Following a tragic fire in a residential building in Mangaf, Kuwait, 50 individuals perished, including 45 Indians. The incident has placed Kuwait under scrutiny regarding the treatment of foreign workers, spotlighting the plight of Indian laborers, men and women alike. Dreams of high earnings in the gleaming Gulf rapidly turn into a nightmarish reality, as many find themselves engulfed in darkness upon arrival. One such individual is Jasmeet...
In Gulf nations, countless Indian laborers carve out their existence. Not merely in Kuwait or Qatar, but in Oman too, where over 650,000 Indians reside, comprising more than 13% of the country's population according to the Ministry of External Affairs. Yet, the suffering of these women frequently goes unnoticed and unrecorded.
We managed a clandestine phone call with Jasmeet, who has been stuck in Oman for one and a half years, devoid of passport, money, or hope for escape...
From Punjab, a 32-year-old woman shared her harrowing experience: 'I was lured by false promises.'
My family in India is struggling wearily with illness. My husband has advanced diabetes; my father-in-law is bedridden, and my young daughter needs care. Deceived by an agent in Hoshiarpur, who took a hefty sum promising a lucrative job in Dubai, I found myself instead in Oman. After spending several days in a flat, I was shuffled between two families. Now, I find myself tending to a household of fourteen as a maid, without a break.
Are you allowed to speak on the phone?
Yes, but the cunning daughter of the family, fluent in Hindi, makes it difficult to speak freely. With endless chores, there's rarely time to make or answer calls. In the previous household, phones were forbidden, leaving me out of touch with my loved ones for months.
What work do you do?
Everything. Cleaning, cooking, washing vegetables, being on the ready with water, clearing dining tables, and washing dishes... imagine, fourteen people summoning you multiple times a day.
What about time off or breaks?
Never. Not once have I had a day off. My room doesn't even have a door; I must appear when summoned.
What's your accommodation like?
I sleep amidst clutter—old furniture, unused kitchenware, and my personal belongings are all crammed in there.
How's the food?
Rice is provided but often only the leftovers after everyone else has eaten. Yet, bringing up my homeland or any semblance of its appreciation only leads to reprimands from my employers.
Being spat on when a task isn't done perfectly has become disturbingly normal. In this strange country, surrounded by unknown faces, my family back home is relying strictly on me. So, I clean up and continue working.
Though not fluent in Arabic, my command of English and Urdu compensates. There's no desire or room to share personal struggles. Directions are given, and I comply.
I yearn to return to India, even if just for a brief period. But freedom comes at a steep price. Without a passport or the funds to escape, I feel cornered. I've secretly reached out to the Indian Embassy, who assured assistance if I could just arrive there.
Even taxi drivers here hesitate in aiding escape attempts to embassies or airports, demanding exorbitant fares or outright refusing. There's always watchful eyes at my workplace, ensuring no one ventures beyond permissible boundaries.
The Indian community in Oman has been my support, but even the idea of reaching the embassy seems riddled with challenges and dangers. Ironically, despite a desperate wish to escape, I am ready to pay a ransom for the chance to return home, knowing full well it might be all in vain.
This saga echoes across the Punjab to other corners of India, driven by a network of unscrupulous agents who prey upon the desperate and naive. Their fabricated social media reels lure youth with illusions of grandeur. Benefiting from their vulnerability, they orchestrate a journey from home to the Gulf, swindling them into an exploitative nightmare, with little hope for rescue or repatriation.
