The Return to Asthamay

The Return to Asthamay

The Real Asthamay Beach Resort, www.asthamay.com

Dear Friends and All,

This is the tale of the end of my nightmare in Varkala. 

It started in 2001 as my dream, it became a dreadful story that lasted over 2 years; it ended on March 24, 2012.  The last scene was the Evil Bhats moving out of Asthamay and my return to my own house.  It sounds straight forward, almost a logical conclusion for my story, but to get there was arduous and, at times, it seemed almost impossible to achieve.  It felt like a video game, where the obstacles pop-up suddenly and danger is lurking at every step.

I could not have done it without the guidance and help of my friends, whom I want to thank. First of all, my friend Nasa and his family and associates, who have been next to me and also ahead of me, but always on my side and dedicated to my cause. And all my friends that have supported me in many tangible ways from various parts of the world, even the strangers that expressed their sympathy and virtual support.

Yes, this became a cause for me, an important battle of principles and a commitment to which I dedicated my time and energy for over 2 years. The battle against the Bhats acquired significance beyond the mere monetary value, the deception and broken promises, or the scam he and his family setup to trap me. The more Bala lied and used this corrupt system to sustain his schemes, the more I strengthen my resolve to pursue him. 

Some people saw my cause as an opportunity to acquire their 15 minutes of fame, and their names in the newspapers and the television news.

It will take some time to forget about the court, the Indian legal system and those lawyers, the corruption of the police and the politicians, the shameless lies of Balakrishna Bhat and his family, and the demented cruel things that they did to me, but I am working on it.

Nowadays the Bhats have retreated in their Konkani hang out in Fort Cochin.  They lost the prize, but in this country it is important to save face, therefore I am not surprised by the lies and misinformation that Balakrishna Bhat will need to spreading around (how could he stop now?).

I am not happy about the fact that the Evil Bhats stole all my things when they quit Asthamay. They took appliances, furniture, sheets, chairs, even the close line, the whole shebang.  This just confirms their nature, their mindset and their intentions.

Now that this chapter is closed, I am facing the next big challenge: “What to do after”.  I have some plans and there are few pending items to be resolved.

I have started with fixing the garden, overgrown and un-kept. I sit under the shade of the palm tree and now I remember how much I loved this place. It is so beautiful and peaceful, now that they are gone and the traces of their presence are fading away. I look at the sea and enjoy the breeze, and I recognize that feeling I had when I decided to buy this place and to live here, way back in 2003.

I have received lots of congratulations from local people, friends, strangers that read my story online and followed it. I have also been approached by foreigners that have been cheated by the many Balakrishna Bhat of the world and they saw there is hope for the resolution of their own problems. I hope my success can give some comfort that “it can be done”, even in India, even in Varkala, Kerala.

Yes, it is tough here, especially being a woman alone, a foreigner and a strong personality, but now I have made some good friends, honest local people that see me for who I am and not as a bank account to dip into.

I remember what my mother told me when this nightmare started: “Cecilia, you are strong, these people have no idea what they are up against. Go get them! ”.

Yes, mamma, I did. 

In conclusion, I have a lot of work to do.   Thank you All and let’s keep in touch.

Love, Cecilia

The End of the Comment box - sorry

Hello again.


I have a bit of a problem and I am going to try to resolve it as best as I can. 


After my last posting 2 days ago, a woman called Tracy has been making comments on my blog. She is arrogant, unpleasant, knows-it-all, unkind and she even invoked KARMA in her ranting. I have no idea why she has a problem with me, since I have never met her in person. I asked her to stop and stay away from me, but she has not stopped. It is not easy to block people from accessing Google’s blog. So I will write this and eliminate the comment box all together.


Unfortunately I have seen many tourists like her in my guest house in Varkala. Tourists that come to India and after a few visits think they know all about India. Yes, I know she stayed at my resort, Bala told me she was obnoxious, and certainly I did not want to meet a person like that.  I did not care then and certainly I do not care to read her tirades now.


Yes, we are all different people and by publishing a blog I exposed myself to all sorts of people, the Tracy's of the world included. She told me she's from the Bay Area, a place known for tolerance, sense of humor, good hearted people.. and also for eccentricity. 


I know that because I am from San Francisco. 


Ciao

Update - April 23, 2011

Hello.

It has been a while since I updated my blog. Not that I had nothing to say, on the contrary. I needed to take distance from this part of my life.

I also read the comments that people made and i would like to reply. I am currently writing about my seven plus years experience in Kerala and this time the focus will be on the stories of other people, other women, as they have told me. It will be about love lost, found and elusive.

