It was barely a month since we had moved into our new apartment. It was a newly built place in an area that was yet to see the real estate boom and since the place was a little away from the main road, it did not garner much attention. It was just the kind of peaceful location where you would like to come home after a tiring day. Since I and my husband stayed away for work long hours, we hardly knew anyone by their names.
It was just one of the regular evenings; I was sitting in my balcony having a cup of tea when I saw a tempo enter the building. Since our balcony faced the main entrance of the building, I could make out someone was shifting into the building, but did not pay much attention to who it was.
Later that night, when my husband went downstairs to take out the trash, the night watchman was full of news about the new occupants. A couple had moved into our next door flat as tenants. As per the watchman, the wife was heavily pregnant. We wondered why someone would move and take up the task of setting up a house at this stage. From experience, I knew that watchmen were pools of unfiltered news and gave out information that even they were not sure of and did not give the couple another thought.
Our flat entrance was just opposite the common lift whereas the neighboring flat had its entrance towards the left which faced a wall. We could not directly see who came and went into their house even if we stood at our door. The purpose of mentioning this blind spot will become clearer in the events that unfolded later.
A few days later, I saw a man get into the lift and an older lady rushing out from the neighboring flat with a tiffin box in hand. I gathered this must be the pregnant lady's mother who must have come to help her out during pregnancy. When there are only 2 houses occupied in the building apart from your own, normal humans you see in the building tend to pique your interests, even for someone like me who keeps to herself most times. The older lady smiled at me but the man was stiff in the lift as the door closed after him.
The same evening, my husband told me that the man next door was a cab driver! I just couldn't believe it. I told him not to listen to the watchman. A cab driver moving into a building like ours seemed too far fetched, even though uber success stories were everywhere. But, the husband had proof. He had seen the man driving a yellow plated car a couple of times and informed me only after he was sure. He reasoned that since the building was away from the main road, rents were affordable and not more than 10-12 K and drivers could easily afford that much. He also told me that the older lady was the man's mother and not the pregnant lady's. Till this point, I had not seen the pregnant lady to comment anything about it.
A month rolled by and more people started shifting into the building. When we came back from work, we could see kids playing in the corridor, running on the stairs and making the kind of noises only kids can make. One such evening, there was a new shriek added to that. A new born baby crying next door. I thought of visiting but for some reason never did.
The next Saturday, someone rang my door bell. Opening the door, I saw a girl in three fourth track pants, loose t-shirt and hair roughly held back with a long clip. A little wheatish in complexion and on the thicker side. She had come with a box of sweets and told me that she just had a baby girl. I stood there, dumb-founded and meekly uttered "congratulations". I don't know what had shocked me more. The fact that this girl was the girl next door who delivered the baby or that she was the wife of a cab driver. I admit that I expected someone who would be dressed in a salwar or saree and not someone who would talk in English. But the next surprise came with the sweet that she gave. It was then that I first started doubting something fishy. It was a sweet with generous amounts of dry fruits and something that I had rarely had myself and would think twice before buying to distribute. This couldn't be the choice of sweet for a middle class family to distribute to whole building.
After that one visit, I hardly saw her again. Of course, she stayed next door but she never came out of the house on weekends or occasions. Some evenings I heard the baby cry and her playing with the baby but never heard a sound from her husband. It could not be said if they had visitors as it later occured to me that not just me, but no one in the whole building could see the entrance of their house. It was a long corridor and one could not say who went to which flat unless you actually saw anyone enter.
One afternoon, I got a call on my phone while I was at office. A courier on my name had arrived via India post and the postman did not agree to leave it at the security cabin. He instead knocked on the door of the next door girl. The postman handed over the phone to her. This was the first and only time I talked to her.
"Hi, I am Kruthika, I stay in the flat next to you"
"Hi, Kruthika, if it won't be much trouble, can you please keep the courier with you. I will collect it once I am back from office."
"No problem. I will take it."
"Thanks."
