Hema Upadhyay’s Last Rites and the Media’s Insensitive Frenzy

‘I felt uneasy when I looked at her covered face. The woman, that renowned artist, had been in the coffin twice.’

Artist Hema Upadhyay was found dead in a drain in Mumbai’s Kandivali. (Photo: Anne Maniglier)

Draped in a crimson-red chunari meant for a Hindu wife, Hema Upadhyay’s body was carried out of the ambulance. You couldn’t see her face. You had no way of knowing if she had been at peace in her final moments. Her face was covered with a white sheet, her whole body was, probably, wrapped the same way her killers had wrapped it before abandoning her in a Mumbai drain. I felt uneasy when I looked at her covered face. The woman, that renowned artist, had been in a coffin twice.

Media persons had been waiting inside the Hindu Smashan Bhumi at Juhu, where Hema was brought in at around 5:00 pm. Journalists immediately became alert. Camerapersons climbed onto granite elevations inside the crematorium to get better shots. All cameras rushed to capture her; every lens framed her garlanded casket. She, however, remained the coveted muse only until Chintan Upadhyay, her ex-husband walked into the crematorium. He was the man of the hour, reports of his possible involvement in the case had already started to titillate our most voyeuristic fantasies.

I was still looking at Hema being placed on wooden logs when a few loud murmurs attracted my attention. I turned around to see where they were coming from, and there they were – armed with discourteous cameras. Dressed in a grey shirt and black denims, Chintan walked inside the crematorium, and journalists hurriedly matched his steps. “Aapne unse last kab baat ki thi?” “Aapko kuch kehna hai?” “Aapko kaisa lag raha hai?” The questions rang one after the other. The microphones of various news channels jostled for his attention while the cameras relentlessly followed his every movement. Here was a man who had come to be with his murdered ex-wife in her final journey, and yet somehow, his purpose wasn’t as big as the media’s. At least, it didn’t appear to be. I wondered if our readers or viewers would still enjoy this content if they knew it cost a mourning man his peace.

Here was a man who had come to be with his murdered ex-wife during her final journey, and yet, his purpose, somehow, wasn’t as big as the media’s. At least, it didn’t appear to be.

Who Decides Where the Media Should Draw the Line?

Media persons clicking pictures of Hema’s funeral at the Hindu Smashan Bhumi, Juhu on Monday evening. (Photo: Puja Changoiwala)

As Chintan climbed the two steps that led him to the funeral pyre, a television journalist started recording a piece to camera with him in the background. When he burst into sobs after seeing his ex-wife’s body, camerapersons rushed closer to him to capture their dream moment. As Chintan wept silently, hugging his father, standing with his palms closed in a prayer, his eyes glued towards his estranged wife, the cameras seemed to be going berserk. I wished someone would ask the purposeful men of my fraternity to step away from Hema and her ex-husband, to allow the family its right and space to grieve, but no one did.

After journalists were satisfied that they had enough pictures of the man, they stepped away from the area that held the pyre, to the ground below. Several of them left for their homes or offices, without the courtesy of seeing the funeral through to its completion, apathetic to the slain woman. As the priest completed the final rituals, replacing her garlands with sprinkled ghee, a man walked around the crowd, offering sandalwood sticks. A journalist standing next to me, after taking a stick, chuckled, probably amused at the thought of having anything more to do with the funeral than insensitive reporting. “What the hell is this for?” she asked me. I did not reply, too agitated with her laughter.

Moments later, the sticks were dipped in ghee and placed all over Hema’s body. More wooden logs were brought to cover her, and soon, the men of her family set the jute ropes kept under her pyre ablaze. And not so ironically, they threw newspapers into the blaze, the perfect fuel to fire.

(Puja Changoiwala has worked as a crime reporter with the Hindustan Times in Mumbai, and has recently finished a non-fiction book on a true crime story from the city, to be published by Hachette India next year.)