In 1959, in a small town of approximately 250 people in Kansas, farmer Herbert Clutter, his wife and two of his children were found shot dead in their home. The murders were committed by two young boys, ex-cons, Richard “Dick” Hickock and Perry Smith. The boys had never met the Clutters, but had heard from another ex-con that Herb Clutter had a safe on his farm with a lot of cash. They travelled 270 miles from Kansas City to the small town of Holcomb to burgle the safe and had decided from before to murder any family members or witnesses to the crime. There was no safe on the farm, but they did still cold bloodedly murder the entire family, tying them up intricately and shooting them point-blank in the head, they also slit Herb Clutter’s throat and then shot him. They then got back in their car and drove the 270 hundred miles home and went to sleep.

Truman Capote travelled to Kansas and spent 6 years there, investigating the murder, interviewing people in the town and interviewing the two murderers who had been arrested two weeks after the murders. His book, In Cold Blood, was one of the first non-fiction crime novels to be written. While the book is memorable for its lucidly tied together and detailed retelling of what happened in that small town in Kansas, there is another aspect which stands out. Capote’s sympathetic portrayal of Perry Smith as the reluctant partner, the one who was ready to take the fall for Dick. He describes Smith’s love for animals, his soft-hearted nature, one of his court appearances where – “wearing an open-necked shirt and blue jeans rolled up at the cuffs… looked as lonely and inappropriate as a seagull in a wheat field”. Through the book, Capote made Smith sound less like a cold-blooded murderer and more like a wronged man.

For many reasons, the Aarushi and Hemraj double murders which took place in Noida over seven years ago in 2007 remind me of the Clutter massacre. Much like in the Clutter massacre, no one saw the murderers come or go. Neither was any motive clear. The only difference and a big one, was that Aarushi’s parents were in the house during the murder, oblivious to their daughter and household help being slaughtered a few feet away from their bedroom. The murderers – since the Talwars claim they didn’t do it – also drew the line at murdering just Hemraj and Aarushi and did not even accost the two other inhabitants in the house, let alone try to murder them.

While the strangeness of the murders without motive or absence of murderers remind me of the Clutters’ murder, Avirook Sen’s Aarushi reminds me of In Cold Blood in many ways. Sen – as diligently as Capote – followed the double murders for the last three years, reporting on the case copiously for Mumbai Mirror. Mirror being one of the few newspapers which carried detailed and non-dramatic news reports of the crime. His book is a gripping read – I finished it in one sitting. For it, Sen has interviewed the CBI investigators in charge, the Ghaziabad police who were first investigating the case, other forensic scientists and lawyers – and most importantly, the Talwars who he managed to meet and speak to on many occasions.

The book is scathing – of the media, the CBI, police and our legal system, which can bankrupt the best of us. Yet, this is far from an “objective” narration of events. For some reason, Avirook Sen from the word go of this novel has an unexplained belief in the Talwars’ innocence, which totally detracts from the narration.

His objective voice vanishes every time he mentions the Talwars. For example, he justifiably rips the CBI’s final statements which contradict its earlier findings on Hemraj’s blood found on a pillowcase in Krishna’s room. He criticises how during the trial, the pillowcase is suddenly shown to never have been found in Krishna’s room. But his scathing intolerance for such back-and-forth and shifting evidence is missing when he glosses over Nupur Talwar changing her crucial statement about where her daughter’s room key was on the night of the murder – at the last moment.

On page 205, he mentions “In their 2011 protest petition filed in response to the closure report, the Talwars had said the keys (to Aarushi’s room which was locked from outside by the Talwars) were kept in the bedroom ( of the Talwars) that night, as they usually were. The policeman Mahesh Mishra had confirmed that they had said this in the trial court. To the judge, (during the 313 counter-questioning done by judge Shyam Lal in 2013), Nupur said that she had used the key to enter the room at 11pm…Nupur told the judge she may have inadvertently left the key in the keyhole as she returned to her bedroom.

She had obviously changed the Talwar’s stand: they had initially said the keys were in their bedroom; at the trial Nupur Talwar claimed she may have left them in the door after she returned to her bedroom. That they could not remember this worked heavily against them.

