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Man's World
@mansworldindia
The Lunchbox's Ritesh Batra is set to direct an
adaptation of The Sense of an Ending
goo.gl/bfkmJM pic.twitter.com/Zj1LwqRAno
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Man's World
16h
On
the
afternoon
of
April
27,
1959
Commander
Kawas
Maneckshaw
Nanavati
stepped
out
of
his
home
in
Cuffe
Parade,
Colaba,
on
a
short
but
tragically
momentous
journey.
Along
with
him
in
his
car
were
his
English
wife
Sylvia,
30,
and
two
children.
An
alumnus
of
the
Royal
Navy
College
in
Dartmouth,
the
handsome,
well-built
and
well-liked
ofNicer
was
second
in
command
of
the
Indian
Navys
Nlagship
INS
Mysore.
He
had
seen
action
on
various
fronts
during
WW-II,
had
been
awarded
many
medals
for
gallantry
and
was
among
those
who
were
especially
recommended
by
Lord
Louis
Mountbatten
as
the
British
marched
out
of
India.
Just
37,
Nanavati,
who,
it
would
seem,
embodied
the
ideal
of
an
ofNicer
and
a
gentleman,
had
a
lot
to
look
forward
to.
But
just
before
lunch
that
day,
his
world
came
crumbling
down.
Sylvia,
whom
Nanavati
had
met
in
England
in
1949,
had
confessed
to
him
that
she
was
in
love
with
another
man,
a
family
friend
called
Prem
Ahuja.
As
he
drove
their
car
past
the
Nishing
boats
at
Badhwar
Park,
through
the
pong
of
drying
Nish,
and
along
Azad
Maidan,
Nanavatis
demeanour
betrayed
neither
the
humiliation
nor
the
vengeance-fuelled
anger
of
the
cuckold.
As
was
previously
decided,
he
dropped
the
kids
and
Sylvia
at
Metro
Cinema
for
a
matinee
show
of
Tom
Thumb.
He
then
drove
towards
Bombay
Harbour
where
his
ship
was
docked,
informed
the
captain
that
he
was
leaving
by
road
for
Ahmednagar
and
requested
him
for
permission
to
draw
a
revolver
and
six
rounds.
He
put
the
gun
into
an
envelope
and
pointed
his
car
in
the
direction
of
Universal
Motors,
a
Willys
Jeep
showroom
owned
by
Ahuja,
on
Peddar
Road
in
south
Bombay.
But
Ahuja
had
gone
home
for
lunch
and
was
probably
still
there.
Nanavati
got
back
into
his
car
and
headed
towards
Ahujas
Nlat
in
Setalvad
Lane
off
Napean
Sea
Road,
near
Malabar
Hill.
With
wavy
hair,
thick
eyebrows
and
an
evolved
sense
of
the
sartorial,
Prem
Bhagwandas
Ahuja
cut
an
attractive
Nigure.
Ahuja,
34,
was
an
excellent
dancer.
He
also
had
a
history
of
seduction
and
a
penchant
for
bedding
the
wives
of
ofNicers
in
the
Armed
Forces.
A
regular
presence
at
many
of
Bombays
British-era
clubs
and
Services
parties,
Ahuja
ensnared
many
a
forlorn
woman
with
his
rakish
charm.
According
to
the
Blitz,
the
racy
left-leaning
tabloid
which
folded
in
the
mid-1990s,
Ahuja
was
a
gay
Lothario
who
loved
to
graze
in
other
peoples
pastures.
He
had
started
his
career
as
a
philandering
playboy
rather
early
in
life.
Even
in
Karachi
(the
Ahujas
migrated
to
India
after
Partition
and
Ahuja
stayed
with
his
sister
Mamie)
he
had
run
away
and
gone
through
a
form
of
marriage
with
her
It
was
also
said
that
Ahuja,
the
recipient
of
many
epistolary
dedications
and
photographs,
never
wrote
to
any
of
his
lovers
nor
did
he
ever
part
with
any
of
his
pictures.
Ahuja
had
just
Ninished
having
his
bath
when
Nanavati
was
let
into
his
third
Nloor
apartment
by
the
housemaid.
