Saturday, January 26, 2013

A journey into Thailand - Part 1

So, last Thursday when I got up in the morning (read afternoon), I did not even think in the least bit that I would be moving out of home that day, let alone the country. As was routine, I logged into Facebook and there was a message from my cousin bragging about his visiting Bangkok. We talked about it, one thing led to another, and there I was, scheduled to fly to Bangkok that evening. Yep, it was so damn simple. And inspite of all my misgivings of Tiger Airways, the one thing they are the best at - cheap airfares. It costed me hardly 250$ for a return ticket. So frantic few hours into deciding what clothes to wear, and running around to print out the ticket, there I was, finally, sitting in Changi Airport at 7 PM for a flight scheduled to fly out of the airport around 9 PM.

Two hours later (well, one hour, considering the time difference), there I was in Suvarnabhumi International Airport. The airport is bloody huge. Imagine this - I had to walk nearly a 750m from the gate to the immigration point and a further 350m to the Visa on Arrival counter.


Thankfully, I had exchanged dollars to Thai Bhat in Changi itself, so I could directly proceed to the immigration counter. But the VoA formalities took around a half hour, and the dumb immigration officer happily made a mistake - he stapled the departure card onto my passport. Cursing him mentally, I walked out to the exit to take a cab into the city. I was slated to stay with my cousin, who was crashing with his cousin. I gave the address to the cabbie, who simply stared at me. He couldn't read English. Some kind heart soul nearby wrote the address in Thai and gave it to him. And so we went. On and on and on.

I simply loved the highways of Bangkok. The city itself is so huge. And it boasts of tons and tons of superfast highways. Some of them which go on to three levels. Huge criscrossing junctions, but on the highways, traffic seemed so seamless. I so badly wanted to shoot a few pictures, but the cab was flying at such huge speeds, that it was absolutely impossible.

After what seemed like eternity and 600 Bhat of taxi fare, I reached the place. My cousin returned home shortly and we got to talking way into the night. And gradually slept off, having planned big for the day.

The Bangkok experience to continue on the part two of this post.....

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Cravings for the past - what Chennai means to me



This post is part of the blog tag titled the CBC Tabog, where CBC stands for Chennai Bloggers Club. About 35 bloggers from Chennai are participating in this blog tag; everyone will write about Chennai and what has attracted them here. Thanks to Muthiah Sriram for passing the buck on to me. Muthiah calls himself an amateur blogger, although a brief skimming through his blog makes me not want to agree with him.

But before I delve too much into why I am attached so much to Chennai (or Madras, as I prefer calling it), a small trivia. I was born in Madras on a fine evening of '88 and guess who was the nurse who delivered me? Don't we all know Nurse Nalini? Yes, the same lady. So, in a way, my birth itself is a bit of a controversy.

But back to the city. Whenever I think of Madras, a sense of warmth sweeps over me completely. Like the warmth an infant feels in a mother's arm. Yes, I am, but, one of the many children of Madras. And a proud one at that. An NRI child, who still craves to cling on to all the beautiful memories this (g)old city has bestowed upon me. How much ever people abuse the city, both verbally and otherwise, one cannot deny the fact that Madras gives back only love; only care. It embraces one and all, irrespective of caste, creed, color, race. To Madras, each one of us is equal. 

I still remember the good old days when I was a school kid. Back then, we lived in Kodambakkam, the Kollywood capital. Just a stone's throw away, Vairamuthu lived. In my own flat, some small time actor and his father lived. Memories of actually wanting to get even his autograph linger somewhere in the brain. Those days also formed the most happiest memories of my life. I am talking of a time when Satyam did not become so awesome, but was merely a theatre with four screens. At that time, watching a movie at the AVM theatre in Vadapalani was considered rich. Udayam theatre was the second best choice. Every weekend, my entire family (my parents, dad's brother and his family, my cousins) made it a routine to either catch up a movie at AVM, or hit the Marina beach followed by dinner in one of the star hotels back then. Uncle, being filthy rich, mostly treated us. The scores of times we have had awesome family time in the beach can never be forgotten. I look back at those days with such a heavy heart, now that we don't do it anymore. 

There was this one restaurant near Mandaveli bus terminus called Mela. They served the best Shahi Paneer in all of Chennai. My aunt used to take my cousin and me there every alternate weekend. At one point, the restaurant started giving us discount for being regular customers. The last time when I was in Chennai and went along that road, and that restaurant was not there. What a shame.

And then the new Satyam came in. Even as a school kid, I remember hanging so much at the theatre, that sometimes we used to watch three movies back to back. Thankfully, all our dads did not mind that. A walk along the road leads one to the Church Park convent. Need I say more? Everything back then seemed so simple, yet so memorable. Even today, although INOX, PVR and AGS have found a strong loyalty base, in my case, it is always Satyam. Watching a movie in Satyam is an experience in itself. And that's something non-Chennaiites would never understand, even though many other cities boast of far superior multiplexes. 

Studying in one of the finest schools of Chennai (and probably India) had its own merit. Yes, I am a proud alumnus of Padma Seshadri. What I am today, is because what PSBB gave me. Which takes me back to wonderful memories of friends from school, many of us now settled in various parts of the globe, but our roots still are stuck with Chennai and I am sure it always will.

