A woman nearly my father’s age today on the day of her death, ceased to be the bubbly 25-year-old that she was in 1973 — almost the age I was while reporting on her euthanasia case in 2011.
Throughout her life ever since after the brutal attack on her, she remained a lifeless bundle— technically alive but unable to register or respond to anything in a manner that the rest of us call ‘normal’. That is why her departure comes back to haunt me in more ways than one — there was the Aruna I saw through the reportage, another that I saw projected in a play that first introduced me to her story in my teens.
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