This was exactly what we had talked. I once again noticed how fluent she was in English, almost like a convent educated girl. I am ashamed to admit that all these months I did not even know her name. Kruthika.
That evening when I rang her door bell, I could hear her feet fast approaching the door. She had the parcel in hand. I could hear the baby crying.
"Thank you so much. I hope I didn't wake the baby"
"Oh no no, she was already crying."
She seemed in a hurry. She handed me the courier and quickly closed the door. I found it odd. When I walked back to my door and was putting in the key, I saw the lift open and her husband come out. Oh so this was the reason! I thought. Was she scared of her husband finding her talk to me? He looked at me in without expression and quickly hurried to his flat.
Later when I repeated the entire story to my husband, he thought I was reading too much into it. I was getting too influenced by all the crime patrol I was watching! Perhaps I was, but my instinct told me that there was story that I had to dig. It was none of my business but still it was a thought that nibbled my insides.
Almost a month later, when I was simply going through Facebook for the random time wasting things, I saw a girl in the "people you may know" row. Someone told me once, that if you find people in this row with whom you have no common friends then this person had been stalking you on Facebook. I don't know how true this is, but it does seem so. Because the girl in this picture was none other than Kruthika with a name of "Shweta". We had no mutual friends. The profile picture looked a little old. She was thinner and little more dusky back then. She had studied in one of the premier institutes of Bangalore in the heart of the city. There were only a few photos that I could see on her timeline as I was not her friend but from what I saw, she did look from an affluent family. My suspicions proved right. This girl was from well to do background, convent educated but had somehow landed here and mostly under a fake name. I went through her profile some more, searching her friends to see if her husband was there. But, no clue. So was Kruthika actually someone called Shweta or did she change her name post marriage? Why did she marry a driver? Were her parents against the marriage or had they fallen on hard times? Was her husband keeping her happy or was she being a victim of domestic abuse?
Months rolled by and slowly I stopped thinking of her.
On a cold winter evening, I returned home late after sitting in the cab for 4 gruelling hours in the traffic. I just wanted to sleep and could think of nothing else. There was a commotion in the building when I entered. The kids were not playing outside and people crowded our wing. The stairs were eerily silent but I could hear hushed voices, cries and screaming. When I reached my floor, my heart skipped a beat. There were people standing in front of my door. My house door was open and people were scanning my face like I was some alien. Color flushed back into my face when I saw my husband among the people. He quickly pulled me inside and whispered
"There has been a murder in the next flat. You stay inside"
It felt like time had stopped. My brain registered this, one word at a time. Murder.in.the.next.flat. Kruthika.Shweta.Her husband.His mother.The baby. Who?
Before I could ask, he had rushed out again. The police jeep arrived at the location talking in a language I failed to understand. Hours passed in the confusion. No one knew whom to contact. The house owner was abroad. No one in the building knew anything personal about Kruthika or her husband. Kruthika and her husband were found murdered in the house. The baby was nowhere to be seen. The police ransacked the house for any clue about them. By midnight they had found documents hidden in the loft and contacted dozens of people. Most people they called from Kruthika's husband's phone were customers who had hired his cab. Kruthika's call records showed only a couple of calls which were unanswered. Call records were asked from phone companies. From the documents, cops found their name as Shweta Gowda and Gopal Shekhar. Whole night the neighbors stood guard. It was like a vigil for the dead people whom we all saw but never knew. Someone suggested searching the name on facebook. Oh Facebook! Why did it not strike me before. I had seen people with her on facebook. Anyway the cops did explore her profile and found what they were looking for.
By next morning, we all knew their story when Gopal's friend was identified.
