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A teary-eyed Rahul Mahajan, with a coffee mug in hand, makes a very emotional appeal on national TV about how as “crores of people prayed, he lost his father.” As the lights in Bigg Boss’ house dim, (which they don’t otherwise) Rahul tries to follow his dialogue writer’s instructions as he takes a pregnant pause before sighing heavily and saying, “My father was lying in his bed and then his life support system went beep, beep, beep and then died out in a straight beep.” (Very dramatic and very scripted!) ...

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While in the city, police encounters are mostly held under full media glare, with 100 per cent force backup, in the remote borders of the country, army men lead encounters of another sort. Disguised and often caught unawares, they are forced to fight it out with the terrorists till death decides the final score. And we, safe in our cosy city homes, often get to hear nothing about it, except for a bland announcement of gallantry medal winners. But if you peep behind the straight faces receiving the medals, you will come across heroic tales of sudden encounters, unplanned and unsupported. Battles fought and either won gallantly or lost equally so.
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A young widow clad in the mourning white is being forcibly dragged out of her room... A loud of group widows — heads shaven neo-Nazi-like and draped in clinical white — chant loudly as the young girl is held down on a stool.

The widows raise their war cry, their faces contorting with sadistic pleasure as the young girl watches in horror a man sharpening a barber's knife on a granite slab. The widows pin her down as one of them pulls back the pallu from her head and tugs at her lustrous locks. She grimaces in sudden pain. One of the torturers answers her silent ...

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Delhi's killer roads get another bloody bath, another young life snuffed out in its prime, another mother will cry her heart out today....

And it happened near the Moolchand flyover, just where the abandoned (I hope so) BRT corridor project meets the Metro construction mess. Often at nights I have been forced to brake hard here, trying to avoid the ghostly DMRC trawler or truck ferrying construction material. ...

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It's not even Thursday and Delhiites are already readying their shopping lists for the weekend. New slippers for Babli, a shirt for Chintu, bed sheets for mummyji's room and Chinese chaat to end the Saturday shopping trip. Does it matter that only last Saturday 25 people were killed doing just this? "How does it matter? The terrorists won't strike every Saturday. And we can't stop living just because they are attacking us," reasons my next-door auntyji. ...

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