Update

The simple update is that the case goes on in the Indian courts. More details of the fraud have been reveled and brought in front of the court. Will it matter? will justice prevail? this is difficult to say because this is India, and justice here operates in mysterious ways. I also want to make clear that the endemic corruption of the Indian system of life has played a great part in my story. Bala, his family and the whole society use corruption as a effective tool for obtaining all they want, regardless of the personal merits and often in spite of the law.

So from the legal standpoint, my battle goes on. I will see it through. 

To the reader that made the comment that she stayed at Asthamay and it was paradise... I would like to say that I understand her feelings. The beauty of the place moved me when I first saw it. I felt sure that I wanted to spend my life there, in paradise. This should give you the understanding of the depth of my anger, my pain at what Bala and his family did to me.

Greed is what motivated Bala to take what is rightfully mine and the methods he used are disgraceful. 

And Asthamay could not have been a paradise if it wasn't for me. Bala never cared for tourists, gardens, nice and cozy rooms, he just wanted money and used me to get there.

During this last season I went often to my room and I saw Asthamay's guests enjoying my garden. So many times I wanted to talk to them and help them see the truth behind Bala, his sister-in-law and the rest of the lot. 

But ... how do you tell someone that is on holiday and thinks they have discovered paradise that under the surface everything is decayed dirty and false. No chance, they would not have believe me. I have seen what Bala does to swoon tourists.

Additionally, Bala threatened me to have his sister-in-law smash my head if I'd go inside my kitchen. Therefore, i sat in my room and just watched outside. 

I saw the sheets and pillow cases that I stitched, the tables that I painted, the plates and the rest of the things that I selected being handled by the Bhats without any understanding of what those items mean. Bala's  sister-in-law (the public face of the family) has no appreciation for white curtains and handmade sheets, she never used them in her life, it is not her culture. That is my culture, that is my garden, I planted each of those plants. Will some tourist that is looking for romance understand that? I don't believe so. 

Yet, I am glad that someone noticed my windows shut. 

And I saw the posting on India Mike:  

http://www.indiamike.com/india/kerala-f39/problems-at-asthamay-in-varkala-t121751/new-post/

and the related comments. It seems that one of those is Bala's friend. I think I know who that person is... how sad that they never understood anything about the reality of Bala and Asthamay. But then again, they are tourists, they only see what they want to see.

I will be very happy to continue my updates as things develop.

Thanks for reading and for your comments.  

Is that a light at the end of the tunnel?

Hello, I am back.

I have been busy with a friend visiting and with planning my... present.

All is going well, better than it has been. As it already happened a few times in my life, I think I had a lucky break. I feel my wheel is turning in the right direction and I am looking forward to peace and justice.

Yes, I had many ups and downs before.

I was glad and relieved when Bala did not get anticipatory bail neither from the Trivandrum court nor the High Court in Ernakulam, but – little did I know about the Indian legal system – he was granted regular bail by the judge right here, in the Varkala court. And after that he was free to harass me and threaten my friends.

Then there is Hasbullah Khan, Asthamay’s night watchman. For all the years that he worked there he always said I was his sister, a beloved sister. He was outraged when Bala climbed the wall and broke into my room with a hammer in his hand. Surely Hasbee did not do anything to stop him, but he explained all to the police when they escorted me back to the house and he was very concerned about my safety.

At least I thought so. Now Hasbee works for Bala; the power of money is great. When I go to my room at Asthamay, he looks at me without shame. I am ashamed for him.

It seems that Bala has been able to buy many people that used to be my friends around here. This is hurtful and sobering at the same time. I have started to doubt of everyone around.  

But there are the bright spots. Juni and her family and sisters, my neighbors at Kallazhy, have been my good friends. Juni wants to feed me all the time and I enjoy her delicious food: rice, pappadam, great cheera thoren and all these wonderful Kerala delicacies.  Mani, the cleaning lady, goes shopping with me to the market on the back of my scooter and we both enjoy people’s stares.  

I had to fight so much on my own against Bala and his agents (I include the local police in the group of people that acted on Bala’s behalf), and a system unfamiliar to me, a difficult foreign language, to realize that our cultural gap is so deep, almost impossible to bridge. Definitely, everything is bigger than I am.

My great disadvantage has been not to have someone here to trust, a person of male gender and, possibly, of a very well connected family. After 6 years in Kerala, I understand a little bit of how the system works here. Though it is hard for me to admit it, I can see that my means alone are not sufficient.

I am very determined, but here this could be considered a threatening trait for a woman. Women are members of a family. A woman of my age living independently and, like they say here, unmarried, it is simply not done.  Moreover, like they say here, with no issues, no children. Yet, there are powerful women, for example, Soniaji – a truly admirable woman of Italian origin, like me…yes.  

Kerala is a very conservative state when it comes to morals and traditions, never mind the politics, the scandals and the mafia, that is another side of the story. 