I was not so lucky to experience the city as a college kid (both during my UG and now my Masters). Studying in a college outside Chennai had its disappointments, but I used to run back to Chennai at the tiniest of opportunity available. Every time when we took a bus from Trichy to Chennai, once the bus crossed the airport, I used to be wide awake. Just to enjoy the early morning beauty of the Kathipara flyover. The flyover is still one of awe, everytime I drive over it. How much the traffic used to suck around the area before the flyover was built. 

A walk along the Nanganallur market is a visual treat to anyone. All the Iyer mamis clad in their madisar 9 gajam is such a beauty to watch. And trust me, these mamis are unbeatable when it comes to bargaining. Such smart ones they are. The awesome puliyodharai and vadai from Anjaneyar temple is something to crave for. The unique taste can never be matched. 

Watching a match at the Chepauk stadium is always a thrill. I have watched matches both in the Pavilion and Pavilion terrace (once, even getting a close up look at the Master Blaster), as well as from the most cheapest of stands. But cheering on with other fanatics, especially during the much recent IPL matches, screaming voices out to support CSK, booing Delhi Daredevils once - wow, all that is just absolute bliss. After one particular IPL match in which Chennai won, we were so urged to drink, that we actually took the car all the way from Triplicane to the airport (Zaras), only to find that it was closed. And then we headed back to Thiruvanmiyur to a friend's place and got drunk all night over foreign scotch and local sarakku. And still managed to head to office the next morning

The beauty of Chennai is that it has retained a big part of its erstwhile Madras era even today. On the one hand, the south of the city has changed so much that you can mainly see glass covered tech parks and software companies. On the other side, there is still a big portion along the Mount Road, PH Road where the colonial look has still remained. Each of those 100 year old buildings near Ritchie Street are such grandeur structures.

Travelling in the first class compartment of the electric train from Pazhavanthangal station to Paranur to work is something I will both miss and not miss. True, it used to be so damn crowded, that I'd just want to jump off the train every day. But the fact that the first class compartment was right next to the ladies compartment made up for all the irritation. Both salwar clad techies of Mahindra City and the jean'ed girls of SRM University were just the best part of the one hour long journey. Each day brought in new experiences, new things to talk to, new people to look at. 

Yes, the city has its own limitations and problems. Traffic, pollution, heat, Cooum river - the list goes rather huge. Yet, all these are also a part of the legacy that's Chennai. Everything cannot be perfect. Something has to be wrong. What would be complain about, if everything was right? We have to learn to live among the imperfections, yet try to correct them unsuccessfully. The balance of good and the not-so-good should be retained. And, Chennai has done everything in its capacity to retain this balance. 

I perhaps have left out on the most obvious things about Chennai. But Chennai, as public as it might be, is also my personal pride. Naturally, whenever I think of the city, I would only look at it from a personal view. Chennai has given me so much, and I am sure it would give me much more. And I would be eternally grateful to the city for making me who I am today. True, I don’t live in the city now, and I don’t foresee my return (permanently) for a few years. But the reality is, I embarked on this journey of doing my Masters with just one sole purpose - to make enough money to actually purchase just one house in Chennai, so that I can get back to what would rightfully be mine, hopefully in a few years. A simple Chennaiite's dream. When I say this, I cannot fail to miss that one tiny drop of tear that's clinging on to my eye, which reminds me constantly that this is for the best and that I would be back soon. Back to my roots. Back to my base. Back to Madras.

This post would be succeeded by Rajiv Nagarajan, a Chennaiite who blogs on random stuff, often mokkai. I wouldn’t quite agree, but why don't you decide for yourself? He blogs at here

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

2012, as I saw it and 2013, as I hope to see it

So 2012 went off smoothly (perhaps not). Too many good and a lot more not so good things have happened the last year. The fag end of the year went off in all of us anguishing over the gangrape of an innocent 23 year old girl in Delhi and later an entire nation mourning her loss. Somehow, it is sad that a lot of these events were not something we could do anything about.

But, as I sit here and think of the past year, I am reminded of a few events that happened in my own personal life, some which I cherish and some, not so much. 2012 was a momentous year for me, because I finally got the balls to do something I wanted to do three years back. I decided to pursue my Masters degree. Thankfully, Singapore formed a natural choice, considering I was very particular about not going too far away from home, yet a place that offers excellent scope. The point about not going too far, was in a way driven by the fact that 2012 was the year when my parents completed 25 wonderful years of wedlock and I did not want to miss out on organizing something grand to commemorate the occasion. Thankfully, that went very well. It also gave me a shocking reminder that I am growing old, something I am still coming to terms with.

2012 was also the year when I completed a one year long relationship with my new gal. She's black, but brilliant. An amazing companion, knows what I always want, and bows down to every wish. She goes by the name Spark :) Yes, my own car, bought out of my own money (well, dad is now paying the EMI, but still). Also, this year, the first male cousin in my family got married and relatives are now behind my back, hinting at tying me down. Thankfully, Singapore gave me a helping hand, atleast for now.

That said, I hope 2013 would also be as momentous as 2012. For starters, I really hope I find a job soon so that I can once again get independent and not be tied down by the troubles of an international student. I hope to make certain important life decisions as well, and I hope things fall into place (for details, offline please). Lets see how that goes. And a couple of other wishes, all in due time.