As it should. Because by saying so five years after the crime, Nupur Talwar had effectively stated how murderers other than her and her husband may have gained access to their daughter’s bedroom. Which wasn’t explicable till now. But Sen, who is unrelenting in taking apart any yo-yoing on the part of any other witnesses or investigators, mentions this just once and without comment. In another instance, he holds up the servants’ testimony during narco-analysis as fool-proof evidence of a confession. Yet, he then says that anything said under narco-analysis can’t be taken as accurate and could just be the imaginings of the person’s mind, when he talks of Nupur Talwar admitting to an affair with her friend Ajay Chadha during her narco questioning. By that logic, even the servants may have been thinking sub-consciously of how they’d committed the crime even though they hadn’t really killed either Hemraj or Aarushi – which found expression under nacro-analysis.

Much like Capote, even Sen describes Nupur and Rajesh Talwar’s entry into court with awe and sympathy. Commenting on how calm and collected Nupur Talwar was, commanding respect from everyone, how the policemen seemed to be making way for her. How Rajesh Talwar gave him his prison diary to read – which has entries of remorse about his daughter’s death.

Such sympathy or empathy is not shown for either the servants who were accused – none of whom or their families are interviewed or spoken to, or their former employers. Also, while the CBI and police’s botching up of the investigation and collection of evidence is criticised – as it should be – there is an unquestioning acceptance of any follies on the Talwars’ part. Let’s keep in mind that these are two doctors, Nupur’s father is a retired Air Force Group Captain. Both professions known for calm deductive thinking and discipline. On one hand we are told the Talwars were calm and composed – something I understand, because often when a calamity strikes, you don’t have time for tears and emotion. On the other, we are told that they were so traumatised that they did not realise that evidence was being cleared up by people when Aarushi’s room and the house were being washed. It is shocking when you think that her mattress and bedsheet were shifted from the room and put to dry on the terrace. Even if you’re in shock at the fact that your daughter has been murdered in the next room to yours, how can you not realise that this will damage whatever traces of DNA and fingerprints and other forensic clues that may be there? In fact, wouldn’t you be even more careful that you ensure that you take every step to not hamper investigations so that your daughter’s murderer can be caught as soon as possible?

There is also no questioning of why the terrace door was simply not broken open by them and their families when blood stains were spotted near the terrace. Rajesh Talwar is reported to have simply said that the keys weren’t there and the terrace was never opened and ignored it. What if the murderer was hiding on the terrace? As a result, over a day was wasted in looking for Hemraj – whose dead body was putrefying in the May sun on the terrace all the while.

An article in Fountain Ink details the discrepancies and the missing facts, and is worth a read. Also, the fact that Hemraj went and met social activist Usha Thakur and claimed that Rajesh Talwar had said he would kill him just a few days before the murders took place, is simply mentioned as an aside. Isn’t it fair to ask why Hemraj would say this? Usha Thakur is not some random activist looking for her moment in the sun. She is the same person who fought for getting justice for the Nithari victims and is known for coming up against the Ghaziabad police, so is definitely not on their pay.

There are many unexplained gaps. Sen takes some testimonies at face value, while questioning others, for no reason which I could understand other than that he believes the Talwars’ word. And there is nothing wrong with that, but it gets in the way of his otherwise extremely detailed narration of events.

There are always two sides to a story. And while the Talwars’ version is worth listening to – especially if they have been wrongfully convicted, it is as important to listen to the versions of the servants who are being implicated over here based on as little evidence. It is also necessary for all of us who have been following this double murder trial to have all facts in front of us before we pass judgment. Cherry-picking of some facts and interviews over others is unfair. And everyone, including the police, CBI, courts, witnesses, other suspects and the Talwars must be viewed with the same objectivity and pinch of salt. But that is not the case.

Without a doubt, this book is a brilliant retelling of many facets of this investigation and double murder. In today’s media universe, it is so heartening to see a journalist follow a story with such rigour and over so many years. But an objective retelling of incidents this is not. The best of us fall victim to our biases and sympathies, which ultimately end up colouring our opinions. Capote it seems, lives on in yet another non-fiction novel about mysterious murders – in more ways than one.