I think I might have confused people, at least before they got to know me.

I should have learned to be patient and wait, but I did not. The fact that I had

to look after myself made me even more insistent on asking questions, which is also considerate not a nice trait. And, in spite of it all, I am still a positive thinker, or I should say it clearly: I am still an idealist.   Ya. 

The combination of idealism and passion I put in what I do has given me tremendous life energy, sometimes explosive but very vital and necessary at this point in my life.  A few times, my temperament has landed me in trouble here, but most of the times it has created a positive response. People started to call me pavam, a term of endearment (in English ca be translated as dear, poor baby, a good person suffering a bad time) and before I was madama, a saipe (a foreigner), and before that I have also been called the less gentle term vellakari, (white skin).    

All my passionate determination has done something good for me, at last.  I have met some people that heard of my story and are trying to sort it out. I have learned to be cautious and I will be, but I also feel that I have finally a support. It feels good not to have to worry about everything on my own.

And now I want to give thanks

It is time to take a break. 

I want to tell another side of my story, one rich with human values are warmth. I want to give thanks to people that have been close to me through these hard times.

Some are local people, some foreign residents, some are family members, and friends of Asthamay. It feels right at this time to acknowledge them as my good friends, without whose affection I could have not been as strong as I needed to be and to live through my nightmare.

There is one special person that has stuck with me from the beginning, with unconditional loyalty: Shiney.

Shiney and I on our way to Kollam for shopping

“Ende Kuttari”, We are friends, this is what Shiney says to people. And we really are good friends.

Shiney is very popular in Odayam and surroundings. He goes to every wedding, every temple festival. There is no party occasion that Shiney could possibly miss, and he has a mental calendar of all the festival dates. He plans in advance and tells everyone when and where the next festival will be.

He is also popular with many tourists, especially my friends, who got to know him and appreciate him. Shiney remembers everyone he meets and asks about them incessantly: “Dominik villiccha?”, Did Dominik call? He asks about all his favorite people, and his routine questions are: have they call me, when are they coming, are they ok, where are they now.  

Shiney calls me on my mobile. He does not have a mobile of his own, so he goes to people with phones (preferably my friends) and asks them to call me, so he can talk to me. And they do call me because he is very insistent and because it is such a pleasure to see him happy. He has the most contagious laugh and when he smiles he squints so much that his eyes disappear.

Mr. Shiney and his famous smile

 He radiates happiness when he talks to me, or Kichu or Mohammad, three of his favorite people in the world.

Shiney in the kitchen if Asthamay with Mohammad and Kichu

Shiney has a great personality in a small body. When Bala locked me out of the house Shiney sat with me on the door steps at Asthamay until night, until the moon came out in the sky. Bala tried to scare him away and threatened to call the police on him; Shiney smiled and did not move from my side. Since then he does not even walk by Asthamay and he completely ignores Bala and family.

Shiney had to put up with a lot of teasing in his life, it is hard to be “different” in a small fishing village; people make fun of him and they are often cruel. Not when I am around, not anymore, they all know that he has a good friend.

Mahommad, Cecilia, and Kichu in the back

Then there are Kichu and Mohammad,  workers at Asthamay. They took me to the hospital when I got the 5 stitches and stuck with me in spite of Bala's threats and insults. Mohammad was my security man, sleeping at Asthamay and making sure I was safe. He is now married and working in Saudi Arabia and I miss him very much. Kichu was the excellent cook of Asthamay for 6 years. Bala has been bullying him for years and still tries to hurt him.

Then there is my friend Irene. Her house in the backwaters is always open for me, and I feel great there, safe and in excellent company.

There are many others, the fishermen, my neighbors, the ladies of Kallazhi, Daniela of Punchirivilla, Manu and Sujatha of Johnny Cool's, Francis and Guy, who come here for 6 months every year, great French gentlemen. All my friends in San Francisco and in Italy, who have been worried about me, gave me good advice and kept in touch.

I care about all of them and I know they care about me.  Thank you.

Bala's Shtick

Trying to feel safe and enjoy the basic freedom that we are accustomed to expect in a western country has become everyday more difficult. Bala is increasingly more hostile and violent at times: threats, shouts and taunting are only the public tactics that Bala is employing. As he reminds me every time I go to Asthamay, he is working on my deportation; he tells me that I am finished. Hence, he is doing what people do here: paying off the police to target their enemies for harassment. 

To put Bala is a true perspective; I need to mention a few other things about him.

Bala’s shtick.

Bala is a performer. He has been around foreign tourists long enough to have a well planned a routine that he uses to convince them, to dispel their mistrust and win them over.

He is very convincing and he has prepared answers for many of the possible questions; in other words, he is very resourceful. Bala has the gift of gab; he can talk people to death. I remember his mother telling me that Bala talked even to the cows while cleaning the shed in the back of his house in Fort Cochin.

