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After suffering years of abuse, Kiranjit Ahluwalia killed her violent husband - and ended up in jail. When she was finally freed on appeal, her case changed the face of British justice. As a film based on her story is released, Julie Bindel meets her.
Ahluwalia arrived in Britain in 1979 from India, aged 24, following an arranged marriage. She spoke little English when she moved in with her husband Deepak's family in London, where Deepak immediately began to abuse her. "I did not want to say anything and spoil my family's excitement," she says, "and I hoped it would not continue ... He would push me about, yank my hair, hit me and drop heavy pans on my feet. I was treated like a slave. He would not allow me to drink black coffee or eat chillies, for the simple reason that I enjoyed them. But I was so frightened of him that I didn't say anything. I often lay awake at night next to him because I was too frightened to sleep." Deepak also raped her frequently, telling her that this was his right. She received no help from his family - Deepak threatened them if they ever intervened. When rage took over Over the years, Ahluwalia bore two sons, who often witnessed the violence. One night, when she had gone to sleep after cooking Deepak's dinner, he woke her up and demanded money. When she refused, he tried to break her ankles by twisting them. He then picked up a hot iron and held it to her face. Eventually Deepak fell asleep and Ahluwalia was consumed with the rage she had suppressed for 10 years. Approaching him with a can of petrol, she poured it over Deepak's feet and set them alight. "I couldn't see an end to the violence," she says now. "I decided to show him how much it hurt. At times I had tried to run away, but he would catch me and beat me even harder. I decided to burn his feet so he couldn't run after me." Five days later, in May 1989, Deepak died, and Ahluwalia was charged with murder. She pleaded not guilty, but the defence made little of the violence she had endured. The prosecution suggested that Ahluwalia was a jealous woman who had killed her husband because he was having affairs. She was convicted of his murder in December 1989, and sentenced to life in prison. I first met Ahluwalia in 1991 after joining the campaign to free her that was being run by the Asian feminist organisation, Southall Black Sisters (SBS). When Ahluwalia heard that I was visiting Sara Thornton (another woman who had killed her violent husband and was being held at the same prison), she asked if I could bring her two young sons to visit, as well as some red chilli peppers. Her boys were being cared for by relatives and I was able to bring them to the visiting centre - the chillies had to be smuggled in and passed under the table. "The food is terrible in here," she said at the time. "English food has no taste." "At the time, I had no idea what was happening to me," says Ahluwalia now. "All I could think about was my children, and if I would ever see them again." Following a campaign, led by SBS, Ahluwalia's conviction was quashed on appeal in 1992. The court accepted some new evidence - that she had not been aware she could plead guilty to manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility, and that she had been suffering from severe depression when she killed her husband. Ahluwalia admitted manslaughter at the retrial, and was released and greeted by hundreds of cheering supporters and media from around the world. The next day, her beaming face was on the front page of many newspapers, surrounded by her family, campaigners and legal team. Ahluwalia's successful appeal against her murder conviction set a historic precedent - that women who kill as a result of severe domestic violence should not be treated as cold-blooded murderers. As Ahluwalia says, "I never intended to kill him, I just wanted him to stop hurting me." Now 50, Ahluwalia has been transformed from a cowed woman, with little confidence, into a strong, bright, funny individual. The film of her life has the Bollywood superstar Aishwarya Rai in the title role, but is much grittier than a typical Bollywood film. In the 18 years since she killed her husband, Ahluwalia has largely come to terms with what happened that night, but she still recoils in horror at how Deepak died. When she first saw Provoked, she sat beside Rai, who "held my hand the whole time. I just could not bear the scenes where he is burned and screaming. I could never look at those photos of his injuries during my trial." Survivor On leaving prison, Ahluwalia settled back into her life, continuing to raise her sons, and doing both paid and voluntary work against domestic violence. She often worried what people would think if they discovered her story. "I never really wanted people at work to know what had happened, but since the film, I talk openly about prison," she says. "The men, mostly English, say to me, 'It wasn't your fault ... it was what he did to you.'" Ahluwalia says she is often approached in the street by women keen to talk to her about their own experiences of domestic violence. "Before my case, it was far worse for Asian women suffering domestic violence," says Ahluwalia. "They used to feel shame, and family honour was seen as more important than their suffering. But now at least those women can look to me as a survivor." Her sons, Ravi and Sanjay, now 21 and 23, and both at university, are a great source of pride. Were they supportive of the film? "Yes, but sometimes they are surprised at how well known my case is," she says. "One day it was discussed in Ravi's class [he is a law student], with the lecturer talking about the significance of the Ahluwalia case. He said to me, 'Mummy, I was in shock.'" Since coming out of prison, Ahluwalia says she has enjoyed "every minute" of her life. "I have gained so much. I am the queen of my house," she laughs. "No one talks to me with even the slightest bit of disrespect. I make all my own decisions, there is no slavery any more." What remains most important for her is that women are inspired by her story of survival. "I want to show the women who are suffering that they are not weak," she says. "We are hard workers, we are strong. Women can do anything, and we can do it without men". |
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