Patrick Malluzzo, 31, has spent four-and-a-half years in a federal prison in Kota, a town in Rajasthan state, 500 kilometres south of New Delhi.
He and his family maintain that he should not be in prison. His relatives and supporters maintain he got into trouble because of a wayward travel companion. When Patrick was arrested he was not told why, and was never found with drugs on him or in his luggage. The facts that surround his case are unbelievable and as time goes by Patrick suffers terribly.
After a trial that lasted two-and-a-half years (no word of English was spoken ), a court in Kota sentenced Malluzzo to 10 years in jail and a fine of 100,000 rupees (then US$2,190 ). It acquitted Dean, his travel companion, who had another lawyer, giving him the "benefit of doubt." Patrick's mother Teresa Malluzzo nee Grace originally of Callan, Kilkenny has fought hard for Patrick's freedom along with her family and a growing number of supporters.
I have written letters to Patrick where he has told me of the horrendous conditions he lives in and what his daily life entails. With Patrick's permission and his family’s blessing the Kilkenny Advertiser will publish excerpts from Patrick's diary over the next few weeks.
You can support Patrick by signing his petition on www.ipetitions.com/petitionsPATRICKMALLUZZO If you would like to write to Patrick, the address is as follows: Kota Centre Jail, Kota, Rajasthan, India. Patrick will find out this week if he has won an appeal to his case.
Patrick's diary
It's very early, perhaps 5am. Again I’ve struggled to sleep. Mainly because I can't stop thinking and worrying about my family, especially mam and dad.
Also because it's so humid and I am caged in with people sleeping across my feet and across my head. So when someone moves in their sleep as they do you really feel it. Then of course there is a nightly chorus of 80 men snoring, farting, coughing, talking or screaming. I also worry if I’ll be attacked in my sleep? Due to me being the only foreigner- will they try to rape me tonight? As on a daily basis I get comments on how attractive my fair skin is. Will I come down with a disease or illness as I have previously? And there will be no urgency to unlock the gate and get me medical help....
Most nights I have to go backwards and forwards to the toilet - (basically a hole in the ground ) as I’ve been suffering with a urine problem for the last 4 years.
At 6am the guards come to open up the gate and count us out... ''Get up motherfxxkers, ''quickly you sisterfxxkers'' are the usual greetings.
If any of the men are ill or haven’t woken up, the convict orderlies will give them a kick and chase them from the barracks... unless of course he is a gangster or from a powerful or political background.
Once counted we squat on the yard floor, which is dust in the summer and mud in monsoon season and get served tea from a bucket. It's certainly not earl grey and tastes like warm dishwater. Then there is a mad dash of 1,000 or more prisoners trying to get to the 'toilets'.
Let me describe the toilets... these are small cubicles where there are squat toilets. Some have a door which would come up to our waist when standing. The walls are covered in urine, blood, spit, tobacco, vomit, semen and other stains - which I don't think even a scientist could identify. The squat bowls are overflowing with excrement and thousands of maggots. There's no toilet paper you have a container with water to wash your backside after. Miraculously the toilets are free from all this whenever the governor visits! Then it's time to queue for a shower which are a few taps at waist height which sporadically spew out yellow water- which is used for drinking and washing. The well-connected convicts get to go first. I'm lucky because as a foreign prisoner abroad, a charity provide me with a grant so I can buy clothes, soap and other toiletries. As the jail only provide a half bar of soap- remember that stuff from primary school- worse than that. You wash every 15 days and many of the poorer men use dust and mud to wash themselves and then rinse that off.
10am 'brunch' is 'served!. Everyone squats in a line in the yard with your bowl in front of you. In the morning the meal consists of lentils (mainly water and spicy oil ) and 6 pieces of flat bread. It's so unhygienic and of poor quality. If you fed it to an animal in Ireland you would have animal rights after you. I have found stones, maggots, cigarettes, hair, and other objects in my food. Again it is served from buckets. We eat sitting on the floor and there is no such thing as cutlery here. Thankfully my friend Samuel brings me food every 15 days, only prepacked and fruit is allowed. Again the grant covers this expense.
Now it is free time, or you are allowed to work in the sweat shop factories.
At 11am it's counting again and into the barracks. Most of the men sleep, I’ve never been one to sleep in the day-time, thankfully my family, friends and supporters send me magazines and books to read. However I have spent many times lying there just looking at the ceiling thinking, why? What if? And of course day-dreaming of my family, friends and home. I remember a lot about being a young lad and so much of my past. The heat here in the summer is unbearable, temperatures reach 50 and because we are squashed like sardines in a can it's hell. The sun beats down between 5.30am and 8pm. As the walls hold all that heat at night it's like being stuck in an oven, you feel like you're dying.
Then in the monsoon season, the temperature drops to 35. But the humidity is so awful again with everyone squashed together. The walls sweat and the rain leaks through the walls and the whole place is flooded. Then in the monsoon there are the insects - biblical swarms of locusts, mosquitoes, more flies, scorpions and God knows what else!
Everyday, I’ll be covered in insect bites. Also rats come out at night and they scratch and bite you.
My bedding is one blanket a canvas mat riddled with lice and God knows what else.
In the winter we have three blankets but it's still freezing- India has extremely cold winters- I still find that hard to believe. Those dirt flagstone walls and excema riddled stone walls now act like a refrigerator.