Nanavati
walked
into
Ahujas
bedroom
and
closed
the
door
behind
him.
A
little
later,
three
shots
rang
out.
Ahuja,
clad
only
in
a
towel,
lay
slumped
on
the
Nloor.
Nanavati
walked
out
of
the
apartment,
past
the
anguished
cries
of
Mamie.
He
then
drove
down
Malabar
Hill,
asked
a
police
constable
at
the
gates
of
Raj
Bhavan
for
directions
to
the
nearest
police
station
and
upon
being
directed,
drove
to
the
nearby
Gamdevi
Police
Station
to
surrender
himself.
Below:
The
dramatis
personae:
(top
left
to
right)
Commander
Kawas
Nanavati,
the
cuckold;
Sylvia
Nanavati,
his
beautiful
English
wife;
Prem
Ahuja,
the
playboy
paramour;
(bottom
left
to
right)
Ram
Jethmalani,
the
lawyer
consulted
by
the
prosecution;
Reginald
Pierce,
the
only
juror
who
voted
against
Nanavati
The
sequence
of
events
triggered
by
Sylvias
confession
and
which
ultimately
led
to
Ahujas
death
birthed
an
episode
that
is
still
unparalleled
not
just
for
the
tremendous
recall
it
has
50
years
since,
but
also
because
of
the
seismic
impact
it
had
on
the
psyche
of
the
city
and
the
legal
system.
Like
similarly
eventful
and
inNluential
trials
across
the
world,
the
Nanavati
case
had
many
layers.
On
the
one
hand,
the
case,
involving
as
it
did
adultery
on
the
part
of
a
rich,
beautiful
blue-eyed
woman
from
south
Bombay
and
the
murder
of
her
playboy
paramour
by
her
dashing
husband,
was
salacious
fodder
for
cocktail
gossip,
often
fuelled
by
speculative
reporting
by
tabloids
and
newspapers.
It
stirred
emotions,
provoked
moral
judgments,
caused
a
rift
between
the
Parsi
and
Sindhi
communities
and
bought
terms
such
as
honour
killing
back
into
vogue.
And
yet,
it
also
acquired
the
halo
of
a
Greek
tragedy.
Here
was
Nanavati,
an
upright,
accomplished
naval
commander
undone
by
betrayal
and
an
inability
to
rein
in
his
rage.
In
public
trials
held
in
Bombays
raucous
chai
shops,
genteel
bars,
and
well-appointed
homes
behind
Art
Deco
facades,
Nanavatis
supporters,
as
a
counter
to
those
who
proclaimed
the
rule
of
law
above
all
else,
would
have
put
this
question
to
their
opponents
across
the
table:
What
would
you
have
done
if
you
were
in
his
shoes?
For
every
man
who
had
enormous
faith
in
the
codes
that
govern
modern
society,
there
were
others
who
believed
that
Nanavati
was
an
honourable
murderer.
In
its
two-and-a-
half
year
journey
from
the
Greater
Bombay
Sessions
Court
to
the
High
Court
and
from
there
to
the
Supreme
Court,
the
dramatis
personae
ballooned
from
the
original
three
to
include
other
prominent
players,
including
lawyers
like
Ram
Jethmalani,
and
the
shadowy
presence
of
Vijayalakshmi
Pandit,
Jawaharlal
Nehru
and
V
K
Krishna
Menon.
And
perhaps,
one
should
also
add
Russi
Karanjia
here.
The
Nlamboyant
editor
of
the
weekly
Blitz,
and
friend
to
Nehru
and
Menon,
among
others,
championed
the
cause
of
his
fellow
Parsi,
turned
the
murder
trial
into
a
Night
between
the
middle-class
values
of
Nanavati
and
the
bourgeois
depravation
of
Ahuja,
and
put
up
an
impassioned,
though
biased,
defence
of
the
Commander.
