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The usual ‘single woman in a Muslim country in the Middle East’ excuse that was used by my parents to ensure that I’m ‘careful and alert all the time’ didn’t deter me from embarking on my first true solo trip to a beautiful city – where East meets West.Apart from the usual flirting and tourist-harassing, I never felt unsafe in the city. Embarking on my first true solo trip in Istanbul; nervous, excited, scared, exhilarated are some of the words that can describe what I felt at that time.
Well, I just came back from a trip on this 'train of kings', or so it was once dubbed, from Verona to London where I expected Hercules Poirot to turn up any second.
I remember once complaining to my mother that I was sick and tired of going to Dehradun and Mussoorie year after year, at which my mother pointed out that my cousins didn’t even get to do that since their grandparents lived in Delhi itself.
I was suddenly made aware of the immense luxury I had because of my mother’s hometown and the vast open lush green spaces it offered.
A blood spattered cover designed to catch the eye, which is appropriate because, for a time, the Aarushi affair had caught the imagination of every middle and upper middle class family in India, and a precise style of delivery in the best journalistic manner; Avirook Sen’s book reopens a seven year old murder mystery that seemed to conform to the best style of the locked door murder – except that there were no Poirots to solve the case.
The almost fourteen year old had been murdered in her bedroom while her parents slept next door and the body of the family’s Nepali servant, Hemraj, who had also been murdered, was later discovered on the terrace upstairs.