But now, to the more important question of what I did on New Year's Eve. Although you might well have guessed, let me elaborate. The evening started off with spending time on Orchard Road (read this for more information) and hitting a pub there with two office colleagues (well, I am working with a company for a month) and then head to Marina Bay Sands (read this) to drop the jaws at all the decorations and then go back to this place called Clarke Quay, which is the booze capital of Singapore.

So once at CQ, we bought a couple of beer tins and found a spot for ourselves (this time, with my college friends). And trust me, we made the maximum noise in all of CQ, considering there were more than atleast a thousand people assembled (or much more). And one of the friends became the victim of all the sarakku abishegam. Two beer tins, a bottle each of Coke, Sprite etc. were swaha'ed on him. Poor chap.

All this done, we formed the usual train and ran around the whole place, making complete fools of ourselves, but not bothered in the least bit about it, wishing the most random people a Happy New Year, well and all that, till a few policemen came and asked us to shut up. So, there. The police factor is also in place. Some more time there and it was back home around 2 AM, completely drunk, but nonetheless, having the best of new year in recent times.

Happy 2013 :)

-Prashanth

Saturday, December 29, 2012

So long, sister

For no fault of yours, you so badly suffered.
For no good deed, you gained so many siblings

Brutally slaughtered, you had to undergo so much hardship.
To satisfy the barbaric desires of a few monsters, you paid a price.

With your suffering, a bunch of morons called women names.
Dented and painted, one called out

What nation is this, that cannot protect its own children
What country is this, that passes on the buck (each time)

And then you were airlifted, in the hope you would survive
You fought hard, at home and abroad

Yet, God wishes otherwise; he took your life away
Is it so that you can reclaim your dignity; pass on to peace?

Sorry sister, you deserved much more
With your absence, you gave us a cause.

So long!
Rest in Peace

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Orchard Christmas

So, three years back, I was in Europe around Christmas. It so happened that on Christmas day, I was in Vatican. And I got to see the Pope. Although I practice a different religion, it was really a wonderful experience to actually see the religious head of one of the largest religions in the world. And I thought that was the best Christmas in many years to come. Until two days back.

Orchard Road in Singapore is one famous two kilometer stretch, that is just filled with innumerable number of malls.


Literally, a person would need atleast one day to walk through each mall. All the world famous brands including Prada, Louis Vuitton and many many more find base there. And you go there late nights, it is famous for the oldest practiced occupation of the world (any guesses there?) And the road was filled with beautifully decorated Christmas trees every few yards. I've never seen such mind blowing decorations



See the lighting in the picture below. That's how the road is lit up all along the stretch. Some places are even more grand.

Fountains colored beautifully, it adds beauty to the whole scene.


So, these decorations are just a part of the grandeur. There's much more along the entire stretch and each of it is an absolute visual treat.

Remember our very own Ranganathan Street and how crowded it is. Well, not surprisingly, Orchard Road on Christmas eve was just like that. To cap it all, everyone of them had foam bottles in their hands, and by the end of it all, we were just soaked in foam every bit of the body.

The best part of course, was the dressing up of all the gorgeous women, richly colored clothing, a little too much revelation than necessary and the fact that they didn't really care about what they revealed. My my !! It could last one a lifetime.

If Christmas was such, I wonder how New Year's eve would be.

Disclaimer : All the pictures have been taken on my handphone camera.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Kasab's death : Dedicated to all the brave police officers who saved the nation

Death is death. There are no differences to it. No tags can be attached. Be it one of the most popular Prime Ministers killed by a bunch of linguistic fanatics, or innocent citizens of a nation's financial capital, it is still the same. So why must a terrorist being hanged until death for a heinous crime be treated any different?

After Kasab's death today, I see a lot of people broach up the topic of death sentence once again and try to figure out a stand. Some friends who, I am sure, are hell bent against death sentence are hailing the killing of Kasab. I ask them how such a stand is possible, and they comfortably reply 'there are always exceptions'. Well, I don't agree. When it comes to the life of a person, there can be no exceptions. Its either whole or none. Support it or oppose it. No selective support of any kind.

I, for one, certainly support death sentences. It is purely my opinion that people who oppose it (or in such cases, selectively oppose it) in the name of human rights, and Gandhi's very own 'an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind', are actually fooling themselves. And trust me, you guys would never know the pain a victim goes through, unless you actually witness it first hand. I wonder if you'd stick to your Gandhian philosophy then. Probably not.

Kasab was one of the ten terrorists who took out to wipe out a part of our nation. His misfortune, he was caught alive. In his case, the law has only done what it is supposed to. Those who mock the Government for waiting for four years, please let it rest. Be happy that you are part of a democracy where even the nation's "enemy" is given a fair trial. If it takes four years, well so what? In some sense, justice has been served right?

To those braveheart social network addicts who post things like 'ROT IN HELL' and such shit, get a life guys. Don't merely mark your attendance on the social networks through such cheap posts. Think of all the pain those police officers' families are still undergoing. Empathize with them, that's important. Not you goddamn "present sir" on Facebook and twitter.

I am sure Arnab Goswami, Sagarika Ghose, Rajdeep Sardesai, Barkha Dutt and all those pseudo journalists are making out special segments. Please do not give us your crap this time. Don't project Kasab as the epitome of terrorism. Remember, this ain't the end.

