‘I Was Molested And Beaten Up By My Husband’s Colleagues’

I was a good student. Sometimes I wanted to be a police officer, sometimes an astronaut. Sometimes I dreamt of walking in the steps of Kiran Bedi, sometimes I imagined myself soaring like Kalpana Chawla. Even after graduating from an engineering institute, I was caught up in studies. Then I met this six-foot-tall stranger in uniform, and instantly fell for his charm. We were introduced by a neighbour in Mumbai and rediscovered each other on social network site Orkut.

We exchanged e-mails. In 2010, when he said he wanted to marry me, I agreed. Outside the world of books, he was the first man I had fallen in love with—beyond my immediate family, he was the kindest man I had ever encountered. He was a marine commando and he had this dimpled smile. To my mind, he was the perfect gentleman. Our marriage was solemnised at a temple in Kochi and was attended by his parents. For some strange reason, he said he didn’t want our union to be made public. So I kept quiet. I didn’t tell anyone from my family either. I wish I had done that. Because the story quickly began to unravel.

On January 13, 2012, I wrote a letter to the commander-in-chief of the INS Kanjauli in Bombay, where I was working in Morgan Stanley as an equity research analyst. The reason? I got an e-mail forwarded from an address which bore my husband’s name. The subject-line read: ‘we all will kill you’. ‘You are facing a case na that was done by xxxx, so if you tell anybody about our activitiy we will do the gang rape then we will throw you in Arabian sea so that police will not get your dead body (sic),’ read the e-mail. I was rattled. I filed an FIR at the Amboli police station and even reported the matter to the cyber cell on January 18.

But when his parents came and said my husband was innocent and persuaded me to withdraw the case, I relented. Two months later, on March 9, 2012, our marriage was registered. The first few months, he appeared ok, probably because most of the time I was in Delhi, busy with my studies. The trouble started when we were at INS Kalinga at the Visakhapatnam naval base. It’s a forested area on the city’s outskirts, and quite isolated. Parties were a frequent affair and was perhaps a way to beat boredom. There was a new dress code for women every day. One day, it was short skirts above the knee; another day it was backless, sleeveless blouses. I was shocked by what I saw but I was the only one complaining. When I complained to my husband, I was immediately labelled a troublemaker. He told me to accept this as a norm. I wasn’t sure whether this was happening to further one’s career or maybe even to wrangle a favourable posting.

Far removed from the city of Vizag, INS Kalinga appeared to be a vessel hosting an unending party where liquor flowed and women were encouraged to sleep around. I stayed away after attending two parties and asked my husband to keep away from those men. My husband didn’t seem to disapprove of what was happening around him. While the parties had already become a source of friction, I caught him in flagrante with a superior’s wife on January 9 this year. When I complained bitterly, I was asked to keep quiet. Everyone looked the other way when I complained. I am puzzled at the manner in which the navy is trying to portray this as a marital discord. Why don’t they understand that differences arose bet­ween us because of these shocking parties being held in its precincts? At every party, when I saw a couple walking into the night together, I assumed they were husband and wife. It was just sick. A month later, some time in February, I was molested by my husband’s colleagues and beaten up by them. My husband did not come to my aid. I called the police but they were assured by the naval officers that it was a personal problem. His friends, officers in the Indian navy at that, mocked me and touched me in an inappropriate manner. They beat me up. My husband threw me out. A friend helped me get back to Delhi. I landed in Delhi with no money. I am determined now to bring the officers to book. I am through with love and men.

As told to Anuradha Raman