The Award
The Mehta case received what the Ministry of Home Affairs called ‘commendable and professional handling under conditions of significant public and political sensitivity.’ This was bureaucratic language for, several powerful people had tried to interfere and the SIT (Special Investigation Team) had politely continued working anyway.
After the charge sheet was filed, court proceedings were swift, as it was a high profile case. Three months after the verdict was passed, a citation was issued to the SIT. At the formal ceremony in North Block, the limestone colonial building on Raisina Hill that housed the Home Ministry, both Radha and Shyla received Union Home Minister’s Medal for Excellence in Investigation. This prestigious award is instituted by the Government of India’s Ministry of Home Affairs to promote high professional standards in crime investigation and recognize outstanding service by investigating officers across State/UT (Union Territory) police forces, Central Investigating Agencies (e.g., CBI, NIA), and other policing organizations.
Radha received hers with her characteristic composure. She said the right things graciously, thanked the team, mentioned the excellent forensic work that had cracked the case open.
Shyla received hers and looked at Radha briefly, with lots of memories and emotions running through her mind.
In the audience, in the back row, sat two older men and two older women who had not been told about the ceremony until forty-eight hours prior to the event, and who had then rearranged their entire schedules to be there. Vikram Verma, retired DIG, grey at the temples but still with the upright bearing of a man who had spent a career in uniform. Sunanda Verma, psychologist, in a neat silk sari. Dr. Suresh Krishnamurthy, cardiologist, wearing a suit for the occasion that he had clearly ironed himself because it had three sets of creases. Dr. Meena Krishnamurthy, psychiatrist, sitting with her hands folded and a lot of pride.
The four parents had not seen each other since the girls went to college, as Radha’s parents had moved to a different part of the city. They sat together naturally, the way old friends do, as though they were regularly meeting even now.
When Radha and Shyla emerged from the ceremony, they found their parents waiting in the corridor. The reunion was really happy for everyone. Meena Krishnamurthy held Radha’s face in both hands and said she had grown exactly as she had predicted. Sunanda Verma told Shyla she had always known, always, that she was exceptional. Suresh Krishnamurthy cleared his throat three times before saying, ‘We are proud of you. Both of you,’ in the voice of a man who has not said those exact words enough times and knows it.
Vikram Verma did not say much. He put his arm around Radha’s shoulder, he still had to reach up slightly, which surprised him every time, and looked at her with the particular expression that fathers reserve for moments when their daughters have become more than they imagined.
“I told you this profession was not suitable for girls,” he said.
“Yes, Appa.”
“I was wrong.”
The corridor was quiet. Outside the tall windows of North Block, Raisina Hill was gilded with afternoon sun.
“Yes,” Radha said. “You were.” And then, gently, “But you also told us about forty-eight hours and evidence and truth and why it matters. I wrote it all down.”
“I remember,” he said quietly. “I remember the two of you sitting on either side of my chair.”