Bala likes to fascinate foreigners, especially women, by making elaborate references to the Hindu classics, he tells stories from the Mahabharata. To his credit, he practiced telling these stories to foreigners enough times that he has knows how to adapt them, for those of short attention spans. As he spins his web, he is fully aware of how exotic it sounds to westerners to have these stories told by an Indian. By the time he explains to them he is a Brahmin (“I am a born priest”, he says), a pujari - someone that performs pujas in the temple - most listeners think of him as a holy person, on higher ground than most. They are especially impressed by the priest part of the story. In India the pujaris can be as bad as anyone else (like the Catholic priests). For many of them to be a pujari is a job, a profession handed down by birth. The family gets food and other benefits from the temple, the pujari gets a salary, and there are special pujas, donations, many opportunities. Pujaris have to marry and have children, they can drink, smoke, lend money for high interest, prey on foreigners, have sex with prostitutes, lie to the court, in other words just be themselves (like the Catholic priests, but here it is not a scandal).

When Bala is ready to go for the kill, he tells them that, thanks to his trips to Europe, he appreciates and cherishes cleanliness, good roads, people that do their job, lack of chaos, order, and opportunities. At this point the foreigners are ready to trust him. I have not seen the same result with local people or other Indians, they are harder to swoon, they have seen it all before, and do not take his bullshit.

More Real Estate Opportunities

In 2006 Bala asked me to purchase with him a property near Asthamay. He said it was a great deal, but it was already clear to me that I did not want to be involved with him in any more deals. But, unfortunately, I found a buyer for him: a friend, a person of Indian origin who was interested in investing some money in the booming tourist area near Varkala. Bala and my friend talked and agreed on a partnership. My friend paid the money Bala asked, and then Bala registered the property in his own name only. He did it again.  This makes him a repeated offender.

Bala never worked hard for the money. He prefers using other people’s money to build his own little empire. 

In this last year many people told me their bad stories about Bala. Sure, he is an outsider in Odayam, a predominantly Muslim community; but with his arrogance and all the money to spend, he has not been able to make one true friendship. For the same reasons he and his family are not popular in their own neighborhood in Fort Cochin either.

How does that say go?  In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king

A day in the Varkala court

It seems such a long time since this war has been going on. In almost a year time not much has changed as far my legal situation.  Indian justice is slow and, from what I can see, murky. I do not have experience in legal matters, never filed a lawsuit. What I thought was commonsense, here in India is not applicable.

Every one lies, the lawyers, the witnesses, everyone; although, one has to swear to say the truth when deposed in the court. Am I too naïf to expect the truth? Probably, yes, but I have never seen so many liars in the same room.

The Varkala First Class Magistrate Court is a moldy building at the edge of a coconut grove. Near by there are no restaurants, no drinking water (the only available water is reserved for the lawyers inside their Bar Association tiny Room). In front of the building there are two glorious frangipane trees, old and knotted, and the ground beneath them is carpeted with the most beautiful perfumed white flowers. These two trees are the best thing of the court house. The courtroom is the size of a medium classroom, with wooden benches for the lawyers, a cement podium for the witnesses and the judge’s desk, on a higher ground. The ceiling fans agitate the long ancient black nets of spider webs. The public is confined to the west side of the court, on a porch furnished with cement and wooden benches.  

  

The crowd of spectators, supporters, witnesses, aggrieved people and criminals includes small children, infants, police officers, and handcuffed prisoners. Everyone pushes towards the only one door of the courtroom, to watch and hear.

It is really hard to know what is going on inside the court. Obviously, the court’s language is Malayalam, but occasionally, and especially in my case, they use a mix of English and Malayalam. The first thing that happens when the court is in session is a roll call; the clerk reads the case numbers scheduled for the day. Mine is CC 60/2010, and I recognize it immediately when called in Malayalam. When the number is called I have to approach the door, to show that judge that I am present. Since Bala was granted bail by the Varkala court, he is also present at the hearings. He stares at me with an intense look of anger, or he smiles, or makes funny faces like something is eating him.

The witnesses go up to the podium to answer questions and there is no recorder, the judge writes everything down, in Malayalam, I presume. Therefore one has to speak slowly to allow the judge the time to write everything, questions and answers. There are pieces of paper everywhere; frail bundles of dusty papers stacked at the feet of the bench, or loose on the floor.