Here
is
P
R
Lele,
Blitzs
constitutional
expert,
in
a
December
2,
1961
article
headlined
The
President
must
pardon
Nanavati:
If
a
member
of
the
Fighting
Forces
always
has
to
entertain
the
fear
that
some
moneyed
and
leisured
man
might
be
consoling
his
wife,
in
his
absence,
he
will
be
more
worried
than
if
his
pay
is
not
sufNicient
to
meet
the
regular
expenses
of
his
household
People
want
to
ask
the
top
authorities
to
consider
what
will
be
the
moral
effect
on
those
whom
you
invite
to
join
the
Defence
Forces
if
and
when
they
observe
that
those
in
authority
take
a
technical
view
of
the
invasion
by
the
wealthy
of
their
unprotected
homes.
Gyan
Prakash,
a
professor
of
history
at
Princeton
and
the
author
of
the
upcoming
Bombay
Fables,
calls
the
Nanavati
case
Indias
Nirst
media
trial,
its
own
OJ
case
.
The
lead
role
here
must
be
credited
to
Russi
Karanjia.
It
was
Blitz
that
turned
this
case
into
a
trial
of
patriarchy
and
patriotism,
and
elicited
the
people
on
behalf
of
Nanavati.
In
terms
of
media
history,
Blitzs
role
was
a
pioneering
one.
In
the
age
before
television,
it
was
the
closest
one
would
come
to
an
image-saturated
coverage.
Blitz,
says
Prakash,
covered
the
case
with
an
abundance
of
photographs
and
graphic
illustrations
that
imprinted
the
case
as
a
picture
in
peoples
minds.
By
the
time
the
trial
came
to
a
close
in
the
winter
of
1961
Nanavati,
who
was
sentenced
to
life
imprisonment
by
the
Supreme
Court,
was
suddenly
granted
a
special
pardon
by
the
government,
but
more
on
that
later
the
city
was
never
the
same
again.
Bombay
of
the
late
1950s-1960s,
says
Prakash,
was
the
twilight
of
the
late
colonial
and
early
post-colonial
city
in
which
the
elite
south
Bombay
social
ideal
still
had
some
resonance.
The
trial
and
particularly
its
sensational
coverage
by
Karanjia,
built
on
voyeuristic
interest,
and
the
setting
up
of
the
people
on
the
street,
supposedly
concerned
over
patriarchal
and
patriotic
honour,
against
the
people
that
the
state
represented
in
the
court,
was
of
far-
reaching
signiNicance.
It
showed
in
advance
what
was
to
come
later
the
populist
mobilisation
of
the
people
on
the
street
against
the
ideals
of
the
liberal
democratic
order
in
which
the
rational
deliberations
of
law
in
the
court
were
supreme.
The
trial
was
also
the
last
case
in
Bombay
to
be
tried
by
a
jury.
The
jury
system
was
abolished
since
it
was
believed
that
the
members
of
the
jury
had
been
inNluenced
by
the
medias
portrayal
of
Nanavati
as
a
martyr
to
the
cause
of
honour.
Mumbai
police
historian
Deepak
Rao
calls
the
trial
the
most
prominent
case
in
the
citys
history.
Rao,
56,
a
tall,
lean
man
with
a
walrus
moustache
and
inquisitive
eyes
that
leap
out
from
behind
his
brown
spectacles,
remembers
how,
as
a
child,
he
would
listen
to
his
parents
and
their
friends
animatedly
discuss
the
minutiae
of
the
case
and
follow
its
twists
and
turns
in
the
pages
of
the
Blitz
and
Current.
The
Raman
Raghav
case
was
a
major
one
Mumbai
Police
Historian
Deepak
Rao
but
this
was
a
potboiler.
There
were
all
kinds
of
rumours
about
why
the
government
was
supporting
Nanavati,
it
was
said
that
he
was
to
be
the
commander
of
Indias
Nirst
nuclear
submarine
and
in
possession
of
naval
secrets,
says
Rao.
It
was
the
talk
of
the
town,
from
race-goers
to
members
of
posh
clubs
to
the
local
pan-wallah,
everybody
had
an
opinion
on
it.
