The Car Park Ticket....

Neeta day 3

Continued from yesterday
Neeta Day 1

Neeta Day 2

I often wondered what had happened to little Neeta when I drove along the lane, but as we all know time fades and life moves on.

More than 18 months passed.
My mobile rang one morning, it was a withheld number.

"Hello?"
No response
"Hello?"

"Hello?" I heard a quiet voice
"Yes hello, this is Mandy, who is this?"

"Please help." I knew instantly it was her.
"Need help."
"Where are you?"
"Leicester."

"Nowhere to live."
"What do you want?" I asked
"Help me."

She had kept that car park ticket with my number on it all that time.

"I not sure what I can do. I can find the details of a refuge for you, but I can't do anything else."
"Call me back in a minute."

There had been a piece on Woman's Hour just a couple of days before about a women's refuge in Leicester. I Googled it and got the details.
She called me back.
She handed the phone to someone else and I relayed the details for them to write down. They handed the phone back to her.
"These people will be able to help you more than I can, they will know what to do. Please call them."
"OK Bye." she hung up.

I was left wondering if I should have done more.


Several months passed and the phone rang again.

(Well, that is a complete lie, because obviously I am not quite such a loner -but for the purpose of this journal...)

"Hello?"
"Please help" It was her again.

"Deportation."

"I don't know what you want me to do."
"Moment."

"Hello?" A man's voice on the phone
"Who are you?"
"I'm just a random guy in a shop, this woman has handed me a phone and wants me to interpret. Who are you?"
"I'm just a random woman who gave her my phone number 2 years ago."
"She says she is going to be deported and she needs your help."
"What can I do? I only met her for 40 minutes 2 years ago. Tell her I don't think I can do anything to help."

Subsequently I received a string of calls, which started:

"Hello Madam."

Each time I thought it was a from a call centre, you know the sort...
But it was a man who said he lived in Leicester and wanted to help Neeta.
"Please you must help this poor lady, if she is deported she will be left on the streets of India, she is divorced now, her husband here has thrown her out onto the street, and consequently she has disgraced her family in India, so they have disowned her."

"You must give evidence to help her stay here."

"How do I know this is the same person I met all that time ago? You could be saying anything, how can I believe you?"
"Please madam you must help. "
"I'm sorry, I don't think I can."


"Hello madam,"
"Please help this poor unfortunate woman...."
"I'm not doing anything until I know this is the same woman I met. For all I know you could be involved in people trafficking. "
"Oh madam, no."
"But how do I know?"
"I will send you details. "
Reluctantly I gave my address.


A large bundle of papers arrived describing the plight of a woman the details seemed to indicate it was the same person. It made sobering reading.

"Hello Madam,"
"You must give evidence. This poor woman. Please you must help her."
"I will not help until I know it is the same woman I met."
"I will bring her, you can meet her."

A meeting was arranged at a house near to where she used to live, where she had apparently received a few English lessons.

I felt I was being sucked into something and I couldn't back out.


I went to the house as arranged. I was welcomed by the couple who lived there. Two other men, including the one I had spoken to on the phone several times, introduced themselves as elders from a temple in Leicester. I was offered tea made with evaporated milk and plates of food, which I knew I should eat. They all watched me eat and drink.

Only then, the woman was brought into the room from the kitchen.
It was her, she was so tiny, so thin, so scared.
I just hugged her. It was like embracing a child, and yet the paperwork said she was 34 years old.
She was wearing the same clothes as when I met her along the lane, all that time ago, but with a coat this time, not a cardigan.
We all sat down in the small front room.
I just kept looking at her, imagining what if she was my daughter?
Some of the detail of what she had endured since being tricked into signing divorce papers and being thrown out of her home came to light. It was terrible.
The two gentlemen had been looking after Neeta for some time.

"Please help."
"I did so little."
"It was so long ago."
"I have no evidence."

"But the date you met her is important for her case."
" I can't even remember the date, I know it was September."

Having got this far, I agreed to go to the deportation hearing in Stoke on Trent even though I kept saying that I didn't think my evidence would make any difference.

It was arranged and I would be given a lift with one of the gentlemen from Leicester and the local couple in whose house we met, who would also give evidence.

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