A Sensible Case

I was in the news recently. My fifteen minutes of fame came with the title, ‘Loveless man kills lovely colleague’.  The article suggests that a lowly, inept, married office-guy murdered a hardworking, middle-class, single girl because she spurned his amorous advances. When put that way to readers, the senseless killing is supposed to make sense. But the details are slightly misplaced, and the picture that emerges is like a jigsaw puzzle loosely fitted with a few missing pieces. I believe that the whole truth presents a more sensible case.   

Let me start my account on the day before the killing.

That day started well. I had slept well and got a decent breakfast. The sky was blue and cloudless. Birds were chirping. The morning promised a cool, dry day ahead. I walked to the office, feeling good, with a spring in my step. At the entrance, the security guards greeted me cordially and I returned the same. I hummed in the lift. I got out on the main floor. The receptionist was arranging flowers in a crystal flower vase.

She looked up and said to me with a wonderful cheerful smile, ‘Good morning, sir. How are you?’

I gave her a huge smile and said, ‘Very good. How are you?’

‘Have a lovely day, sir.’

‘You too…’ I said.

I went to my office, still humming. I logged in to my computer and checked my e-mails. The good times ended then.

There was a mail from HR with the notification ‘Urgent’ in red. The mail ordered me to meet the Head of HR as soon as I reached office. I went there, uneasy but still hopeful. When I was made to wait for fifteen minutes, I knew that the trouble was serious. The Head greeted me with a nod and a very serious, ‘How are you?’ She told me to take a seat. I sat perched on the edge. She read out the charge against me. A junior colleague had complained of sexual harassment.

I tried to explain, ‘She came to me regarding some issues at work. She was crying and looked devastated.’

 The Head asked me, ‘Did you fondle the junior?

I protested, ‘What rubbish!’

‘Don’t shout.’

‘I am sorry. But I did not fondle her.’

‘Did you touch her?’ she quizzed me.

‘I did sit next to her. When she seemed inconsolable, I must have comforted her.’

‘She says that you held her roughly and refused to let go even when she protested. She had to punch you, she says.’

‘She punched me…?’ I repeated, incredulous.

‘So, you admit that she punched you,’ the Head pounced.

‘I didn’t say that. There was a question mark at the end.’

‘Question mark or not, this is a very serious affair. There will be an enquiry. Till then, do not make any attempts to approach this colleague.’

I was dismissed. I returned to my office, dazed. But I didn’t get a chance to think. I received a call from a Tokyo boss.

Without intonation or emphasis, his monotonous voice informed me that he was not pleased with the work my team did for him. I told him that I will look into the matter with urgency. He ended the call after telling me that I have a day to sort out the issue. Only then did I recollect that the team-member working for the Tokyo boss was the same junior who accused me of sexual harassment. Once again, I hardly got time to think about how to approach the unapproachable.

A divisional head wanted me to attend to his mails and requests. Then the London office opened and the situation worsened. It seemed like a global conspiracy when later in the evening the US office raised similar concerns about my team management. I had fourteen hours of fire-fighting, unable to dowse any fire, choking in the smoke, oh damn that metaphor. That’s the gist of what happened in office.

  I got home at half past nine. I faced a wife suffering from migraine and an even more debilitating bout of suspicion. I tried to eat. She tried hard and succeeded to spoil my dinner. We fought till midnight. Without calling truce, we retired for the night, the air still grumpy and heavy. A kid next door decided to wake up at regular intervals to bawl. Its parents mollycoddled or ignored the kid instead of giving it a good whack. When that abated at around three, a stray dog started wailing about its sad state. At half past four, some neighbors returning from or departing to a vacation decided to share their inebriated exuberance with the whole apartment. Their good cheer blackened my grey mood. At half past five, I got up tired to face a new day. I found that there was no water or electric supply. My wife raised herself briefly at seven or thereabouts to continue her haranguing. At half past seven, I left home without breakfast, unwashed and unshaven.

If the day before gave false promises, that muggy morning was more true. After a cloudburst, the drains were overflowing and the roads were flooded. The birds were silent. The sky looked as dirty as the muddy ground. My car refused to start. I was in no mood to walk but I had to because taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers were on some flash strike. It was still drizzling.

The security lot greeted me cordially but I ignored them. In the lift, I stamped my wet, squishy shoes.

I got out on the main floor. I approached the receptionist. I wanted to leave my wet umbrella there to dry. The crystal vase had a fresh bouquet of flowers and it stood on a pedestal above the receptionist’s desk. That failed to cheer me.

The receptionist looked up, with her lovely smile and cheerful greeting, ‘Good morning, sir. How are you this morning?’

I am not really sure what happened next. Her good cheer triggered something – that’s all I can remember. Possibly, some dam within burst, letting out all the pent-up emotions and I waved my umbrella at her in frustration. Or, I inadvertently pressed the umbrella’s release and it opened.

The umbrella hit the precariously placed vase which crashed on the desk and shattered. A long jagged splinter pierced the receptionist’s jugular. The first witness on the scene apparently saw me retrieving that from her throat. That witness added a little garnish and also mentioned that I was seen stabbing the lady with that splinter. The receptionist died before she could refute such an accusation.

As you can see, the devil is in the details. A lovely girl did die. A loveless man did kill. I could be described as lowly. It is possible that I expressed my love to a colleague who spurned my romantic advances but sadly, she was not the one who died. Of course, I did not admit that but then I did not have to. My report card from every quarter described me as inept. Not a single good word was said about me, at office or at home.

Well, do you not think the truth presents the affair in a simple but cogent way? Or, are the scribes right in saying that the truth is too complicated and rarely makes a sensible case?