Sometimes there are more lawyers than public. They wear long black flowing coats, like the English barristers, with a starched or plastic white collar. The ladies lawyers wear the black coat over the traditional dress, such as saree or churidar (large pants and long chemise). Most of these black overcoats have turned grey after long years of practice. There is one special lawyer that I search for when I go to the court, just to make sure he is ok, still with us. He is a very small man, extremely thin, his sparse hair combed over. His overcoat is ripped at the seams, the hem is threadbare. He always wears the same flip flop sandals, and his pants barely cover the ankles. He clutches a bunch of papers and he wonders around like someone that has not had the courage to tell the family he no longer has a job to go to, yet he “goes to work” every morning. I have never heard him speaking in the court.

From the first hearing I have realized that anything goes here. This first impression has been confirmed in conversations with various local people that confirmed that it is not uncommon here that a lawyer cheats the client. They gave me many reasons for that: 

“Here, it is not like in your country, lawyers make little money. So they will try to get as much as possible by making compromise”, this is one of the reasons I heard to explain why opposing lawyers come to agreements at the expenses of their clients. A friend told me how he was cheated by a lawyer. The family needed to have a stay order placed on a construction project and they approached the lawyer, who was a relative. The lawyer took his fee from them, took what he said was the court fee to file the request and never file anything, just pocketed the money. This may be an extreme case, but it must be noted that he was a relative, imagine if he were just a lawyer!

During counter-interrogation a common technique is to attack the witnesses, give no time to think of the answer and attempt to intimidate the person questioned, especially of she is a woman. I have seen poor ladies bend their heads and cry.

Not me. Mine was the first testimony of the trial. The court room was full. Bala was present, carrying my 10 years old Jansport backpack (12 dollars at Costco) which he had recuperated from trash, after I got tired of owning it.

The procedure is that the opposing lawyer questions the written statements submitted by the aggrieved person, me. Bala’s lawyer is a thin short man with an impossible to understand enunciation, even in Malayalam, and, unfortunately, no knowledge of spoken English. This created a few light moments in the courtroom. For example:

Bala’s lawyer said:

 “The respondent said that you have never seen his house in Cochin and never met his parents”.

I spent 3 months in 2003 in Bala’s family home in Fort Cochin; I became quite famous in the neighborhood as the “saibin”, the white woman.

Bala’s lawyer continued:

 “The respondent said that the photos you presented to the court are morphed”.

And I replied:

“The respondent is a lair”.

Bala’s lawyer was taken aback:

“You say the respondent is a lawyer?”

I smiled, then:

“A lair, sir, not a lawyer, you are his lawyer, Bala is a liar, a kallan” , which means liar in Malayalam.

Everyone in the courtroom laughed, even the judge. The only serious face was Bala’s lawyer, who did not understand the different pronunciation of   lawyer, \ˈlȯ-yər, ˈlȯi-ər\ and a liar, \ˈlī(-ə)r\. 

When I left the courtroom that day, a few lawyers chitchatting outside the court smiled at me and one gave me the high five. They really enjoyed the joke.

But light moments are rare and it is very stressful to be in the court. No one here had ever seen a Madama - this is what the white women are called here – going to the court every time. In fact, thee have been numerous foreigners, especially women, cheated by local man like Bala, but no one has ever been taken to the court. I can see now how difficult it is, considering that Bala has paid off the whole Varkala Police Station for years, just in the eventuality that he would have needed their help. 

What does not kill you makes you stronger

My life has been a series of ups and downs for the last year. Any sense of relief or even a breather has not lasted long enough to enjoy it.

A few days after I regained entrance to my own room, I received a letter from the Foreigners Registration Office asking me to lave India in 15 days. At first I was shocked, and then I realized that Bala was behind this. The head of the Foreigners Registration Office told me that they had done an “intelligence” investigation that revealed that I was “conducting activities contrary to the spirit of my visa”. The intelligence investigation was in fact a letter sent to the police by Bala.

I met with the officer in charge and he had no problems letting me know that Bala was behind the new developments. He felt sorry for me, he had no doubts that I have been cheated by Bala, but I had to go out of the country. He told me that I was welcome to come back and continue with the case after 2 months.

Bala’s intention has always been to have me deported out of the country. To this day Bala takes no responsibility for any of his actions, in fact he is surprised that people are support me. He has no local support, no friends in the community.

On August 2, 2010 I left for Italy. I was tired and disheartened, and I weighted 48 kilos!

Fortunately, in Italy I recovered weight, and my good spirit. I had a wonderful time with my friends and family. Everyone was shocked to hear my story and everyone gave me lots of love and advices. Most of them told me to give up, pack up and come back to civilization.

On October 20, 3 days before a scheduled hearing at the Varkala court I came back to India.

I had kept in touch with my neighbors and friends here. They gave me news of what was going on at Asthamay and what Bala said. It has been particularly hurtful to know that Bala and been conducting a campaign against. His means are the usual: intimidation of my witnesses, spreading rumors about me and just making my friends and neighbors feel that mine is a lost cause.

