A widow & mother of two, Afghan woman refugee,28, sexually exploited in Delhi 

I was 14 when my parents married me off to an army man. I became a mother at 15, when I knew nothing about motherhood. At 17, I was a widow, a few months after the birth of my second baby.

After Taliban killed my husband, I had to flee Afghanistan as my in-laws wanted me to marry my husband’s younger brother. At 20, I came to India as a refugee and settled in Lajpat Nagar, New Delhi.

I was stuck in the hard grind of life. I had no idea what friendship, love and marriage is all about. I started working as an interpreter. I’d help refugees from Afghanistan and Iraq find rented accommodation in Delhi. I also accompanied patients from these countries to the city’s hospitals and get a commission. This is how I earn my livelihood. My daughter and son study in a private school.

A few years ago, a man who was two-year older than me and a resident of Lajpat Nagar came into my life. All of my anxieties just disappeared. I became alive to all the beautiful emotions of life.

On a mutually agreed upon day, he didn’t turn up to exchange engagement rings. He went off to Punjab along with his friend—who later helped him emigrate to Spain. I went through an emotional turmoil for several days.

Later, when I found him coming out of a local Gym, I stopped him and gave him a tight slap. I felt a bit relieved and reconciled to my life.

But the worst was yet to come. He approached me again. Apologising profusely, he appeared repentant. And I forgave him.

I asked him why he wanted to marry a mother of two children. He replied he loved me as “I am a courageous woman.” He converted to Islam and we got married according to Islamic rituals. Three months later, we got our marriage registered in the Saket court. Subsequently, he took me along with my children to Jaipur and Punjab. Though he had promised, he didn’t take us to his home. He left for Spain and snapped all communications with me.

I had married him against the warnings of my maternal family back home. So, they ostracised me. After he abandoned me, my life hit rock bottom. I suffered emotionally, financially and physically. I’ve undergone two major surgeries in the last two years.

Afghan refugees keep visiting me for counselling and consultation. I tell them categorically: “I can help you purchase gold and other articles, find a suitable accommodation or a hospital—but I can’t advise anyone on marriage or love affairs.” To identify a life-partner is the most difficult thing in life. No one knows when a person — whom you know for so long — will turn out to be something different. It’s even more dicey for refugees like us.

We work so hard yet our work doesn’t pay us. The quality of our life remains the same, miserable. Life cheats on us every day.

In the evening, several taxi-drivers parade young Afghan women in front of men near a market, where I live. For Muslim women, it becomes very difficult to return after having crossed the line once. Helplessly, I cry for them as well.

Just recently, I saw a beautiful young Afghan woman—who must be 16-17—pleading with a middle-aged Afghan man. She disappeared immediately after he pushed her away, shouting expletives. Curious, I approached him and asked as to what she was saying. The teary-eyed man said, he was on way to the hospital—where his cousin had just passed away. And here this woman was trying to woo him for quick money.

For us, life is a daily battle for survival.

The government of India, for the first time, gave me a financial assistance of about Rs 11,000 two months ago.

Now, my second husband, wants to marry someone who belongs to his religion and culture. The amount of mehr fixed during our wedding was Rs 5 lakh. His family has offered me Rs 10 lakh in lieu of divorce. But divorce is not acceptable to me.

I don’t love him anymore. I don’t respect him for what he did to me. Yet I won’t divorce him. Because my children know him as their second father.

Still there are a few men—who want to befriend me or marry me. But I don’t trust anyone. Even if someone gifts me entire Delhi.

On the judgement day, I’ll ask Khuda, why did this happen to me? I didn’t deserve it.

(The interviewee’s name has been changed to protect her identity)