There could well be terrorists plotting their next attack on the nation. What we need to do now, is wake up to reality. Laws like POTA need to be brought back to tackle with complex issues. The Government is at a moral responsibility to assure its citizens that they are there to take care. And my dear fellow citizens, for once, appreciate the Government for what it has done, and show your solidarity and support to the families of those brave policemen who lost their lives saving us.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

In any city, (dont) be an Indian

Ok, the other day, the Gujju society here in Singapore had organized an open house Dandiya night event. You know how it is, at these functions right? There are generally five kinds at any such function :

1. The older women, dressed up in the most weird coloured salwars dance to some random Gujju song (well, by dance, I only mean shake their hands with a big gleeful smile (which doesn't always show the teeth, quite simply because they are not there))
2. The middle aged uncles and aunties revealing more than what they ought to (adei, I meant the dance skills);
3. The Settu figures who dance with their male companions (with the age old theory of sema figure with some mokka guy always coming true)
4. The others who cannot dance for nuts
5. The rest, like me, who come there just to do their duty (eat, bird watch, eat and bird watch)

Well actually, I belong to both 4 and 5.

So, here's what happened. My friend and I were busy doing our thing. The caterers served the most yummy (atleast after coming to Singapore) paav bhaaji and gulab jamun (which reminds me of the college canteen). So we were there, minding our own business. My friend finished his two dishes and I turned around, so that he didn't delve into mine. He was just about to wash his hands over the grass (the typical desi style) when I stopped him and gave a bit of gyan about how not to dirty the spot, which is so typical of Indians. Surprisingly, he actually thought it was right too and washed his hand into the box of food. Well, that was ok I suppose.

That's when it happened.

This really well dressed mid-twenties guy, who looked fairly educated and neat (well, appearances are almost always deceptive) goes desi. He washed his hands over the very same spot. What's more, he goggled his mouth with some water and spit it on the ground. I was like, "What the hell" ? But this guy didn't really seem to care.

We Indians always comment that we are not given due respect when abroad and that the foreigners look down upon us. Well, why wouldn't they, when you do such things? That too in Singapore, where caning is still legal. Just because you are in the midst of your clan (rather, herd), you behave this way? EKSI

What's even worse was, when we were leaving, I just turned around and had a look at the venue and its surroundings. What did I see? I needn't answer that.

Come on guys, don't pass the buck on to others. Do it yourself. Rather, don't do it, yourself !

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

What to do with money

So, its been a while since I wrote anything. There are a few reasons for this, but two important reasons :
1. Studies, being a Masters student, is a little hectic (though my Facebook followers would say otherwise)
2. I am still a little awestruck by the brilliance of Singapore.

Some of us (well atleast the ones to whom money is not a problem, more so with spending it) quite simply lose track of ways to spend money, after sometime. We run out of ideas right?

But these Singaporeans wouldn't agree. They just come up with every unimaginable way in which they can spend all the money. Consider this, taxes are fairly low here. An average S'porean spends a big chunk of money on rent (and trust me when I say this, it is bloody high). Apart from that, expenditure is fairly limited. The government has tons and tons of money under its fold. Naturally, this certainly paves way for innovation in terms of spending. The result - sheer brilliance.

Look at the picture above. That tall structure is called Marina Bay Sands. A casino-cum-resort, this building is one of the prides of Singapore. An infinity pool at the very top, where you can swim at the very edge. That's one thing I am yet to try out (well, to go up costs a hell lot too)


Can you imagine that this boating is actually located inside the resort, that too underground? I mean, UNDERGROUND. One can only wonder how much these guys spent.


And that's the skyline. Tall buildings stacked up right next to one another, I wonder how these guys actually built it up. All the leading banks of the world have a building to their credit here. The tallest perhaps, is Singapore's own DBS Bank.

Oh, recently there was a Harry Potter exhibition (all the buffs out there, you missed it), where every small thing used in the movies was displayed, including the good old Ford Anglia used by the Weasleys.


Oh, and the country takes huge pride of its National Day. It is celebrated with such fanfare, you would naturally go awww ! Check this picture below :


Yes, that's the country's flag being flown by the helicopters. Well, I certainly haven't seen anything like this before.




The National Day fireworks begin. (Mind you, it went on for more than an hour)

What I am trying to say here is that, look at what they've done with all the money. This, considering Singapore is a country which relies on imports for its very sustenance, but plays a crucial role in the world economy no doubt.

And so, my life goes in Singapore. More pictures and a lot more experiences are to follow.

Friday, September 14, 2012

The Stopover - a photo fiction

When I received a mail from one Deepa a few days ago, asking me to have a look at some link she had provided, I was mildly surprised. To be honest, I did indeed think this was some spam mail (although it had seated itself in my inbox mysteriously). Just to be sure, I replied back asking how Deepa came across my mail. That's when I realized the true value of blogging. Indeed, Deepa had stumbled across my blog.

What was this link (and an attachment as well) all about?

Deepa and her friend, one Ram are writing a book. This may sound rather normal. But the beauty of it is their concept of photo fiction. Yep, stories complemented by photos.

Deepa had mailed me a few sample pages along with the photos. I must say, it was bloody brilliant !

The photos were just breath-taking. I believe Ram is the photographer. He sure knows what he is doing. Every single photo was captured perfectly. The best part, although, was each picture was placed very aptly. The relevance of the photo and the story in progress was just too good.

As for the stories themselves, the choice of vocabulary, the narration skills, the flow of content - everything was highly seasoned.