Like
the
Raman
Raghav
case,
the
Nanavati
trial
appears
to
be
part
of
received
memory
for
every
Bombayite,
even
those
from
todays
generation,
passed
on
father
to
son
or
grandmother
to
grand-daughter.
A
Google
search
throws
up,
besides
several
articles
on
the
legal
ramiNications
of
the
case,
posts
by
bloggers
revolving
around
the
recollections
of
their
aged
relatives,
which
elicit
comments
from
readers
who
quote
from
inherited
memory.
Not
too
many
know
of
its
exact
import,
but
like
a
myth
the
case
still
shines
in
the
gloaming
of
a
receding
collective
memory.
Above:
The
trial
inspired
several
books,
Nilms
and
plays,
including
Indra
Sinhas
(right)
The
Death
of
Mr
Love,
(left)
Ami
Natya
Velar,
a
Konkani
play
The
case
also
inspired
many
interpretations,
both
literary
and
celluloid.
If
R
K
Nayars
Yeh
Raaste
Hain
Pyaar
Ke
(1963),
with
Sunil
Dutt
playing
an
Indian
Air
Force
pilot,
Leela
Naidu
as
his
Paris-born
wife
and
Rehman
as
her
paramour,
turned
out
to
be
a
typically
oblique
Bollywood
attempt
at
portraying
a
real-life
incident
involving
adultery,
GulzarsAchanak
(1973)
ended
with
an
open-ended
question.
Ranjeet
Khanna
(Vinod
Khanna),
a
much
decorated
major
is
hunted
down
by
cops
for
the
murder
of
his
wife
(Lily
Chakraborty)
and
His
was
an
imposing
Nigure
and
he
had
the
air
of
a
man
used
to
giving
orders.
I
have
shot
a
man,
he
told
me,
says
Lobo.
Nanavati
turned
pale
when
I
told
him
that
the
man
he
had
shot
was
dead.
He
then
asked
for
a
glass
of
water.
Instead
of
the
police
lock-up,
which
housed
ordinary
felons
and
criminals,
Nanavati
was
accommodated
in
one
of
the
ofNice-
rooms
which
was
where
Sylvia
would
often
meet
him.
We
were
witness
to
some
of
their
meetings
and
there
were
attempts
at
reconciliation
as
well.
Nanavati
mostly
stayed
quiet.
I
remember
Sylvia
once
telling
them
to
let
bygones
be
bygones.
Lobo
remembers
Sylvia,
as
a
very
attractive
lady,
who
used
to
attend
the
trial
daily.
As
Nanavati
adjusted
to
a
new
reality,
the
great
wheel
of
Bombays
law
and
order
apparatus
started
turning.
Lobo
got
several
calls
that
day
from
the
Navys
lawyers
asking
him
to
hand
over
custody
of
Nanavati,
but
he
stood
his
ground
(later,
though,
he
was
remanded
to
naval
custody).
The
crime
scene,
Ahujas
apartment
at
Jeevan
Jyot
building,
swarmed
with
police
ofNicers
and
newspaper
staffers,
as
idle
crowds
milled
outside.
In
his
book
Lobo
writes:
On
the
Nloor
(of
the
room)
was
laying
the
empty
brown
envelope
bearing
the
name
of
Lt.-Commander
K
M
Nanavati.
The
evil
that
men
do
lives
after
them
it
leaves
footprints
on
the
sands
of
time.
Two
spent
bullets
were
recovered
but
there
was
no
trace
of
bullets
having
ricocheted
off
the
walls.
The
assailant
had
surprised
his
victim
and
done
a
quick
job.
For
the
rest
of
the
duration
of
the
trial
Lobo
met
Nanavati
just
once
and
that
was
on
the
day
he
testiNied
against
him
in
the
Sessions
Court.
He
was
being
led
into
the
courtroom
and
I
told
him
that
I
was
sorry
but
I
had
to
testify
against
him.
I
think
he
simply
said,
Dont
worry
about
me,
just
go
and
do
your
duty.
He
was
a
Nine
man,
who
just
happened
to
do
the
wrong
thing.
The
Nanavati
trial
began
in
the
court
of
city
sessions
judge
R
B
Mehta
the
next
month.