Shweta and Gopal were both from affluent families but different caste and community. Gopal was an adopted son of wealthy businessman whereas Shweta was the eldest daughter of landowner and politician. Both had fallen in love and invited the wrath of their families. Shweta had been locked in the house for months before she had secretly eloped with Gopal. Shweta's father had resolved to kill Gopal for the dishonour he had brought into their family while Gopal's father had disowned him from his house and property. Having no financial support and fearing for their life, Gopal and Shweta stayed in a Tumkur village for 6 months. But cash was running short and Shweta had gotten pregnant. Gopal had a nanny who was very close to him and considered him her son. She came to help Shweta with her delivery. With the help of the friend, Gopal had taken the risk of setting up home in our area till Shweta delivered since it was quite far from the city centre. Since Gopal had not been very bright with studies, he could not get a job very quickly and again his friend managed for the cab which he drove to sustain. He only took rides near our area or outside the city limits. Never did he venture into his old neighborhood. He worked night shifts and also helped his friend with hotel business. Slowly their life was looking up.
Gopal was cautious still of the fury of his father in law. He was powerful and did not mind twisting the law. Gopal did not like Shweta talking to people and nor did he talk to anyone apart from his trusted friend. He was scared of betrayal. Her father was a well connected man and Gopal worried he might get wind of their whereabouts and make true of his promise to get them separated.
Gopal and his friend had taken a heavy loan for setting up a new hotel business in Mysore. Gopal and Shweta were all set to start a new life in Mysore and had even started looking for a new place to live in the new city. Perhaps the new found happiness had made them a little reckless. Someone must have spotted them and informed her father. That was all that was known. No one ever saw who exactly came to their house. No one heard a sound. Gopal and Shweta were shot with what is assumed to be a silent gun. Their bodies were found in the hall and was discovered by the watchman when he went to put on the lights in the corridor and found their door wide open.
The CCTV was scanned multiple times, everyone in the building questioned endlessly, the watchmen grilled day in and day out but there was no hint. The money lender who gave loan for Gopal's business was also questions but Shweta's father remains to be prime suspect but there has been nothing to put him behind the bars.
Gopal's nanny and Shweta's baby were not traced by the police. There are rumours that the nanny escaped with the baby. I hope that is true.
I still hear the cries of the baby when I am home alone. It rings in my ear and I wonder where the baby is and how she is managing without Shweta. Or Kruthika as I knew her. The girl next door.
Image: Credit
It was just one of the regular evenings; I was sitting in my balcony having a cup of tea when I saw a tempo enter the building. Since our balcony faced the main entrance of the building, I could make out someone was shifting into the building, but did not pay much attention to who it was.
Later that night, when my husband went downstairs to take out the trash, the night watchman was full of news about the new occupants. A couple had moved into our next door flat as tenants. As per the watchman, the wife was heavily pregnant. We wondered why someone would move and take up the task of setting up a house at this stage. From experience, I knew that watchmen were pools of unfiltered news and gave out information that even they were not sure of and did not give the couple another thought.
Our flat entrance was just opposite the common lift whereas the neighboring flat had its entrance towards the left which faced a wall. We could not directly see who came and went into their house even if we stood at our door. The purpose of mentioning this blind spot will become clearer in the events that unfolded later.
A few days later, I saw a man get into the lift and an older lady rushing out from the neighboring flat with a tiffin box in hand. I gathered this must be the pregnant lady's mother who must have come to help her out during pregnancy. When there are only 2 houses occupied in the building apart from your own, normal humans you see in the building tend to pique your interests, even for someone like me who keeps to herself most times. The older lady smiled at me but the man was stiff in the lift as the door closed after him.
The same evening, my husband told me that the man next door was a cab driver! I just couldn't believe it. I told him not to listen to the watchman. A cab driver moving into a building like ours seemed too far fetched, even though uber success stories were everywhere. But, the husband had proof. He had seen the man driving a yellow plated car a couple of times and informed me only after he was sure. He reasoned that since the building was away from the main road, rents were affordable and not more than 10-12 K and drivers could easily afford that much. He also told me that the older lady was the man's mother and not the pregnant lady's. Till this point, I had not seen the pregnant lady to comment anything about it.
