New Delhi, India. July 6 2012

My name is Star Johansen; my given name is Jessica. I am 23 years old, 5’5”, and weigh 115 lbs. I have blue eyes and long blonde hair that I wear in dreadlocks. I'm American, and this is the story of how my trust and naivety almost cost me my freedom.

Two men kidnapped me, but I was able to escape from them before anything too terrible could happen. The first man was Amar. His partner called him that. Amar was about the same height as me, around 5’5” with an average build, about 130 lbs. He was 35 years old. He had short, curly dark hair and olive-colored skin. The most notable feature on his face was a single, thick eyebrow that ran across his forehead without a break. He had a crooked but friendly smile. He wore beige shorts, black slippers, and a red button-down short-sleeve shirt.

Amar and I met at Zing on my first day in Delhi. Zing is the restaurant of my hotel, a place of modern decor and calm. It was my first trip to Delhi, and I had rented a room at The Met on Bangla Sahib Road. My plan was to stay there for three days before traveling north towards the Himalayas. I was an adventurer, a backpacker with a thirst for new experiences, but I was also naive.

After checking into the hotel early Sunday morning, around 9 a.m., I went to my room. The city was already buzzing with activity. I unpacked, putting my few clothes and belongings in the drawers, because I would only be there for three days. Instead of going out right away, I lay on the bed and looked out the window. The streets were a chaotic symphony of car horns and human voices. I was excited to be here, to be a part of it.

I was hungry from traveling and eager to see Delhi, so I washed my face and hands in the bathroom sink, grabbed my purse, and went down to the lobby. The air was cool and smelled of incense and old paper. I asked the receptionist where I could get some food, and he pointed me toward Zing. I didn’t need to go outside to get to the café, but I wanted to. I wanted to feel the sun on my face and breathe in the new air. I walked 50 meters, the heat already a heavy blanket on my skin, and then went back into the building to the café. I chose a seat by the window and sat down, a lone tourist in a sea of locals.

The waiter came over and asked what I’d like to eat, and I ordered a sweet pastry and a cup of coffee. As the waiter walked away, Amar walked over to my table and said hello. He sat down across from me, his smile warm and inviting. I greeted him, and he asked if I was new to Delhi. We had a pleasant conversation about my travels, my plans, and his life in the city. He told me how to get to the Shivaji Metro and suggested a few temples to visit on my trip. There was nothing out of the ordinary in our socializing, and I was naively happy with the company of this local man.

The waiter returned, I had eaten, and I decided to pay my bill. Amar insisted he pay for my breakfast as a welcome gift. I tried to resist, but he would not accept it. So I thanked him graciously and went about my day. I visited Agni Park and The Pracheen Hanuman Mandir that day, two places he had recommended. But mostly, I just walked around, absorbing all the sights and sounds of Delhi, a city of a million people and a million stories. Around 4:30 in the afternoon, I headed back to the hotel to nap. I was tired, my body heavy with the exhaustion of travel and new experiences. Back in the hotel, I showered and slept.

Around 7:30 in the evening, I was hungry and decided to go for food. I put on a green dress, grabbed my bag, and headed down to Zing. I was eating my meal, a plate of spicy Indian food, when Amar showed up again. It was nice to see a familiar face, and I smiled as he walked over. He sat down, and as we were chatting about what I had seen that day, another man came to the table. Amar introduced him as Kumar.

Kumar was younger than Amar, maybe 25. He was much more handsome than Amar, with a chiseled jaw and a clean-cut, well-trained body. He wore jeans and new gym shoes. His tight white t-shirt showed off his muscles, and his dark hair was kept very short. Kumar was also of Indian descent.

Both men were very kind, and I enjoyed their company as I ate my meal. They were funny, charming, and seemed genuinely interested in me. They asked me if I had plans for the evening, and I told them no. Kumar suggested a new club that had recently opened in Delhi by Kitty Su.

Being too trusting and wanting to have fun, I made the mistake of going with them. Kitty Su is on Barakhamba Avenue, on the other side of town from my hotel. So we shared a cab to get there, the city lights a dazzling blur outside the window. We got there around 10:30 p.m., and the party was just getting started. The music was a throbbing beat that vibrated through the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and perfume. I loved watching all the people; Kumar and Amar seemed to know everyone.

Kumar brought me my drinks, rum and cokes, and I had two before deciding to go onto the dance floor. The music was loud, and I was happy, lost in the rhythm and the energy of the crowd. Then I walked back to the corner table where I was sitting with a group of people, and Kumar handed me another drink. That was around 12:30, and it was the last thing I remember. The world went black.

When I woke up, I was in a strange room. It was poorly lit from one window looking outside. The walls were a sickly yellow, and I couldn’t tell if it was paint or filth. Across the street, I could see another building. There was an old bed in the room and a small desk with a chair and a small television. I could hear Kumar talking to someone in the other room, which made me feel better. I tried to stand up, but my head was swimming, and I felt sick. I did not remember drinking that much. Kumar came out of the bathroom, and I laughed a bit, a nervous, high-pitched sound. “What happened last night?” I asked, and he just said: “Shut up, bitch.”

Now I was confused. His voice was hard, his eyes cold and empty. I asked him what his problem was, and he just ignored me, walking to the bed and sitting down.

That is when Amar walked into the room. He and Kumar started talking to each other in Hindi, their voices low and sharp. Kumar gave Amar a wad of money, and Amar left without even looking at me. The finality of the transaction was a cold shock. I stood up, my head still spinning, and began to walk to the door to leave. That’s when Kumar, his face a mask of rage, pushed me back onto the floor and refused to let me go. I knew then that I had to get out of there, no matter what.

I am so glad I got out of there. There is no telling what he planned to do with me.

Sincerely,

Star Johansen