I believe there is more than one story in the book. Although I have read excerpts from one of the story, I am eagerly waiting for rest of that story and the others as well

Overall, the concept seems to be too good and it sure is my hunch that this might emerge way too victorious.

I sincerely wish Deepa & her friend Ram all luck in this journey and hope they emerge successful.


Link to their webpage : The Stopover Book
Facebook Page : http://www.facebook.com/TheStopoverBook

PS : I am back to active blogging again, after a month long break

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

I Killed Amy


June 21, 2008, 22.30 hrs
“No, I did not kill her. Please, you have to listen to me. Why would I kill my own girlfriend? You have to trust me. Please, no I did not kill…..” I could not speak any further; my mouth was covered by a beefy looking policeman. 

June 21, 2008, 23.00 hrs
These guys have got it all wrong. Why would I, of all people, have to kill someone I dearly loved and intended to marry pretty soon? As I walked through the much familiar San Diego Central Prison, I could not, but wonder, the countless times I have been here before, on behalf of clients involved in various crimes. The many deals I have struck with the police, the many more negotiations done, everything just flooded across my mind. 

I, Michael Hilfiger, graduated from Law School in the summer of 2003. It was a given that I would take up criminal law as my forte. Yet, it had taken me close to three years to establish myself as a reliable lawyer. During the initial days of my career, when no potential client came to me, I sought them myself. Defending petty criminals involved in the most basic and dumbest of crimes, I slowly climbed up the ladder and by now, established a name in this city. I took up a two room office premises close to the prison. My staff count consists of two people other than myself – a blonde assistant with whom I used to flirt shamelessly before Amy came into my life; and a part time student of the university who helped me in maintaining the place clean. My setup was very modest.

Ah, Amy. The love of my life. It was a curious incident, how I got to know her. But the mere thought of it makes me want to seek her killer and end his life with my own bare hands. How can someone even imagine hurting her? She is the sweetest person in all of America; well, atleast all of San Diego. And she loved me much more than I could love myself. “Amy Roberts, will you marry me” – the countless times I had said these words over and over again in my head. I had thought of the perfect way to propose. Not anymore. 

June 23, 2008, 10.30 hrs
Court Room two. Oh, the old block. That’s where my preliminary investigation was to begin. That’s where my fate, atleast for the next two months, would be decided. 

Damn, it’s the judge Kirsten. The most arrogant among the judges in San Diego. What luck ! Thank you folks, this is just what I wanted. 

“Mr Hilfiger, as you are aware, you have been charged with the murder of Amy Roberts, resident of 21 Sea View Drive, Whinging. Do you deny this accusation?” – the judge asked.

“Of course I do, your Honour. I did not kill Amy. She is the love of my life. I can never possibly think of hurting her in the remotest way possible. She is just too sweet..” – before I could complete my sentence, “Enough. We are not here to talk about how sweet your lover was. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”, pounded Kirsten.

“Not guilty, your Honour” – I quietly replied. I did not want to rub her on the wrong side that early in the morning.

“Well, in that case, we are left with no choice but to go to trial. I hereby declare that the case of Michael Hilfiger vs. The State of California, concerning the murder of Amy Roberts would begin on April 21, 2009. The court is adjourned” – the judge pronounced.

“April ’09? That’s insane. How can you set the trial date a good ten months from now. This is so unfair” – I exploded.

“Mr. Hilfiger, must I remind you, a criminal lawyer, that it is at the discretion of the presiding judge, when to set a trial date? Don’t you dare tell me what I must do in my own court. Now unless you have anything else to say, which would certainly make me hold you in contempt of court, I declare that the court is adjourned” – Kirsten threw me a very nasty look.

June 23, 2008 – April 21, 2009
No other suspects were rounded up. I was the sole accused in this case. The press made a huge cry of this case. The prosecution was only too happy to consent. As is usual with most high profile cases, by the time the trial had even begun, the media had pronounce me guilty. Eminent lawyers across the state were invited as guest speakers on CBS8 and other news channels. They gave their “expert opinion” on why it can be proved beyond doubt that I was the killer. One of them actually went on to say “If only there was a law that could nail Hilfiger without a trial…”. The ratings of that show shot up insanely over the next few days. 

The autopsy report was prepared and a copy of it was passed on to the defense. The report claimed Amy had possibly been raped just before she was killed. Semen traces were found on her body. However, the report did not mention who it belonged to. The prosecution would gladly fill that up later.

Amidst all this, Amy was laid to rest. I requested permission to attend the funeral, which was quickly turned down. I cried that entire week. In a world full of humans, I felt I was the only one alive. Alive and crying. The trauma I went through during the initial days can never be explained. Nightmare after nightmare, Amy haunted every single thought of mine. I simply could not get her out of my mind. Well, why should I? Is she not the rightful claimant of every single inch of my mind, my heart, my body, my soul? What right do I have to even think otherwise? Yet, it pained. I was pained by the fact that while I lived, however miserably, Amy was no more. How cruel can this get? What did she do, that she deserved such an end? Perhaps, I should have asked her to marry me sooner. That way, she need not have walked near that spot on that dreadful day. Oh Amy, I am so sorry my love. It is entirely my fault. I blame myself for your death. Forgive me, my princess. 

Yet, at long last, sometime around four months after my arrest, reality did dawn on me. Amy was still in my thoughts. No doubt about that. But there was work that needed to be done. I had to clear Amy’s good name first. She deserved much better. Besides, that is the least I can do for her. 

