January 1st, 2023: As people slept after celebrating the New Year, a girl was being dragged under car wheels on Kanjhawala's streets. One kilometer, two kilometers, thirteen kilometers. She left home in a new pink jacket, only to be reduced to a lifeless form on the road.
Anjali...! Kanjhawala incident...! The entire new month danced around these words.
In three years, many empires have shifted, maps have changed. Several buildings sprang up in Delhi while some jungles vanished. Yet, those affected by the Kanjhawala incident remain stuck in time. Despite changing their address, their identity remains tethered to the tragedy!
Relocating from Karan Vihar to a tiny room in Mangolpuri, when we visit the remnants of the family, even in crowded neighborhoods, people recognize their address. They guide us through myriad turns.
As evening falls, a narrow alley leads through a scrap dealer's shop. No trees or birds around. Dense with power cables, this lane bears neither cold nor warmth, nor the embrace of spring.
A few houses down lies Anjali’s mother Rekha’s home. A single room with a dusty cooking gas corner, unused for days. A bed in the center where the surviving family sleeps – a mother and her two sons. After Anjali, another daughter, Ashika, too, has gone.
The sorrow spreads omnipresent, like a virulent creeper forming a living gloom as soon as you step inside.
In three years, Rekha has faced over three hundred interviews with different mics. She awaits our arrival with a steady composure.
A 41-year-old mother who lost her daughters aged 20 and 17 has little new to share. Her tales sound more like data being recounted.
Source: aajtak
'With Anjali, the world felt different. She was passionate about many things. As a wedding planner, she saved to buy a fridge for the home. She enjoyed beautiful crockery, claiming dishes tasted better in elegant dishes. These fragile items here were her choices.'
'Anjali was delicate yet striking, much like the glassware she loved. She purchased a hair dryer for herself, insisting I braid her delicate hair to appear fuller. The night of her death, she had styled her hair in a new way. Now, her presence is overshadowed by her absence.'
Despite the chilling cold, there is warmth in Rekha’s voice, like a fever abating. Anjali’s loss was felt deeply while Rekha still underwent dialysis.
How are you now? Dialysis continues thrice a week, though free services have ceased. I now travel to Najafgarh. Initially, Anjali escorted me, then Ashika took over. With her 'expiration,' my young son now manages the hospitals and household tasks.
Anjali’s memory naturally brings Ashika into conversation.
What happened to her? Who knows, sister. Anjali was our sole breadwinner. After her passing, Ashika felt financially responsible. The government compensation of 10 lakhs helped, but soon Ashika pursued a job. I resisted; she was only in 10th grade. She hadn’t experienced life’s nuances like Anjali. She wouldn’t have coped.
In June’s searing afternoon, I sent my younger son to relatives in Sonepat. My elder son and I ran errands, returning to find the door locked. Assumed Ashika was napping by the cooler. No response from knocking. Peeking inside through the grills, we found Ashika hanging.
She also left us... Sitting before me is a mother mourning three deaths, reliving Anjali with Ashika’s demise.
Source: aajtak
Another daughter expired in the midst of life’s burdens. Here on this bed lay her remains. As Rekha speaks, during week-long dialysis sessions, her voice thickens as though absorbing all surrounding moisture and coldness.
In one corner of the memory-laden room, Anjali’s photograph hangs. We see no sign of Ashika.
Understanding my glance, Rekha explains – after two youthful deaths, rumors said the house was cursed. We visited Balaji, conducted rituals, and removed both pictures. Recently, media personnel prompted Anjali's photo's return.
Nearby sits the younger son. He asks, 'Would you like to see a photo of my sister? Which one? Expired or alive?'
An eleven-year-old boy, having lost his father and two elder sisters. He mentions 'expired' as casually as a forgotten spice jar or expired bread pack. In this home, discussions revolve around death or its anticipation.
Ashika’s photograph shows tenderness as Rekha nestles it into her lap. Her fingers caress the frame as if tracing Ashika’s eyes and cheeks. Anjali was slender, while Ashika was more like a bonbon. Ashika, whose zest, somehow drew me away from oblivion. Two sons remain. That they remain safe matters most... Like many mothers, she dreams neither of engineers nor lucrative earnings but of her children simply breathing.
Justice? Unfamiliar to the three-member family. Mother says, 'We demanded the culprits' hanging, but they live freely in their homes.'
How do you know! Neighbors recognize them. With vendors, come news of their sightings here and there.
Source: aajtak
Anjali had a friend present that night, but she’s married now. You informed us about her past as a drug supplier. How my naive Anjali befriended her remains a mystery. Once my home was a lively zoo; now, it’s deserted, hard to stay put without wanting to flee.
After meeting Rekha, we stop by Sultanpuri Police Station. The case investigator has been transferred. An officer, under anonymity, reveals – it’s no hit-and-run, rather hit-and-drag. They knew someone was underneath the car, yet continued dragging her for kilometers. Stopping might have saved her. The case proceeds in court. The police wrapped up promptly in three months. The verdict awaits its day.
A friend was a witness, yet avoided court appearances. Why?
This is common. Witnesses turn hostile over time - some under duress, some for greed, some preoccupied with life. Such factors extend the case’s timeline.
What was the Kanjhawala case?
Between December 31st and January 1st, around 1:30 AM, Anjali returned on a scooter when car-borne youths hit her in Kanjhawala, Delhi. The accused fled, leaving Anjali entangled beneath their vehicle for about 13 kilometers. The accused were arrested quickly. Within four months, police submitted an 800-page charge sheet. The case is ongoing in Rohini Court. In October of this year, the Motor Accident Claims Tribunal ordered a compensation of 36.69 lakh rupees for her family.
36 lakh rupees! While unaware of Delhi or the world's happenings, Anjali’s mother knows this.
She states, 'Awaiting tomorrow’s money, today we incur debts. Without it, thrice-weekly dialysis, each costing two-and-a-half thousand rupees, wouldn’t be possible.' With expenses spanning rent, education, and medical necessities, her voice possesses a fragile hope, reliant solely on the ray of light through the window.