Karl
Khandalavala
was
the
defence
lawyer,
and
assisting
him
were
Rajni
Patel,
who
was
to
later
become
a
prominent
Congress
politician,
and
S
R
Vakil.
The
public
prosecutor
was
Chandu
Trivedi
and
Ram
Jethmalani
was
retained
by
Mamie
to
assist
the
prosecution.
(Jethmalanis
watching
brief
meant
that
while
he
could
advise
the
prosecution,
he
could
not
speak
in
court.)
The
chosen
jury
was
cosmopolitan
and
comprised
two
Parsis,
one
Anglo-Indian,
one
Christian
and
Nive
Hindus.
While
Jethmalanis
role
in
the
case
remained
of
a
consultative
nature
throughout,
he
would
play
a
decisive
role,
both
during
the
trial
and
after
it.
The
case
also
marked
a
watershed
in
his
professional
life.
Jethmalani
was
an
upcoming
lawyer
when
he
was
handed
the
watching
brief,
the
ensuing
two
years
saw
him
consolidate
his
place
in
the
countrys
legal
Nirmament.
A
remote
relative
of
Ahuja,
Jethmalani
says
he
met
him
at
a
party
about
a
week
or
two
before
he
was
murdered.
I
dont
think
he
just
slept
with
the
wives
of
senior
naval
ofNicers,
he
must
have
also
bedded
the
wives
of
the
Army
and
the
Air
Force
chiefs,
says
the
former
Union
law
minister
who,
at
86,
views
the
case
with
detachment
and
often,
mild
amusement.
Since
Nanavati
had
already
confessed,
the
trial
hinged
on
one
crucial
point:
on
whether
it
was
a
case
of
murder
under
section
302
of
the
Indian
Penal
Code
or
culpable
homicide
not
amounting
to
murder.
The
former
would
invite
a
life
imprisonment
or
death
sentence,
while
in
the
case
of
the
latter,
there
was
a
maximum
punishment
of
ten
years
imprisonment.
If
the
defence
lawyer
could
convince
the
jury
that
his
client
had
acted
under
a
grave
and
sudden
provocation,
Nanavati
could
get
away
with
a
lighter
term
or
even
get
off
scot-free.
With
the
newspapers,
especially
the
Blitz,
whipping
up
emotions,
support
for
Nanavati
was
strong,
particularly
and
naturally
among
the
Parsis,
and
young
women.
In
his
book
Lobo
writes:
Not
only
did
they
overNlow
the
restricted
accommodation
available
in
the
courtroom
but
large
numbers,
particularly
of
the
fair
sex,
lined
the
route
around
Flora
Fountain
as
the
van
carrying
the
prisoner
drove
up
to
the
court.
Understandably,
their
Russi
Karanjia,
editor
of
Blitz
which
was
Nirmly
sympathies
were
with
the
unfortunate
naval
ofNicer.
behind
Nanavati
Flower
petals
and
currency
notes
were
thrown
by
his
admirers.
There
were
reports
in
the
Blitz
of
lipstick-smeared
100-rupee
notes
Nloating
gently
down
on
Nanavati
every
time
he
left
the
Sessions
Court
and
about
how
he
received
marriage
proposals
from
infatuated
women,
who
hoped
for
a
ruling
in
his
favour,
a
divorce
from
Sylvia
and
marriage
with
him
thereafter.
Later
on
during
the
trial,
when
Sri
Prakasa,
the
then
governor
of
Bombay,
decreed
that
Nanavati
should
be
put
under
naval
custody
and
his
life
sentence
suspended,
the
powerful
Parsi
community
closed
ranks
and
over
8,000
people
gathered
at
the
Cowasji
Jehangir
Hall
in
south
Mumbai,
as
a
show
of
support.
On
the
Nirst
day
of
the
trial,
Trivedi,
who
also
happened
to
be
Jethmalanis
friend,
bungled.
He
horriNied
Jethmalani
by
delivering
a
totally
different
opening
speech
than
the
one
prepared
for
him
by
the
latter.