I have to prove my innocence. Not because I was in prison. Not because I was called a criminal. No, certainly none of these reasons. Clearing Amy’s name took a straight path right up to me. Our destinies were intertwined. If one had to be set right, it is but natural, that the other has to be set right too. That is how the world works. I did not care much for myself. Heck, I did not even bother whether I existed or not. But I had to. For Amy’s sake. 

It was this one single thought that made me continue. My desire to fight was born out of this. I immediately set about working. Earlier, when the court had asked me if I required a lawyer to be assigned on my behalf, I plainly refused the offer and requested the judge (again, the very same Kirsten) to allow me to argue my own case. I was sure she would refuse by quoting some unheard of rule. Yet, the lady surprised me and said yes. 

The San Diego Central prison had one of the best prison libraries in the country. I exploited that to the maximum extent. Day after day, I poured over huge volumes of books, past case histories, charge sheets; well basically anything that would help me. I prepared a list of key questions, mapped them against potential prosecution witnesses. I tried to identify a weak spot for every witness. This would prove to be useful, later on. 

Meticulously, I built my case. Everything was arranged perfectly. I prayed that the trial would take this exact same course. I did not care much for the selection of the jury, but made just one request that a black man be included in that. This might have a bit of a racist colour, but all was fair under the eyes of the law. 

Around eight months after my arrest, I was done. I felt I was prepared to take up the battle. I was confident I would clear Amy’s name. With about two months to go before trial commenced, I was back to my old self – The Curious Case of the Hopeless Lunatic.

April 22, 2009, 15.30 hrs
The trial had begun the previous day. After the prosecution’s opening statements, I was called upon to present the defence’s statement. My speech was rather short, in fact it barely lasted for ten minutes. After this, the court was adjourned for the day. 

The prosecution’s first witness was Molly Roberts, Amy’s mother. Thompson questioned her about how much she had loved her daughter, how this loss had affected her. Sympathy, the best way to capture the ladies in the jury. Molly kept looking at one of the ladies in the jury in particular and the lady reciprocated by nodding on every single word. After a good fifteen minutes, Thompson stopped, turned to me and said “yours”. 

I did not wish to cross examine Molly just yet. Still, I asked her only one question.

“Mrs Roberts, had I proposed to your daughter and had she said yes, would you have accepted our marriage?” – I asked.

“But of course. She loved you so much”, Molly replied, before Thompson could stop her. The first mistake. I smiled at Thompson.

“Your Honour, would you be agreeable if we call it a day here?” – Thompson asked nervously

Nodding, Kirsten pounded the gravel, “The next hearing of this case would resume on April 27. The court is now adjourned” 

April 27, 2009 – May 20, 2009
Over the next few weeks, Thompson proceeded to many other witnesses who also included two of Amy’s cousins who swore they saw her near the spot around 16.30 hrs; a domestic help who claimed he saw me walking down the path a few minutes after 16.30 hrs; the medical examiner who had performed the autopsy; a former classmate of Amy, who admitted to have had intercourse with her a few hours prior to it and that they did not use any protection, “so stupid of us, eh”, as he called it. 

I certainly cross examined these people, but that did not yield anything useful. Of course, I did get the help admit it might not have been me who he claimed to have seen, given that the distance from his room to the spot was a good 350 m and that his eyesight might indeed have fooled him. This was a fairly significant point to be noted, although it certainly did not help me much in clearing my name off the whole mess. I chose to ignore the former classmate.

May 22, 2009, 11.30 hrs
Next came Inspector Peter. Thompson questioned him for more than two hours. Various aspects were probed. Relevance of an abandoned bike, the times noted in police records, the reason why I was the sole suspect, the autopsy report, DNA analysis, the weapon used to kill, the search party arranged, the calls made to Amy’s home – the questions went on and on. My stomach was grumbling. It was way past lunch time, but Thompson fired away. At long last he did. It was my turn now.

Getting up, I spoke to the judge. “Judge Kirsten, can we break up for lunch now? I am sure everyone is too hungry to care for my defence, right now. Besides, at this rate, even I might be convinced that I killed Amy”. This drew a round of laughter. Even Kirsten smiled, before she replied “The court shall resume at 16.30 PM”.

May 22, 2009, 16.30 hrs
“Mr Peter. My first question to you is, right from the outset, I have been the only accused. Have you thought of the possibility that there might be other suspects?”

“We did consider it initially, sir. Yet, there seems to be no motive for anyone else to have committed this murder” – Peter replied.

“So what do you think mine is?” – I asked.

“Objection, your Honour. The question involves more of probabilistic ….”, Thompson jumped. The judge cut him off by saying “Oh come on Mr. Thompson. I am sure Mr. Hilfiger was only referring to what is in police records. Weren’t you, Michael?”

“Of course, my Lord. So, Mr. Peter, what do you think my motive was?” – I continued.

“Well, as per the prosecution’s claim, you got into an argument behind the V shaped gap on the path. Amy did not consent to your wanting to have intercourse. This argument turned violent and physical. In the end, you ended up killing her by strangling her and then slashing all across her body with the knife” – Peter stopped to take a breath.

“You seem almost certain about it. Were you, by any chance, behind the gap?” – I piped, before Judge Kirsten warned me. I apologized and continued with the questioning. The question, however, had an impact, also drew some laughter from the jury.