A month rolled by and more people started shifting into the building. When we came back from work, we could see kids playing in the corridor, running on the stairs and making the kind of noises only kids can make. One such evening, there was a new shriek added to that. A new born baby crying next door. I thought of visiting but for some reason never did.
Image: Credit
The next Saturday, someone rang my door bell. Opening the door, I saw a girl in three fourth track pants, loose t-shirt and hair roughly held back with a long clip. A little wheatish in complexion and on the thicker side. She had come with a box of sweets and told me that she just had a baby girl. I stood there, dumb-founded and meekly uttered "congratulations". I don't know what had shocked me more. The fact that this girl was the girl next door who delivered the baby or that she was the wife of a cab driver. I admit that I expected someone who would be dressed in a salwar or saree and not someone who would talk in English. But the next surprise came with the sweet that she gave. It was then that I first started doubting something fishy. It was a sweet with generous amounts of dry fruits and something that I had rarely had myself and would think twice before buying to distribute. This couldn't be the choice of sweet for a middle class family to distribute to whole building.
After that one visit, I hardly saw her again. Of course, she stayed next door but she never came out of the house on weekends or occasions. Some evenings I heard the baby cry and her playing with the baby but never heard a sound from her husband. It could not be said if they had visitors as it later occured to me that not just me, but no one in the whole building could see the entrance of their house. It was a long corridor and one could not say who went to which flat unless you actually saw anyone enter.
One afternoon, I got a call on my phone while I was at office. A courier on my name had arrived via India post and the postman did not agree to leave it at the security cabin. He instead knocked on the door of the next door girl. The postman handed over the phone to her. This was the first and only time I talked to her.
"Hi, I am Kruthika, I stay in the flat next to you"
"Hi, Kruthika, if it won't be much trouble, can you please keep the courier with you. I will collect it once I am back from office."
"No problem. I will take it."
"Thanks."
This was exactly what we had talked. I once again noticed how fluent she was in English, almost like a convent educated girl. I am ashamed to admit that all these months I did not even know her name. Kruthika.
That evening when I rang her door bell, I could hear her feet fast approaching the door. She had the parcel in hand. I could hear the baby crying.
"Thank you so much. I hope I didn't wake the baby"
"Oh no no, she was already crying."
She seemed in a hurry. She handed me the courier and quickly closed the door. I found it odd. When I walked back to my door and was putting in the key, I saw the lift open and her husband come out. Oh so this was the reason! I thought. Was she scared of her husband finding her talk to me? He looked at me in without expression and quickly hurried to his flat.
Later when I repeated the entire story to my husband, he thought I was reading too much into it. I was getting too influenced by all the crime patrol I was watching! Perhaps I was, but my instinct told me that there was story that I had to dig. It was none of my business but still it was a thought that nibbled my insides.
Almost a month later, when I was simply going through Facebook for the random time wasting things, I saw a girl in the "people you may know" row. Someone told me once, that if you find people in this row with whom you have no common friends then this person had been stalking you on Facebook. I don't know how true this is, but it does seem so. Because the girl in this picture was none other than Kruthika with a name of "Shweta". We had no mutual friends. The profile picture looked a little old. She was thinner and little more dusky back then. She had studied in one of the premier institutes of Bangalore in the heart of the city. There were only a few photos that I could see on her timeline as I was not her friend but from what I saw, she did look from an affluent family. My suspicions proved right. This girl was from well to do background, convent educated but had somehow landed here and mostly under a fake name. I went through her profile some more, searching her friends to see if her husband was there. But, no clue. So was Kruthika actually someone called Shweta or did she change her name post marriage? Why did she marry a driver? Were her parents against the marriage or had they fallen on hard times? Was her husband keeping her happy or was she being a victim of domestic abuse?
Months rolled by and slowly I stopped thinking of her.