Bala said to my neighbors that I was very sick in Italy, I had cancer and could not come back. He told them I had lost all my money, I had no job and I was destitute. He said to them that I would be arrested as soon as I returned, if I indeed could return.

I did come back and I was not arrested. On the contrary, I was feeling great, in good health, I had put on a few kilos and I was relaxed.

But Bala is toxic and when I am exposed to him, I suffer the consequences of contamination.

So the Court hearings have restarted, and Bala’s tantrums as well.

When I returned to Asthamay it was obvious that for my safety I could not live there. Bala and his family again blocked the door to the house and prevented me from taking my belongings to my room.  This was clearly in breach of the protection order I had been granted to me by the court. No chance of getting the local police to enforce it. The local expression is that Bala has influence with the police. This is a euphemism that means that Bala is generous with the local police. It is evident that I could not count on anyone to protect me, my neighbors are far enough away and Bala has scared everyone.

So I rented an apartment, away from Asthamay, where can I feel safe and in peace. At least that is what I thought.

My living room

My bedroom

But Bala found it and came here to harass me. He sent the police to check on me, trying to find reasons to create trouble for me. Bala always told me that he can have any foreigner deported, thanks to his influence, at the affordable price of 20 thousand Rupees, about 500 USD. Convenient, isn’t it?

I am not scared, not of him, not of influence with the police. Anything can happen in this country, including justice.

Next, a view from the Court...

Bala's lies

Bala is the greatest liar I have ever known. A few years ago a reputable Indian newspaper published the results of a study done on the frequency of lies that an Indian person says daily. The surprising result is 200 lies per day. I am sure it includes white lies as well as big fabrications. Yet, it is quite a number of lies!

I think Bala tipped the scale. In addition to the lies that we all say, when needed, Bala makes up stories to avoid taking responsibilities for his actions and to get people in trouble and he lies to everyone, police, his family, me, authority in general. What he said through his lawyer in the court is a fine example of his elaborate system of deflection of the truth.

Here are some of his lies.

• To deny the charges of domestic violence, Bala said he had no relationship with me. I was a paying customer. In fact, his lawyer said in the court that I had not paid my food bill for years.

• Bala said that his family members had lived at Asthamay for 8 years, which would have meant while I was there. In fact, he had just re-built his family house in Cochin (I wonder with whose money..) for his family’s enjoyment. No one of the staff of Asthamay or the neighbors had ever seen the parents. But he had a certificate that showed they had lived at Asthamay. Everything is for sale here.

• When the press questioned him about the money I spent in 2003 to buy the property where he now lives, Bala said that he (a rickshaw driver at the time) had money on his own and his father (a milkman with 5 cows in the back of the house) also contributed. Questioned further on the far fetched idea that he actually paid with his own money, Bala said that he had been a tour guide for me and my husband (!!!) and that was his fee, 2 millions and a half Rupees. An expensive holiday, real 5 starts all the way.

• I presented to the court the photos that I had taken in 2001 and 2002 of his family, his neighbors, and his house in Cochin. I lived in his house for 3 months in 2002 and we traveled together to the North for a month, all at my expenses, naturally. Bala’s retort was the photos were morphed. In other words, I had “photoshopped” the whole 3 months experience 8 years in advance, foreseeing trouble to come.

• I gave to the court all the emails that we exchanged in 2001, 2002 and 2003 during the purchase of the property. The emails exchanged between us revealed the nature of our relationship and the arrangements we had on the purchase of the property. Bala said that I had forged these emails using my “knowledge of computers”. He also said that these emails were in fact addressed and replied to by someone else, not him. He accused the cook of Asthamay to be the one to whom I wrote emails and wrote back to me.  Obviously this is preposterous because the cook of Asthamay cannot read or write English, cannot type and was 16 years old in 2003, furthermore I only met him in 2005.

• Bala told the interviewers that he was forced to kick me out of his property because I was “indulging in immoral activities”, not explained in details what those may have been.

• Bala told the court that he could never have been with me because I was too old for him, it is unthinkable for an Indian man to be with an older woman.

And there are many more lies, personal lies, business lies. Elaborate lies, pathetic lies, just so many lies.

As everyone told me here, it is my fault to have trusted him. Bala also told me it is my fault that I believe him. This is a cultural gap that cannot be easily bridged. I, and many people like me, many westerners, have a natural sense of trust towards the person with whom we are in a relationship. I have learned better now. Of course, I did not suspect that Bala had planned this out since we first met. 

Reluctant Celebrity

When the interviews appeared in the newspapers I felt relief. Someone was finally listening to me. It took a lot of courage to do it, but I think it was my best strategy at the time.