His
remarks,
recalls
Jethmalani,
made
it
look
as
if
he
were
arguing
on
behalf
of
the
defence.
At
the
end
of
the
day
I
told
him,
Chandubhai,
Im
not
coming
to
court
again,
says
Jethmalani,
who
ultimately
gave
in
to
Trivedis
whiny
persistence
and
assumed
charge
once
again.
(Apparently,
Trivedi
acted
as
he
did
because
he
had
been
assured
Nanavati
would
plead
guilty
and
that
getting
a
conviction
would
be
easy.)
After
Trivedi
presented
his
witnesses,
including
forensic
experts,
the
defence
opened
their
counter
with
Nanavati
himself
occupying
the
witness
box.
Dressed
in
full
naval
regalia,
Nanavati
told
the
judge
that
his
gun
had
accidentally
gone
off
during
a
scufNle
with
Ahuja
and
that
if
he
had
really
intended
to
kill
his
adversary,
it
would
have
taken
him
just
one
bullet
and
not
three.
He
was
followed
by
the
eminent
surgeon
Dr
A
V
Baliga,
whose
turgid
proclamations
were
intended
to
establish
a
case
of
accidental
Niring
and
rubbish
the
evidence
presented
by
forensic
experts.
Baliga,
though,
later
wilted
under
Trivedis
relentless
cross-examination,
which
was
orchestrated
by
Jethmalani.
As
the
trial
neared
to
a
close
the
prosecution,
with
its
contention
that
the
offence
was
premeditated,
appeared
to
have
the
upper
hand
there
was
a
gap
of
three
hours
between
Sylvias
confession
and
Ahujas
murder.
On
the
Ninal
day,
judge
Mehta
discussed
the
evidence
with
the
jurors
and
waited
for
them
to
reach
a
conclusion.
The
jurys
verdict
was
not
guilty,
by
a
majority
of
eight.
Only
one
person
dissented.
Jubilation
surged
through
most
of
those
present
in
the
courtroom
and
the
crowd
gathered
outside.
The
case
would
have
been
considered
closed
had
it
not
been
for
the
courageous
judge
Mehta.
After
the
exultations
of
triumph
from
Nanavatis
supporters
had
abated,
Mehta
announced
that
he
did
not
accept
the
jurys
verdict
and
deemed
it
perverse.
He
referred
the
case
to
the
Bombay
High
Court,
where
after
reviewing
the
evidence,
the
judges
upheld
the
verdict
of
the
Sessions
Court.
Nanavati,
who
was
sentenced
to
life
imprisonment
on
March
11,
1960,
then
appealed
to
the
Supreme
Court.
But,
and
we
bypass
a
sea
of
legalese
here,
Jethmalanis
and
Trivedis
ship
of
reason
sailed
through.
The
SC
dismissed
the
appeal
and
conNirmed
the
sentence
of
life
imprisonment
in
November
1961.
Karanjia
went
into
overdrive
and
Nired
one
volley
after
another,
including
printing
a
mercy
petition
in
the
December
2
edition
of
his
paper.
As
things
stood,
Nanavati
was
heading
towards
a
life
behind
bars,
but
unbeknownst
to
him,
a
twist
in
the
story
was
being
given
shape.
It
was
a
development
that
would
see
Jethmalani
using
his
persuasive
powers
yet
again,
this
time
to
free
Nanavati.
The
destinies
of
men
often
intertwine
in
the
strangest
of
ways.
As
Nanavati
languished
in
prison,
Vijayalakshmi
Pandit,
who
became
governor
of
Bombay
in
1962,
received
a
mercy
petition
Niled
by
a
Sindhi
leader,
Bhai
Pratap,
in
March
that
year.
Pratap,
whose
businesses
included
the
import
of
sports
goods,
had
been
imprisoned
for
the
misuse
of
the
goods.
It
was
an
absolutely
fake
case,
claims
Jethmalani,
and
the
two
bureaucrats
(B
B
Paymaster
and
R
L
Dalal)
scrutinising
the
case
found
Vijayalakshmi
Pandit,
then
governor
of
Bombay,
Bhai
Pratap
to
be
innocent.
