Seeing Indrani in court with her perpetually sunny demeanour and beaming face is sometimes as unreal an experience as making sense of court delays.
'He's not dead. I am dead. I am dead. He didn't love me like I wanted him to. He didn't love me as much as I wanted him to. But it doesn't matter, I loved him. And he's dead. And he has my first silly poem in his drawer. And he has all the imperfect paintings I tore to pieces in his files. ' For Sameera, time froze still on December 13, 2013.
'As Rai spoke, in an unbelievably dead pan, almost off-the-cuff tone, about helping plan the murder of two youngsters, drugging them with vodka and whiskey spiked with dava (medicine), smothering one, dragging a body in rigor mortis out of a car, burning a corpse, destroying evidence, and so on, it felt like he was discussing nothing more surprising than the intricacies of the weather.'