“Mr. Peter, my next question is regarding the autopsy report and the DNA analysis. According to the police, traces of semen were found on Amy’s body. Can you elaborate further on this, bearing in mind that the DNA analysis performed revealed that these traces did not match mine? What was the significance of this?” – I asked.

“Yes, we did find traces of semen on Amy’s body, which could only mean she had had intercourse sometime before she was murdered” – Peter stopped at that.

“But my question, Mr. Peter is, how could this possibly happen, considering the statement made earlier by Amy’s mother, that prior to this time, Amy was out shopping with a couple of her girlfriends” – I had nailed him.

“I… I think she… she was not sure about what Amy was doing” – Peter stumbled.

“You mean to say that Mrs Roberts was lying?” – I said, before Thompson jumped up shouting “Objection Your Honour. Hilfiger is leading the witness..” and Kirsten sustained the judge.

“Sorry, Your Honour. Let me rephrase that. This could only have one logical explanation. No one exactly knows what Amy did, before she was murdered. In other words, there is no proof to Amy having had intercourse before her murder. So we cannot entirely depend on the autopsy report claiming traces of semen were found. Am I right Peter?” – I smiled to myself.

“Well, I think that the report is authentic. But… “, before he could proceed, I cut him across and said “But, you cannot be absolutely sure. In other words, the semen report may not be completely authentic. Rather, the whole thing can possibly have been framed. Thank You Mr. Robert” – I glanced at a shocked Thompson.

“Moving on, the police report, Peter, claims that Amy was stripped after her throat was slit and her body inflicted of all the ghastly knife strikes. Also, her trousers were said to be used to tie her hands behind. If that were the case, I am sure her trousers would certainly have some blood stains around the knotted part. But that is not the case. Are you sure that the trousers were indeed tied after she was killed?” – I explained the simple logic.

Peter was speechless. I let the silence continue for a few more minutes, mainly for the benefit of the jury members. One of them was actually shaking his head vigorously. I made a mental note to focus on him more, during my closing remarks. Kirsten adjourned the court.

May 25, 2009, 10.00 hrs
Peter was once again sworn in. I questioned him some more aspects of the police report, to which he answered very carefully. I made him feel at ease.

“Mr. Peter, my next question to you is this. The FIR claimed that Amy was murdered anytime between 17.00 hrs and 17.10 hrs. However, a later report claimed she was kill somewhere around 16.35 – 16.40 hrs. Can you tell me why this ambiguity cropped up?” – I enquired.

“Well, the FIR is always a report filed initially, to register the case. It is quite possible that certain aspects maybe reported incorrectly. It is always the final report submitted before the trial that matters” – Peter replied nervously. Out of the corner of my eye, I could sense Thompson swearing to himself. 

“That may well be the case, Peter. Let us, for a moment, say you are right. We will go with your theory of Amy being killed around 16.40 hrs. Can you tell the court the approximate time it would take to walk from my home to the spot where Amy’s body was found?”

“Around 30 minutes by walk, I am told” – Peter responded.

“Correct. The last call I made to Amy’s mobile, which her mother answered, was at 16.24 hrs. Your Honour, evidence for this has already been submitted to the court, which I believe, my learned colleague Thompson seems to have miscalculated. Anyway, the last call made to Amy’s mobile around 16.24 hrs lasted for around four minutes. As has already been pointed out, Mrs. Roberts informed me that Amy had indeed left the house to meet me. Add four minutes to 16.24 and a few more for me to get ready, lock my house and move out. Let’s give that say five minutes? So, I was out of my house around 16.30. Taking your word of twenty minutes, it is extremely unlikely that I reached the spot before 16.50 hrs. Am I right, Peter?” – I looked at him.

“Well, you might have borrowed a cycle from your neighbor or chose to run, right?” – Peter gave me a sheepish smile.

“Mr. Peter, you must have asked me this during your investigation at the police station” – I shot back, before I continued “Let us look at that, Peter. I cannot possibly have borrowed a cycle from my neighbor considering she was out of town on the day in question. In any case, she does not own a cycle. As for running, even if I were to do that, it certainly is not possible for me to reach the spot before 16.45 hrs. Trust me, I am not that good a runner. Going by the laws of physics, this absolutely is not possible” – I paused. By now, Peter was sweating profusely. I gave him a warm smile.

I questioned Peter for another half an hour, before I turned to the judge.

“Your Honour, I am done questioning Mr. Peter” – I informed Kirsten. 

“Mr. Hilfiger, do you have any witnesses that you would like to question?” – the judge asked me.

“None, Your Honour” – I responded.

“In that case, I believe the examination and the cross examination of all witnesses is now complete. The next hearing of this case will be held on May 29, when the prosecution and the defense attorneys can make their closing comments. My dear members of the jury, let me remind you once again not to be bound by emotions or not to show favoritism of any sort. The facts of the case have been presented to you. Be fair in your analysis of the evidence at hand. I hope you would be able to make a seasoned decision, for you must remember – a man’s life is at stake. Court adjourned” – Kirsten pounded the gravel.

May 27, 2009, 11.00 hrs

Thompson was making his closing remarks. He was actually drooling. The only time when I found his speech mildly interesting was, when he listed out a few points (from way back in school days), which, according to him, are crucial to understand why I was the killer. I could not, but fail to laugh. The judge looked towards me threateningly. Mumbling a silent apology, I looked down. Soon, I was lost in thoughts.