My story made perfect sense to everyone who read it. It is actually very common here in Kerala, and especially in Varkala, to have local people “cheat” foreigners. The concept of “cheating” takes an Indian twist here. People “get cheated” a lot and in many different ways; the young men who go to find work in the United Arab Emirates get cheated by the agency that provides the work visa (they pay lots of money for what they think is a good job, only to find themselves in a labor camp with no passport), or they get cheated by their own relatives who are already in the Gulf and promise them a good job (which is never as good as they make it sound and never pays as much as they promised, but for which they have to pay a high commission fee).  Here in Varkala many foreigners have given money to local people to enter partnerships with the idea of running businesses or buy land to construct your dream home. And then, even in the cases where the partners were married or in a relationship, the foreigners got booted out of the business, of the house, of the relationship and the local guys kept the money, the house, the land, everything.  And the best part is that no one, absolutely no one got punished.

Malayala Manorama with photos of me and Asthamay - July 24, 2010

Foreigners normally do not go to the court, due to intimidation and pressure from local people, and complete lack of faith in the legal system. So what happens is that foreigners, especially women who trusted the local guy, go away, lose everything and never come back. This is what Bala expected of me as well.

Accompanied by a local friend I went to see Home Minister, Kodiery Balakrishnan, I explained to him the story, I told him the local police was actually protecting Bala. He was polite, he listened and asked a few questions and seemed not surprised of yet another story of a Malayali cheating a foreigner. Actually, most policemen I came in contact to, blame me for having been cheated.

They told me I am a silly person for having trusted with my money a rickshaw driver, even if we lived together for 6 years.

 

Kodiyeri asked me to go talk to the Director General of Police, Mr. Punnoose. He is a very nice person, professional and calm. He made a few phone calls and I had an appointment the next morning with the Superintended of the Varkala police station, who was going to escort me to Asthamay.

All seemed finally to make sense. I had found a decent person that was going to enforce the order of the court. Yes, I did get escorted back to Asthamay by the police. Bala and his family had broken into my room, on the first floor, and stolen 400 Euros, my landline telephone, 2 credit cards were missing. The police did not seem concerned; yet again they blamed me for having left some cash in my drawer in my home.

Bala was laughing and his father and mother guarded the entrance to the house. I have not been able to enter the kitchen on the ground floor, I cannot take my belongings that are on the ground floor of the house. When I called the Superintended of the Varkala police and told him that the Bhats were blocking the door, he told me never to call him again, he had no interest and it was my problem.

My day in Court

On March 11, 2010 I went in front of the Judge of First Magistrate Court in Varkala and my lawyer presented the list of accusations against Balakrishna Bhat:

Domestic violence

Cheating

Criminal Breach of trust

My lawyer had to convince the judge that, though we were not legally married, we had lived in the same house as a married couple since 2004 and what Bala had done was clearly against the Domestic Violence Protection Act. Big rumble in the court; no foreigner had ever done this before. In fact, no foreigner had ever showed up in the Varkala Court.  

The judge issued an Order of Protection, which stated that I had the right to reside in my home, and Bala could not disturb my peaceful existence. Armed with this order, we went to the local police station where an FIR (First Information Report) was filed against Bala. Escorted by police and the lawyers, I went back to Asthamay were Bala was enjoying the afternoon. They presented to him the order. Bala was only slightly upset. His attitude has always been that he can buy all the help he needs. And so he did.

In the months that followed this first victory there was a series of ups and downs. For five months I lived a real court drama, with very low times for me and then other moments where I felt that maybe I had a chance to see this through. A seesaw of actions and reactions, revenges and threats, small victories and desperate moments. I ate very little and smoked a lot of cigarettes, I slept very poorly and never felt safe. I was alone fighting a huge battle and had very little help.

The wound in my hand had become infected; three of those five stitches were looking very bad and I had to get intravenous antibiotics. That was really no fun.

Bala had moved out of Asthamay, but he did not go far. Certainly, never far enough for me.

He needed to hide from the police or get anticipatory bail from the court.

And so he did. The Trivandrum court denied him anticipatory bail. That mean that the police could have detained him for interrogation.  The police had no such intention. Bala disappeared again. After a few weeks he went to the High Court in Kochi with the same request. The judge granted him an interim bail during the court’s summer recession. Bala came back.

Bala acted as a bully, which is his trade mark. He’d come at Asthamay, shout threats at me, and threaten the staff, sit nearby and stare, laugh, trying to intimidate the potential witness and my neighbors.

Then again, when the court returned in session, Bala applied for anticipatory bail and again it was denied. Bala disappeared, but came by occasionally just to keep the level of tension high enough. 

By then it was clear to me that the local police would never start an investigation on the accusations that I had made against Bala. The local police were his friends and had enjoyed for years his generous payments. Yet again, I was alone and felt like a target.

