for me. They are making me look like a cheap slut. I can feel my anger rise.
“Have you spoken to my colleague…I mean ex-colleague? Deepak? I sacked him from work and there were ugly scenes.” They need to look at possible suspects instead of making me feel cheap.
“Yes. We have. He says he has moved on. He was upset but has put that behind him.”
“Of course, he will say that.” I thump my hands on the table. “Why did he crash the party? Who does something like that? Come to a party of the woman who sacked him? He lost his job, a lot of money and was humiliated because I found out what he was doing and didn’t want to keep quiet. His last words to me before the security dragged him out were – you’ll pay for this Myra. You’ll regret it.”
“Then why did you let him in?” Rakesh speaks up. “Why allow a man like that in your home?”
“And you’ve had a sexual relationship with Deepak in the past, am I right?” it’s Aditi again. She seems to be hell-bent on making me look like a person who has slept with half of Gurgaon. Bitch!
“That was years ago. A very long time ago and it was just a stupid fling. Just a night. A mistake.”
“So, you are the type of person, who has one night stands, huh?” she leans back on her chair and continues her glare.
“What exactly is happening here, officers? Have I been called here to be made to feel cheap and low…huh? Is that why I’m here? Instead of trying to find who did this, you’re making it seem like I asked for it?” I feel enraged, livid and more so when I realize a lump is rising in my throat. I pick up the glass of water and gulp it down. I’m not going to break down and start crying and give the bitch the satisfaction.
“Look at Deepak, officer. He did this. I’m sure of it. That’s why the bastard came over. Stupid on my part that I got played. I just didn’t want to humiliate him in front of everyone again. He did this.”
“Myra there’s no evidence found on you or in the room that points to him. His fingerprints have been found only in the living room.”
I can’t believe what I say next. “Have you looked into Arjun? He refuses to divulge where he was on the night of the party?”
“There’s no reason to suspect him. He wasn’t there.” Aditi stands with arms crossed across her chest.
“Exactly. Why didn’t he attend the party? I’m his girlfriend. We are always together. He wasn’t there and he isn’t telling where he was.”
“Myra, I hope you understand that we can�
�t pin suspicion on a man because you are mad at him.” It’s Aditi again and this time she’s waving her palms in the air and smiling in the not so nice manner. She is mocking me.
“What about DNA evidence? Surely you must have found something?”
“There’s not a single strand of hair,” Rakesh speaks up now.
“That’s the strangest thing about the incident,” he continues. “There’s not a single piece of DNA either on you, on your bed, anywhere in your room. That’s very unusual in a rape case. Usually, there’s something the perp leaves behind. Here, the room is swept clean. Even the bedsheet had nothing.”
“That’s because whoever did this, pulled out the bedsheet and shoved it in the washing machine.” I bend my head on my palm.
“Yes, Inspector Dipti has mentioned that in her report.” Aditi pulls the chair and looks at the DIG and at me before continuing. “So the person who did this changed the sheets. That means he knows where you keep your bed linen. He is known to you.”
There’s silence in the room. They are staring at me and I’m returning their stare.
“This isn’t a rape at all.”
I sit up straight in my chair as though lightning struck me when Aditi says it.
“What do you mean? You think I’m making it up.” Where are they going with this?
It’s Aditi again; looks like she has been assigned the task of speaking and the DIG is going to be silent all through. “There was sexual intercourse but no sign of forced or violent entry. There’s no mark of injury on your body. And the bedsheet was changed. So it’s very clear that this has been done by someone known to you.”
“What about the vulgar lipstick markings on my body?” my voice is louder than it should be. I can’t believe what I am hearing.
Aditi has disgust writ all over her face. Like it nauseates her to even talk about it. She looks at her senior, as though seeking his permission before continuing. He nods his head and she speaks.
“Those markings seem like a prank, Myra.”
I’m speechless. Are they serious? What on earth is the matter with the cops? Someone writes cheap, vulgar things on my naked body with lipstick from my dresser and they are calling it a prank!
Eye On You Page 6