May 27, 2009, 13.30 hrs
Thompson had sat down after having presented the prosecution’s closing statement. I must admit, the man has a flair for language. I could see some of the jury members nodding their heads at every word he said, smirk when he smirked, laughed when he laughed, throw me a look of disgust when he did. I remained emotionless, all throughout. At long last, my turn came. I rose.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. As you might now have realized, this case is rather different in a lot of ways. I believe I need not remind you of the trauma that I have undergone in the last ten months. Yet, I have chosen to fight it for two reasons – one, to clear my name of all charges; two, uphold Amy’s honour, which by now, has been stamped upon dirtily, and her family seems quite fine with it. I believe this case has been messed up right from the start.

For starters, the trial began a good ten months after Amy was killed. The press was being fed (mis)information in these ten months. The police seemed quite confident that the autopsy report and DNA analysis would prove their point. However, during cross examination, this has been proven wrong. The time in question; when Amy left her house to meet me, when the murder took place etc. are highly misleading. In fact, Inspector Peter has actually gone on to say not to rely on the FIR. With such goof ups, how would one be in a position to believe what is true? 

Ideally, in any case involving rape and murder, the first accused would be the person whose blood/semen traces are found on the victim’s body. With Amy, semen traces of her former classmate were found. In fact, he himself admitted to have had intercourse with her. Yet, he is not one of the suspects. Ask yourself why. 

Another crucial point to consider is the spot where Amy’s body was found. There has been no evidence provided by the prosecution to prove that Amy had indeed gone through the gap in the wall. Further, the prosecution ‘proved’ I got into an argument with Amy, shouted at her and that I had assaulted her before killing her eventually. If I did shout at her, wouldn’t the domestic help have heard it? He has not mentioned anything to that regard. 

My colleague here Thompson stressed on my fascination for knives as a very important lead towards the case. However, he carefully chose not to highlight one important fact. When Amy’s body was found, no murder weapon was found. However, the police later came up with a knife which they claimed was similar to a knife I had owned and lost sometime back. This knife was retrieved from a somewhat closed pit thirty feet away. If that were the case, ladies and gentlemen, atleast a few traces of blood ought to have been found on the ground nearby. But no, the ground was as bloodless as it can be. 

Also, as pointed out earlier, going by the telephonic records of my conversation with Mrs. Roberts, it is humanly impossible for me to be at both places at the same time. Further, the search party that went about looked only along the path connecting our houses. This is certainly not how a search operation would go about. The prosecution has failed to explain the reason behind this.

Amy was killed on February 19, 2008. Her body was released after autopsy in three weeks and she was buried. Yet, I was arrested only on June 21, 2008 – a good four months after the murder. In the intermediate time, there was no ‘defense’ per se. By the time the trial began, it was a good fourteen months since Amy’s funeral. Consequently, the defense could not do anything about the autopsy report.

My dear members of the jury, many points brought forward by the prosecution seem to be highly flawed. Let me remind you that many of the witnesses retracted their statements during the cross examination. In fact, I went on to prove that one of the witnesses was actually lying. Ask yourselves why.

As the esteemed judge Kirsten pointed out earlier, I implore upon you to tag along the middle path. On the one side, you have heard the prosecution trying to prove that I killed Amy. On the other hand, you have me, the defendant-cum-defense, who claims to be innocent. Analyze both arguements, scrutinize all available evidence but ensure that justice is served. Not just to me, but also to Amy. On that note, I wish to take leave of you”

Turning to Judge Kirsten, I informed, “The defense rests, Your Honour”. She nodded.

“Members of the jury, the closing comments are done with. Your duty starts now. Weigh both sides of the argument neutrally, before you make the final decision. Remember, the life of a potentially innocent man hangs in the balance. Kindly inform me once you have reached a decision”. The jury resigned to the adjoining room. Time finally came to a standstill, atleast to me. The clock above Kirsten’s head seemed to have stopped working. 

An hour later, one of the members of the jury walked up to Kirsten and spoke hurriedly. Following this, Kirsten spoke. “The jury has just informed me that they require further time to reach a decision. Consenting to this, I now adjourn the court and we shall resume tomorrow”.

May 28, 2009, 15.00 hrs
The jury began their deliberations way back at 10.00 hrs in the morning. They did not even break for lunch. Judge Kirsten actually sent up some cookies and sandwiches to the room. Coming from her, this was too much, I must admit. 

At long last, the jury returned. 

“Would the foreman of the jury kindly rise?” – Kirsten spoke. A middle aged black man stood up, while looking straight at me. I smiled at him.

“Does the jury seek any clarification on any aspect of the trial?” – the judge asked.

“No, Your Honour” – the foreman replied.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” – Kirsten looked tensed.

“Yes, Your Honour, we have” – the foreman was calm.

“Kindly approach the bench” - the judge said.

The slip was passed on to Kirsten and she took her took staring at it. 

“Thank You jury, for all your effort. As the jury has reached a verdict, ladies and gentlemen, I hereby dismiss the jury council” – Kirsten announced.

Finally,

“Mr. Michael Hilfiger, you have been ….” – Judge Kirsten pronounced her verdict.

At the exact same time, one person in the courtroom heaved a sigh of relief, and another person banged his fist against the table.

THE END.

"This post has been published by me as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by WriteupCafe.com . Join us at our official website and facebook page.