A Chanakyapuri Tale
Akriti walked down the freshly watered and manicured lawns flanking the roadsides. The sun was hot and the lack of trees that could be otherwise seen on the side roads were severely lacking on this artery. So far so good. She had worn sensible shoes for this walk, and if required, the run – though the burqa smothered her. But that could not be helped. “There! That’s her!” Deshmukh’s shout could be heard over the heavy Corps Diplomatique vehicles trundling down the road, or perhaps, she just couldn’t forget his voice. “Who sent the toolkit?” “Who gave you the ideas?” “How much were you paid?” “Who all did you call?” She had answered honestly. Truthfully. The whole year, until she was finally released; but she was under no impression of safety. Then the routine set in. New e-mail IDs. New SIMs. But she could see Director Deshmukh’s spiderlings scuttling behind her when she walked, on her e-mails, behind the cameras, waiting to snare her and trap her friends. Then f...