On a cold winter evening, I returned home late after sitting in the cab for 4 gruelling hours in the traffic. I just wanted to sleep and could think of nothing else. There was a commotion in the building when I entered. The kids were not playing outside and people crowded our wing. The stairs were eerily silent but I could hear hushed voices, cries and screaming. When I reached my floor, my heart skipped a beat. There were people standing in front of my door. My house door was open and people were scanning my face like I was some alien. Color flushed back into my face when I saw my husband among the people. He quickly pulled me inside and whispered
"There has been a murder in the next flat. You stay inside"
It felt like time had stopped. My brain registered this, one word at a time. Murder.in.the.next.flat. Kruthika.Shweta.Her husband.His mother.The baby. Who?
Before I could ask, he had rushed out again. The police jeep arrived at the location talking in a language I failed to understand. Hours passed in the confusion. No one knew whom to contact. The house owner was abroad. No one in the building knew anything personal about Kruthika or her husband. Kruthika and her husband were found murdered in the house. The baby was nowhere to be seen. The police ransacked the house for any clue about them. By midnight they had found documents hidden in the loft and contacted dozens of people. Most people they called from Kruthika's husband's phone were customers who had hired his cab. Kruthika's call records showed only a couple of calls which were unanswered. Call records were asked from phone companies. From the documents, cops found their name as Shweta Gowda and Gopal Shekhar. Whole night the neighbors stood guard. It was like a vigil for the dead people whom we all saw but never knew. Someone suggested searching the name on facebook. Oh Facebook! Why did it not strike me before. I had seen people with her on facebook. Anyway the cops did explore her profile and found what they were looking for.
By next morning, we all knew their story when Gopal's friend was identified.
Shweta and Gopal were both from affluent families but different caste and community. Gopal was an adopted son of wealthy businessman whereas Shweta was the eldest daughter of landowner and politician. Both had fallen in love and invited the wrath of their families. Shweta had been locked in the house for months before she had secretly eloped with Gopal. Shweta's father had resolved to kill Gopal for the dishonour he had brought into their family while Gopal's father had disowned him from his house and property. Having no financial support and fearing for their life, Gopal and Shweta stayed in a Tumkur village for 6 months. But cash was running short and Shweta had gotten pregnant. Gopal had a nanny who was very close to him and considered him her son. She came to help Shweta with her delivery. With the help of the friend, Gopal had taken the risk of setting up home in our area till Shweta delivered since it was quite far from the city centre. Since Gopal had not been very bright with studies, he could not get a job very quickly and again his friend managed for the cab which he drove to sustain. He only took rides near our area or outside the city limits. Never did he venture into his old neighborhood. He worked night shifts and also helped his friend with hotel business. Slowly their life was looking up.
Gopal was cautious still of the fury of his father in law. He was powerful and did not mind twisting the law. Gopal did not like Shweta talking to people and nor did he talk to anyone apart from his trusted friend. He was scared of betrayal. Her father was a well connected man and Gopal worried he might get wind of their whereabouts and make true of his promise to get them separated.
Gopal and his friend had taken a heavy loan for setting up a new hotel business in Mysore. Gopal and Shweta were all set to start a new life in Mysore and had even started looking for a new place to live in the new city. Perhaps the new found happiness had made them a little reckless. Someone must have spotted them and informed her father. That was all that was known. No one ever saw who exactly came to their house. No one heard a sound. Gopal and Shweta were shot with what is assumed to be a silent gun. Their bodies were found in the hall and was discovered by the watchman when he went to put on the lights in the corridor and found their door wide open.
The CCTV was scanned multiple times, everyone in the building questioned endlessly, the watchmen grilled day in and day out but there was no hint. The money lender who gave loan for Gopal's business was also questions but Shweta's father remains to be prime suspect but there has been nothing to put him behind the bars.
Gopal's nanny and Shweta's baby were not traced by the police. There are rumours that the nanny escaped with the baby. I hope that is true.
I still hear the cries of the baby when I am home alone. It rings in my ear and I wonder where the baby is and how she is managing without Shweta. Or Kruthika as I knew her. The girl next door.