But sometimes even in the worst moments something positive happens. Maybe it was survival instinct, or simply I could not believe what was going on. And so I decided to react. I did what Indian people do when they get no results from the regular channels. I talked to the press.

My lawyer called a journalist of the biggest local newspaper, Malayalam Manorama, and I told him my story. He took photos and the next day I was all over the press. Then other journalists came to get the news of the foreigner “cheated by a rickshaw driver”. More press and more photos. Then TV interview. I had become a celebrity. I realized that everyone knew my story. People on the train recognized me and they offered their sympathy. The positive result was my story was out and everyone could read, including Bala, his family, his neighbors, everyone.

But it was not enough.

Bala, his father and a local friend after they broke into my house

One day that I was not home, Bala with the help of two local guys broke the door of my house and moved in with his family. Now the Bhats, all five of them lived in my house. I rushed back. I called the police, asking them to enforce the Protection that the court granted me. They told me it was not their business. I returned to Asthamay and Bala his family locked the door. Bala was laughing. He staged a scene inside the house. He broke chairs and threw dishes around, trying to implicate me in some sort of violent act. But I was outside the door, locked out.

I had only one more thing to try: go to the politicians.

5 Stitches

By the end of 2009 my life was in shambles. I still lived at Asthamay, after all it that was my only home, but Bala had started a deliberate campaign of terror against me and i did not feel safe anymore. I told him that I wanted out and i expected to recover the money i had spent. At the beginning he seemed to agree, but he quickly changed his mind and became very hostile. He finally told me: "Everything is mine. You are nothing here. I am Indian, you are a useless foreigner. You will run away in tears."  It seems melodramatic, but that is the way things are done here. Lots of drama, bullying and intimidation.

I woke up every morning wondering how I would make it through the day without reacting to his threats. His plan was simple and effective. He started with verbal abuses and hostility towards me. The guest house was full during the holiday season and Bala started the day by insulting me in front of the guests and the staff. For no particular reasons, he would shout insults at me, brake glasses, throw chairs and blame me for it. In fact, he blamed me for having to be violent. I caused it.

When one of the staff lost the key of one of our two scooters, Bala decided to apply collective punishment. He slashed the tires of both scooter and went away for a few days taking with him the only key left. I had to spend the money to have the tires replaced and the locks changed.

At whim, he disconnected the electricity in my room, playing God with the electrical panel. He cut the phone line so I would not have internet access in my room ("All you are good at is talking to your friends. But now you will no friends".) When i call the telephone repair man, he threatened him with severe consequences if he helped me ("One phone call to my friends at the police station and your job is gone".)

The staff at Asthamay, kids who had worked there for years and knew me, were in shock. As soon as Bala would go out they'd come to me and ask me what was wrong with him. They saw what was going on and understood that Bala was acting his plan to get rid of me. We all waited for Bala to go out to breathe freely and without harassment.

But things were going from bad to worse. Bala was getting more impatient for me to run away in fear of him. One night he came home drunk and angry at me. He threw me out of the house, locked the front door, told the security guard to make sure I’d stay out and then went back to his party. I found a ladder and managed to climb into my first floor bedroom. I locked the doors and windows and pushed the furniture against the only window I could not lock and started calling my friends to let them know what was going on. Bala came back after a few hours and banged on my door. Shouting that I would have to face the consequences, he tried to break the locks with a hammer, he could not break them. “Open the door, I’ll count until 10. If you don’t open you will be very sorry”. I ran with a stick in my hand to each of the windows he was trying to break. Finally, he managed to brake into my room by climbing the wall. He looked like a mad man, with a hammer in his hand. I tried not to talk to him, or aggravate him. He sat down. “Now you have done it. I will have you deported from this country. This is my place; I can do what I want”. I managed to call some of his friends and asked them to come over and talk to him. They convinced him to go outside.

I could not lock my room because that made him even more mad, so I slept with a stick beside my bed. One night he came into my room and woke up in fear. He was crying, apologizing, he did not mean to hurt and he had a gift for me, a saree he had bought to show me how much he cared.

But that also was part of his plan. If I had not run away yet under the pressure, maybe he could convince in a nice way to go. By then, I had already contacted a lawyer and I was trying to figure out my legal options.

And Bala was getting more and more violent and unpredictable. One late night in March he was angry at me because the kitchen was not properly clean. When I went into my room I found out that as punishment for that he had cut – yet again – the power supply to my room. Then I really go mad. I run back down the stairs of my room. He watching tv. I slipped in the dark outside the kitchen window and my hand slammed against the window pane. Blood everywhere.

Bala kept on waching tv. The staff came running as they heard the glass breaking. I really did not feel any pain. It was mostly shock. The kids insisted to take to the hospital.  These 5 stitches are the good work of the doctor that was asleep when i arrived at the local hospital.