Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

After that they shouted at each other. How dare you. You took him out there. Unprofessional. Irresponsible. Inadequate supervision. All on camera.

The clip went viral.

The logic of the story demanded something new. A twist. LISA MATHARU SHOWS HER TRUE COLORS!!! Never rise to the bait, said Price. You might think it’s intrusive, but you got to make it work for you. You got to keep bringing it back to your agenda.

Someone’s kidnapped our son, she reminded him. He’s not an agenda, he’s our son.

Blowing out candles. By a swimming pool. Swinging on a swing.

There was something sinister about it. About what they were doing to him. They were making him a little saint. Every day he became less real. Her suspicion grew that it was only her own effort of will that was keeping him alive. She was the anchor stopping him from drifting across the border into death. That was when she stopped speaking. No one was really listening to her anyway. She focused on trying to remember what he was actually like, particularly in the bad times, two, three hours into a tantrum, when she hadn’t slept and his animal screaming began to sound like the cawing of a crow. The times she’d change his diaper, wondering if he’d still be shitting his pants at ten, at fourteen.

well I hope so, and whoever did this shd be brought to justice. I still don t believe it was Jaz — as for Lisa, I dont trust them. Also Lisa had said that Raj was impossible. Btw did u read anything about Raj having learning difficulities/asperger s syndrome. In the photo of him holding the tennis balls he looks def asperger

NickyLUVLUVLUV if you love Nicky C and see all these comments saying crap like “he took that kid” he is evil a vampire etc. u need to fight back he is an amazing artist and these ppl are pathetic with nothing better in thr life. They never give reason for their sick suspicious cuz they know nothing about music. Labels are misleading

You believe that Raj is autistic, when I believe it’s another Vatican Bullshit to make it look like children get their father’s and grandfather’s diseases, as in their sins are passed on down to their children to the 9th generation, but really, the sins of the father’s is autism, which is a child born of incest from father to daughter, cystic fibrosis is brother and sister, these are the sin’s of the father’s!

If you’re so delusional, you’d probably kill anyone that speaks up of the fakery of the Matharu’s, and cover it up like the Matharu’s covered up Raj’s murder! You should be ashamed of yourself!!!!!!!

One day teh bitch will be in PRISON where she is belongs, killing her ownly child and buried the body in the dessert helped by drug addicts

Take a picture of Raj’s eye, put it in photoshop, take out the color and you get the Black Sun, known as Sonnenrad SUN WHEEL, the image taken from Raj’s retinal scan image in his medical records

This couple are frauds and their campaign to find dear Raj is also a fraud. They’re trying to portray the FBI as incompetent to cover up their blood guilt. If you don’t expose them, or get them to expose themselves, they’ll hide until the time come’s when there truth is for all to see

I don’t think they will, the only thing that will reveal the truth about Raj RITUAL SATANIST MURDER is when there is evidence against them, then they’ll try to hide out on some distent island somehwere with all the money they’ve scammed off the public till they die from their greed

How they hated her.

A month passed. She felt trapped in Riverside. She felt trapped by the hotel. By the shiny curtains and the smell of the carpets and the voice of the Asian man who answered the phone when you called room service. Jaz asked, gently, if she wanted to go home. Maybe it would be easier. Not without Raj, she told him. He didn’t push. Several times he flew back to New York. There was some situation at work, but he didn’t want to talk about it. She watched TV and took her pills and waited for the police to call, but they came up with nothing, no leads, no credible sightings. They’d been over the sequence of events again and again, and neither she nor Jaz could remember anything useful. Jaz found some site on the Net and talked it over with Price and her dad, some conference between men to which she wasn’t invited, and one overcast morning they were driven to Pasadena, to a suite of treatment rooms above a Whole Foods where a shaven-headed guy with a ski tan and a lemon-yellow polo shirt spoke for ten minutes about what he called forensic investigative memory-enhancement techniques — a speech that sounded like it had been delivered many times, usually with a PowerPoint presentation. Lisa stared at a collection of cycling trophies that occupied a shelf behind his desk. When he twirled shut the venetian blinds and asked her to sit back on a lounger and breathe regularly, she thought he was going to ask her to focus on one of the shiny metal figures, but he didn’t. Nor did he use a pocket watch, or ask her to look into his eyes, but spoke in a soft lulling voice, about beaches and relaxation and her body being heavy, putting the moves, putting the moves.… After half an hour of free association and word games, she couldn’t remember anything useful, and he showed her out to the waiting room, where she took a seat and flicked through six-month-old fashion magazines without seeing the pictures, or anything very much at all, just listening to the quick tiny sound of the pages turning over, liking it for its repetitiousness, its predictability. This is what happens when you turn a magazine page . The place was warm and quiet and the receptionist didn’t stare or make sympathetic faces, just ignored her and took calls and typed on her keyboard. She felt peaceful sitting there on the couch next to the rubber plant, peaceful for the first time in weeks, and, since she was without expectation, free of any thought or stimulus but the swish-swish of turning pages, it was jarring when Jaz and the hypnotherapist came out of the treatment room with their phones in their hands, gesturing and talking excitedly. When Jaz hugged her, she couldn’t understand what it signified, thinking that through some scientific voodoo they now knew where Raj was. She grinned and hugged him back and when he told her what he’d remembered, it seemed so small and pathetic that she pushed him away. A second car. There’d been a second car parked beside theirs, which hadn’t been there when they started walking up the path to the rocks. Under hypnosis Jaz had remembered looking back and seeing the car roof, a square of glinting metal that he thought was white or silver — a light color certainly — and somehow this absurdly small thing was enough to infuse him with hope and fill his eyes with tears.

It was a twist for Price, and the media were given the new tidbit, and the public was asked again if it had any information and the police liaison assured Lisa that in some office somewhere trained people were looking through hours of CCTV footage from toll booths and gas stations. Of course, it came to nothing. The following week they were right back where they’d been before.