Jethmalani
says
that
the
who
pardoned
Nanavati
plan
that
was
to
unfold
in
the
next
few
days
could
possibly
have
been
Paymasters,
on
account
of
his
being
a
Parsi.
What
the
government,
still
under
pressure
from
various
quarters
to
release
Nanavati,
wanted
to
do
was
simple:
pardon
Nanavati,
and
then,
to
appease
the
Sindhi
community,
pardon
BhaiPratap
as
well.
Towards
the
end
of
March,
on
a
typically
muggy
Bombay
evening,
Jethmalani
opened
the
door
of
his
Panchshila
apartment
in
Cuffe
Parade
to
unexpected
visitors.
Among
them
was
Rajni
Patel,
the
defence
lawyer
in
the
case,
and
Sylvia
(She
was
a
looker!).
Patel
told
me
that
the
government
wanted
to
pardon
both
Bhai
Pratap
and
Nanavati.
All
I
had
to
do
was
convince
Ahujas
sister
Mamie.
It
was
political
expediency
at
its
best,
but
Jethmalani
did
his
bit.
He
convinced
Mamie.
Both
the
accused
were
pardoned
soon
after.
As
always
there
are
stories
within
stories.
In
the
case
of
the
Nanavati
trial,
one
among
them
is
that
of
Reginald
Pierce
and
it
is
a
story
that
has
seldom
been
told.
Pierce
was
the
odd
one
out
among
the
members
of
the
jury
that
found
Nanavati
innocent,
the
only
one
who
remained
impervious
to
the
blinding
power
of
emotion
and
said,
plainly,
that
He
did
it.
I
met
him
last
month
at
his
home
in
Bandra,
Mumbai.
Pierce
is
102,
but
is
probably
the
Nittest
member
in
his
family.
He
has
a
head
full
of
noble,
silver
hair,
still
goes
for
his
evening
walks
around
his
Mount
Mary
neighbourhood
and
was
impeccably
dressed
for
a
dinner
he
had
to
attend.
The
secret
of
his
longevity,
says
his
son-in-law
Alex,
could
be
that
he
never
lies.
Pierce
was
selected
as
a
jury
member
after
he
responded
to
an
advertisement
in
The
Times
of
India
and
he
still
recalls
the
ferocious
attitude
of
his
counterparts.
They
had
no
honour,
he
says.
They
were
tremendously
against
me
and
berated
me
relentlessly
after
I
had
made
my
stand
clear.
If
the
crowds
outside
had
known
who
the
lone
dissenter
was,
they
would
have
lynched
me.
But
I
saw
the
evidence
and
it
was
apparent
that
he
killed
him.
Then,
he
asks
me
about
the
whereabouts
of
the
Nanavati
family.
I
tell
him
of
the
familys
migration
to
Canada
and
of
Nanavatis
death
in
2003.
He
was
a
Nine
fellow,
very
intelligent.
I
knew
I
was
condemning
him
but
rightfully.
I
think
he
was
an
honourable
murderer,
but
a
murderer
all
the
same.
A
month
or
so
after
he
was
pardoned
Nanavati
left
along
with
Sylvia
and
their
children
for
Canada.
They
never
returned
to
Bombay
again
nor
have
they,
as
far
as
I
know,
spoken
about
that
tumultuous
episode
in
their
lives
to
anyone.
The
Nanavati
trial,
though,
keeps
surfacing
in
the
Indian
media
every
decade
or
so,
as
it
does
now,
on
its
50th
anniversary.
But
I
often
wonder
what
Sylvia,
now
a
sweet,
portly
granny,
would
have
to
say
if
she
ever
chooses
to
speak
about
the
case.
We
will
never
know,
but
I
suspect
that
deep
down
she
sees
what
a
lot
of
us
never
have.
That,
in
spite
of
love,
betrayal
and
death,
the
noise
and
the
fury,
and
all
those
mighty
men
the
trial
involved,
it
was
also,
perhaps,
a
story
of
letting
bygones
be
bygones.
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