It's A Crime To Read

Amorphous logs of a burnt pyre, the screeching void of a missing person, the ache of an unanswered question—silences form the unyielding bones of the stories essayed in Desi Crime: 20 True Stories of Killers, Kidnappers and Other Sinister Criminals. Podcast duo Aryaan Misra and Aishwarya Singh, creators of acclaimed “The Desi Crime Podcast”, co-author this book of twenty true crime cases from South Asia. “It’s devastating every time a victim’s mother thanks us,” Misra writes in his introductory note, preparing readers for tales ridden with misery and mayhem.

During our virtual chat, I begin with the obvious—why a book, when the podcast is already thriving? “The fundamental part of being a good storyteller is the story and the telling,” Misra reasons. “And the story comes from the writing,” his voice edged with conviction.

Desi Crime: 20 True Stories of Killers, Kidnappers and Other Sinister Criminals

“The Desi Crime Podcast” was born five years ago in a dorm room at Alma College, Michigan, when Misra asked his true crime–fanatic friend Singh, “Why don’t you listen to any Indian true crime podcasts?” The realisation was sudden. There were none. So the duo created one. “The name [Desi Crime] allowed us to cover stories beyond India,” Misra writes.

Over the years, their research, narration and the charisma of their voices have garnered the podcast a devoted listenership and #1 rankings on Amazon and Spotify. In an age of shrinking attention spans, translating that success into print feels almost contrarian, but Singh explains: “Reading as a medium does something YouTube or podcasts cannot—your imagination fills in the gaps. What your mind creates while reading, no screen or audio can reproduce,” Singh adds.

Between them, the case for the book is clear: it isn’t an extension of their podcast so much as a reclamation of storytelling itself, an insistence that the written word still has the power to unsettle, to move, to endure.

Desi Crime chronicles some of the most iconic South Asian crime cases—from Sneha Philip’s unresolved disappearance amid 9/11, to Jolly Joseph’s infamous ‘curry and cyanide’ murders, to the vanishing of Vishal Mehrotra during Princess Diana’s fairytale wedding with the then-Prince Charles. While many of these may not be foreign to true-crime fanatics, Singh and Misra’s retelling peels back headlines to reveal overlooked details, cultural nuances and haunting silences that linger long after justice—if it ever came—was served. The book features 20 cases—18 adapted from their podcast and two exclusive—built on rigorous research drawn from public records, verified news reports, books, academic work and interviews with authors. Whenever possible, they reach out to primary sources too. “While covering the Uphaar Cinema fire case, we visited the site and spoke to a victim’s mother,” Misra recalls. The book, an outcome of the podcast, upholds the same meticulous research standards.

In a genre often criticised for exploiting tragedy, empathy becomes paramount. How do you honour real grief while creating a compelling narrative? “Our scripts were always written in an emotionally intelligent manner, so it was easy to translate the same to the book,” Misra says.

The result is prose that feels deliberately restrained—simple, direct, refusing to sensationalise. “Sensationalising is sometimes in the eyes of the beholder. It can mean exaggerating facts for clicks, which I despise, or sharing shocking facts in a way to make people grasp the gravity of a crime,” Misra explains. Singh recalls the infamous Times of India headline ‘No One Killed Jessica’ after the 2006 acquittal in the Jessica Lal murder case—Lal, a model, was shot dead at a New Delhi nightclub in plain view of dozens of witnesses—capturing the absurdity of a verdict that initially let powerful perpetrators walk free. "This headline became the cornerstone of that case; it made people question what really happened, and decades later it still sticks,” she says.

But if empathy has the power to shape how stories endure, who gets to embody it? Too often it’s credited to women while men are stereotypically seen as detached beings when telling stories. When asked about the place of empathy in his storytelling, Misra resists being boxed in. “Sometimes you need anger, sometimes authority, sometimes empathy. Human beings are equal parts of all those emotions, and none of them is inherently wrong.” Singh, however, points out that it is precisely Misra’s willingness to cross into emotional registers often denied to men that makes his voice distinct. “His ability to empathise with the female experience, despite not having lived it, is immense. It really comes through in the way he tells stories about female victims,” she says.

The book is a compelling read—I read it in just three days, though each story deserves to be savoured unhurriedly. What sets it apart is Misra and Singh’s commentary, each aside clearly attributed by name. “We mirrored this style from podcasting books in the West,” Misra shares. While fans of the podcast may welcome the familiarity, the asides risk unsettling readers who prefer an uninterrupted flow. It’s a gamble the duo is eager to test on Indian audiences. The authors have also taken liberties with chronology for effect. However, I particularly appreciated that the stories aren’t reduced to whodunits. Take the chapter ‘Not-So-Jolly Joseph’—where a Kerala woman was accused of murdering six family members over 14 years with cyanide—the perpetrator’s identity is revealed upfront, shifting the focus from solving the crime to unravelling the motives, manipulations and cultural undercurrents that shaped it.

The book, in many ways, is both an outgrowth of their fondness for writing and their obsession with the genre. “It does feel like a personal achievement too,” says the twenty-something duo, whose shared passion for storytelling carried them from university debating into the world of true crime podcasting. Credit where it’s due: Singh’s habit of falling asleep to Western true crime podcasts certainly helped.

But creating content about humanity’s worst impulses inevitably leaves its marks. “There are songs I can’t listen to anymore without thinking of victims’ faces,” Singh admits. “That’s the emotional imprint true crime leaves.”

Yet what sustains the duo is a simple conviction: that people are, at their core, good—and that society is always inching toward something better. “For every honour killing, there is a hero fighting. For every injustice that’s done in India, there are torchbearers of justice trying their best. For every atrocity, there are tens of thousands of people who come out on the streets to fight against it. And in that, there is a sliver of hope and happiness,” Misra leaves me ruminating. I didn’t expect to come out from an interview about true crime feeling hopeful.