THE BLANK CHEQUE INSPIRED BY A TRUE STORY: FROM MIDDLE-CLASS IN THE WEST - TO HOMELESS IN INDIA

FERN FRANCES

Copyright © Fern Frances All Rights Reserved. This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available.

This book is dedicated to the following people: For the memories of those who have suffered and are still suffering an inferior life due to domestic violence For those who were denied any justice or acknowledgement of the crime To my family To those people in India who generously assisted me To R & R, who kept me sane To J.S. who lit the way

Contents Preface

xi

Prologue

xiii

1. Meet The Parents 2000

1

2. Big Fat Indian Wedding 2006

27

3. Turning The Screws 2008-2015

47

4. Goodbye Homeland – 2016-2018

74

5. The Beginning Of The End - 2018-2020

98

6. The Odd Street Dog Out - 2020

134

7. Enlightenment And The Fight - 2020

177

Note From Gemma

197

Dear Reader

199

Contact & Thank You

201

•v•

“His words were my truth.” Gemma

• vii •

Is there anything as agonisingly lonely as being in the presence of someone yet still feeling totally alone? Someone is with you, around you, near you, yet they don’t see you or care about you. The mind cannot bend around this. They are there, but they can’t see me over here. It’s like being a loyal dog stuck in a cage with a cruel master. The dog approaches the cruel master, furiously wagging its tail. The master greets the dog warmly, as the master is bored today and needs cheering up. The dog sleeps next to the master happily. The next day, the dog again approaches for comfort and acknowledgement. This time, the master swipes the dog across the nose hard, stinging it. The dog yelps in fear, pain and confusion and then retreats to her corner. But, because she’s a dog, the next day, she forgives and returns, a little tentatively this time, to receive more pats. Again, she is greeted warmly. And then again, without warning, she is verbally berated in a wild, threatening tone. Time after time, the dog approaches, sometimes greeted so sweetly but sometimes hurt beyond comprehension, and ever so slowly becomes worn down by the confusion. Her system is on alert. Am I safe? Am I not safe? But she’s a dog, so she keeps trying; it’s her nature. However, as time goes on, she starts to lose hope. She stops looking after herself. She stops enjoying her favourite things, like luxuriating in the morning sun. Her head hangs low. She starts to become sickly. The dog still approaches the cruel master as she needs him to survive, but more warily now. She knows what is

• ix •

coming but submits to it, so the pain is lessened. But she learns that she must wag her tail and act like a dog and be happy, for the punishment will be a lot worse if the master’s ego is hurt. So, she learns to wag while unhappy, receive pats while unhappy and becomes grateful for the little attention, any attention, she now receives. She is broken, submissive, but plays her part to survive. She’s not living anymore. Escape is not possible in the state she is now in – weakened and a ghost of her former self. How long can she last? How long before her body breaks down, or her mind? Hope has already gone. Survival is here. And the very worst part of this sad existence is that no one outside can see into her cage. No one knows, and so no one can care. The master is there, yet she is all alone with her pain over here. Will this ever get better? It has already been 20 years... Death by a thousand cuts. The finest slivers; invisible wounds to the soul, concealed beneath my mortal skin. Slice!

•x•

Preface A chance of a good life should be for everyone. It should not be that some are merely here for the servitude or behest of others so that only they can have a good life, as the other is deemed insignificant and unworthy. It is not written anywhere that someone else ‘owes’ you something – this is a psychological construct only by those who seek to control and benefit. And sometimes people realise and escape such a situation. And sometimes they don’t. And sometimes they try, but they are brought back by others around them, supporting the ‘controller’ and their entitled attitude, in order to keep the environment unchanged and unchallenged; to save their own skin. And the cycle continues, supported by those around. Some people keeping others from a chance at their own good life. We are all ultimately responsible for ourselves; however, we are not all responsible for the control and abuse we may endure by another. I hope my story will help others protect themselves and their loved ones from living a life less than they deserve.

• xi •

Prologue How can THIS be my life? I am standing totally alone in the early morning hours on an empty street. I’m in a gargantuan Indian city during a global pandemic! What happened to me? Few possessions, no authorities to call, food is scarce, money is running out. Gemma, how did you go from your middle-class comfort, to here, with nothing and no one? I was hiding behind a bus. It seemed ridiculous, I was a 44-year-old woman, but I was acting on instinct. The street was still, except for the occasional street dog skulking around. The air was heavy with a mix of the notorious local fog and smog, and it was hurting my lungs. It was uncomfortably warm, despite the early hour. I walked alongside the bus and then moved to the next bus in front. I knew it was not at all safe, but something kept me moving. I rounded a corner and there it was – a police van with lights flashing but no siren. One door was open, and a leg was on the ground. A large stick was also protruding from the door. I stood still. I knew any movement would be seen. The occupants of the van looked asleep. Then, all of a sudden, the cabin light came on. I turned and ran back around the corner and down a side street. As a silent red and blue siren flashed in the distance, I was operating in full survival mode, knowing I had very few options left.

• xiii •

PROLOGUE

New Delhi, India - May 2020, early morning A rare sight – an empty street in Delhi. Attempting to find an ATM without a guard to withdraw cash for food. Moving in daylight hours had become difficult.

• xiv •

CHAPTER ONE

Meet the Parents 2000 “Do you think I believe all that stuff back there?” he asked me. We had just returned from a visit to a temple. It was a Hare Krishna temple in the heart of my city, and I had no idea of its existence. “Well, I don’t believe it. I don’t follow religion,” he stated defiantly. His sleek, dark brown hair was moving in the breeze. “Well, I don’t really know about religion either,” I offered in solidarity of sorts. I had met Prateek a few weeks earlier. He seemed very friendly and extremely carefree. An international student, he did not appear to attend classes and was not the least bit bothered. It made me feel very nervous, however. You can’t just NOT go to class; won’t you get in trouble? Since childhood, I had a constant sense of foreboding that I would ‘get in trouble’ and be sent to jail. I suspect it might have been because of my father. Having lost his mother at an early age, he seemed to be stuck as a teenager •1•