A deportee's story: We moved from city to city, saw bodies along the way…

By Kanika Gupta

Amarinder Singh* left home in pursuit of a better life, only to return on a military plane — bound and shackled. His six-month ordeal serves as a stark reminder of the perilous journey many South Asians undertake to reach the US and Europe via the ‘dunki’ route.

Singh’s house would have been hard to find just a few weeks ago. But the global news of his unceremonious return — and the rush of media channels scrambling for sound bytes — has thrust his family living in a village in Punjab’s Gurdaspur in the spotlight. “The one who just returned from the US?” the residents responded when I asked for his address.

Meandering through mustard fields blooming bright yellow, I reached his house in just 10 minutes. It was a stone-and-brick structure, eerily quiet.

I knocked gently on the gate. Singh’s wife, Gagandeep*, answered. Her mother-in-law sat sombrely on a makeshift bed in the verandah. “We are destroyed,” she said, leading me inside before breaking down in tears. Gagandeep offered me a seat in their only furnished room. Slumping into a chair beside me, she began recounting the day her husband arrived in India — unbeknownst to the family.

“On February 1, he called to say he had entered the US. He called again the same day, this time to say he had been arrested at the border and was being taken to a detention centre,” she began. The next call came when Singh landed in India — six months after setting off on the journey and just 15 days after arriving in the US.

Singh joined us shortly. He appeared pensive, and spoke little.

The 26-year-old has studied only up to Class 12. Before leaving, he spent long hours working on his dairy farm but made barely enough to support his wife, their daughter, still under a year old, and his ageing parents. Then, one day, a trusted family friend suggested he meet an “agent” who promised to get him to the US, where his own son worked. The agent reassured him that, though unconventional, the journey would take no more than 15 days, involve only air travel, and be completely safe.

Leap of faith

Every year, thousands of young men and women from Punjab chase the dream of a life abroad — often through the ‘dunki’ or ‘donkey’ route. This colloquial term, a Punjabi slang, refers to South Asian migrants taking unauthorised routes, often involving treks through harsh terrains, guided by a network of armed ‘dunkers’ who lead them past checkpoints and barbed wire. The first time I learned of this term was while reporting on a Pakistani YouTuber in 2023 who used the ‘dunki’ route to migrate to Turkey.

A 2009 UN report estimated that over 20,000 people cross the borders unofficially, though the exact scale remains unclear due to the clandestine nature of these journeys.

The recent wave of deportations from the US tell their own story. Among Indian deportees, many are from Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh and Gujarat.

Having reported on migrants from Pakistan, Afghanistan, and now India, I have come to understand that high unemployment, societal pressures, political instability, and even climate change push people into this cycle of hope and heartbreak.

Listening to Singh share his ordeal brought back memories of past interviewees. The appeal of dollarised remittances and the hope of turning things around for their families drove them to embark on dangerous journeys after agents promised them safe passage.

On Pakistani YouTuber Aqib Asrar’s 16-day journey to Turkey via Iran, his group was targetted by border police. Some were killed, others deported, and many beaten but allowed to continue. Some days, Asrar walked for 20 hours, driven by the need to cover more ground and end his ordeal faster. Sunshine, rain, or cold didn’t matter, nor did his meagre daily meals — chapati with curd or just two slices of bread. Abandoned houses and caves became his shelter along the route.

In another story, Najib, Afghanistan’s first drag queen, spent two years migrating to Germany with his younger sister. He remembered one particularly harrowing night when they had to wade through waist-deep water toward a mountain pass on the Afghanistan-Turkey border, and then sleep in freezing wet clothes.

Snakes and corpses

Singh’s journey started on August 22, 2024. He departed for Mumbai with a bag of clothes and $700 in cash. He claimed there was no forged paperwork, and seeing a dozen other Indians travelling the same way from Mumbai didn’t raise any suspicions. He flew to Guyana in South America, where his passport was seized upon arrival. He was then transported to Colombia, where he spent three to four months with 30 to 40 more immigrants from India and other countries. From there, he was pushed through Panama with an even larger group before continuing to Nicaragua, Honduras, and Mexico. More people joined him along the way until he reached the US border.

“We moved from city to city, hotel to hotel, with barely any food — and some days, none at all,” he recalled. They were forced to cross Panama by foot, through dense, rain-soaked jungles teeming with snakes. Those who couldn’t keep up were left behind. And on some days, they had to navigate steep mountain passes.

“We saw bodies along the way,” he said. Yes, too many have lost their lives in the quest for a new beginning. According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), 2023 was the deadliest year for migrants,
with at least 8,565 deaths reported along land and sea routes globally.

Singh acknowledged that the group’s fear grew as the true dangers of their journey became clear. But they were “in too deep to turn back” and were walking under the constant threat of guns. Moreover, all their communication went through their agents in India, who made everything sound normal. So Singh pressed on, determined to reach his destination, take any job to lift his family out of poverty, and repay lakhs of loans that had funded his journey.

As Donald Trump was re-elected as president of the US in January, the uncertainties surrounding Singh’s future were not lost on him. Over the phone, he begged his agent to let him return home, but he was reassured
that it was a matter of days before he reached the US and started a new life under the catch-and-release policy, which allows immigrants without legal status to stay while awaiting their court hearings. Trump wants to end
this practice, and the recent wave of Indian deportations signals his crackdown on undocumented immigration.

‘Could not get jobs’

According to US Customs and Border Protection, 90,415 Indians were arrested or expelled while attempting to enter the country illegally in 2024. “What is it about the West that lures people so much?” I asked Singh. Letting out a sigh of frustration, he replied, “I applied for many jobs in the army and other places here, but couldn’t get any. Sometimes I failed the medical exam; other times, there were different reasons.”

On why he attempted ‘dunki’, Singh maintained his innocence, saying, “The agent promised me I was going legally. It’s only when you’re there that you realise you’re trapped.”

He was promised air travel all the way, but at one point, he was forced to board a ship. Then came the detour through Panama on foot. When his family demanded justification, the agent explained that the “normal” route was not operational.

Gagandeep recalled how smugglers once held her husband captive on the journey, starved and beat him for failing to pay the final tranche of money. But the family said they had settled all payments. Helpless, she and her mother-in-law turned to the neighbours, who quickly pooled together Rs 2.5 lakh to pay the smugglers and secure Singh’s release.

The last leg of his journey took their group through a mountain route, past the border wires, and onward. They were arrested, and their bags and phones were confiscated — something they had been prepared for. “Get yourself arrested. After a few days, they will release you into the care of the guarantor,” their agent had told them in India.

Under US immigration law, a guarantor or bond sponsor — often a relative — vouches for an immigrant, ensuring they attend court and comply with the rules under the catch-and-release policy.

Missing name

His group was taken to a camp in San Diego for medical tests, where there were 30 to 40 other men from India. The room was dark — there was no way to tell if it was day or night, or even which day it was.

Singh remembered that every day, officials would come by and cross out 15 names from their list. People assumed those on the list were being released to a guarantor. But when officials came for their group one day, the truth sank in. Instead of being set free, they were chained and taken to Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, a military airport, for deportation.

Back in Gurdaspur, his family had no idea about the looming tragedy.

They were relieved to learn that he had crossed the border, but then there was no word from him for the next 15 days. Gagandeep desperately called families whose sons were on the same ‘dunki’ route. She was advised to look up the detainee locator system on the US government’s Immigration and Customs Enforcement website. It showed he was in the custody of Customs and Border Protection. One day, the status changed to zero, leading them to believe he had been released. However, the guarantor had no updates on his whereabouts. Even Singh’s agent could not find his name on the list of people being deported. Then, shortly before midnight on February 15, Singh called to say he was back in India.

The turn of events sent his mother’s blood pressure up and his wife’s down. “But we had to stay strong for him,” Gagandeep said, remembering a family whose son nearly took his life over financial struggles. “We couldn’t let that happen to us,” she added.

Within hours of his return, media vans swarmed their quiet village. Singh, however, kept his distance, folding his hands and
repeatedly advising, “Don’t go to America.”

Mountain of debt

The humiliation of deportation, shackled and bound in a military plane for two days, took a heavy toll on Singh. He was weak, shaken, and couldn’t finish his food on the day he came home. “For the first few days, he was out of his wits. He kept his wrists raised as if the chains were still on,” Gagandeep recalled.

Singh remains bitter. “I wanted to jump in a canal and end it all,” he said, then asked me, “With what face could I return?” He went
on: “I spent days hungry, spent all those months on the road, spent all the money — what for (sic)? I’m home now, but I’m sitting
on a mountain of debt.”

Gagandeep pitched in to say, “No one would willingly attempt something like this. We just wanted a better life for our child. Farming barely brings in income.” Gagandeep, who is in her mid-20s, has a bachelor’s degree in commerce and worked at an English language institute before becoming a mother. Now, she wants to return to work to pull her family out of the financial crisis.

‘Won’t spare the agent’

Singh’s daughter, now 18 months old, refused to leave her father’s side as he spoke about the challenges ahead. His family had sold a farm,
a house, Gagandeep’s jewellery, and taken a loan against another farm to raise Rs 47.5 lakh. Now, they are buried in debt so heavy that they fear they will never be able to repay it.

Singh believes all ‘dunki’ migrants who arrived in the US before January 20, 2025 — the day President Trump resumed his second term — were released and are now living there. As of 2022, India ranked third in undocumented immigrants in the US, with 7.25 lakh people, following Mexico and El Salvador.

But Singh arrived on February 1. “If I could stay there, I could have done something for my family. But look at the situation here, there are no jobs for me,” he said with heavy regret.

Meanwhile, the family has handed the agent’s details to the police. The agent has promised to repay part of the money within 10 to 15 days. If he fails to do so, they are ready to file a formal complaint. “We will not spare him until he pays us our money,” Singh said.

Singh and Gagandeep are slowly trying to rebuild their lives, but they constantly worry about repaying the loans they have taken from extended family and neighbours. For now, the creditors are patient, but the thought of them coming knocking is terrifying.

“Don’t get lured by the agents,” Singh said many times during the 90-minute interview. “Everyone who was with me on that journey has the same story — the agent promised us a safe and smooth journey.” He maintained they were all “scammed”.

(*Names changed to protect identity)