HEERA ALAYA

“I speak for the infant within me,
I speak for the child within me, I speak for the daughter within me,
I speak for the young adult within me, I speak for the woman I am,
I speak for the life I embody &
I speak for the essence of my soul.”

VICTIM IMPACT STATEMENT

“Changing the Narrative on Suicide.”

ROI DES RATS
perpetually ensnared

By Heera Alaya
January 1st, 2026

For Tyler, Nafisa, Amanda, Jiah, Virginia, and countless innocent individuals tragically compelled to take their own lives. For Praveen Babi, Meredith Kercher, Afisa Bano, Nirbhaya, and the many abused souls who are no longer with us. For the dedicated school teachers, thinkers, writers, activists, poets, whistleblowers, and nurturers who are driven by the pursuit of truth, justice, and a healthier world.

SUICIDE

“All abuse is foremost an assault on the mind.
When you abuse someone, you limit their perspective and trap them.”

TARA WESTOVER
American memoirist, essayist and historian

Abetment of suicide.

The act of instigating someone to take their own life can arise from a multitude of factors, including exploitation, betrayal, humiliation, sexual abuse, mental anguish, slander, harassment, torture, bullying, blackmail, invasion of privacy, broken promises, verbal assaults, dehumanisation, isolation and mobbing. Often, we deflect the burden of responsibility to higher powers, asserting, “It was god’s doing,” or we place blame on the victim by labelling them as “mentally unstable,” “promiscuous,” or “addict.” This evasion of responsibility conveniently obscures their ability to honestly acknowledge the profound suffering and trauma that a victim endures before reaching such a devastating conclusion.

Suicide abettors.

Suicide abettors are people who, through their actions and instigation, intentionally push another person to end their own life. These abettors are often enabled by their family (or operate as a cult), friends, neighbours, colleagues, and society at large. When faced with the consequences of their actions, these families and accomplices frequently rally for their own, claiming innocence and conveniently overlooking the fact that their lineage caused the tragic loss of an innocent life through suicide.

Criminal environment.

When a crime-enabling environment takes root, innocent lives are lost, as exemplified by the case of Tyler Clementi, a Rutgers University freshman [first-year] student. On September 22, 2010, Tyler took his own life after discovering that his roommate had secretly used a webcam to livestream a video of him kissing another man.

Other notable suicide cases include:

Nafisa Joseph, Indian model: July 29, 2004
Amanda Todd, Canadian student: October 10, 2012
Jiah Khan, British Indian actress: June 3, 2013
Virginia Giuffre, American-Australian advocate for survivors of sex trafficking: April 25, 2025

The intention:

This message serves to shine a light on the numerous young lives enduring similar fates—innocents pushed to the edge of despair. I urge you to take a moment to reflect on your existence and consider the roles of jealousy, greed, futility, and complicity in fostering destructive behaviours. Consider how your very birth has come to contribute to the suffering and deaths of innocents.

For young, sensitive, and sincere individuals, as well as those who strive for a righteous path, I hope you can see a reflection of yourselves in me, drawing strength and dignity to honour your own lives.

BLUSH, NO MORE

“A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart.”

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
German polymath

I am sorry.

I want to begin by taking accountability for my decades-old assumptions. As the German polymath Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wisely stated, “A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart,” I mistakenly believed that you all shared the values I hold dear—integrity, contentment and benevolence.

In my naivety, I overlooked your true natures, despite your sour expressions, oppressive and crude communications, calculated pretensions and compulsive transgressions, all of which broadcast your abysmal poverty of character. 

Your cruelty compelled me to defog my rose-colored glasses thoroughly. I discovered that behind the veneer of respectability and piety, along with the impressive credentials, professions, titles, possessions, interactions, and environments, you are out of kilter with goodness. I am no longer flabbergasted by your individual and collective gluttony for slander, slaughter and silence. I take full responsibility for my assumptions, and, with sincerity, apologise to you, Heera Alaya, for associating with and trusting the most deplorable and dishonourable—the human roi des rats.

You recognised my innocence and goodness, exploiting them to the fullest, but in your insecurities, greed and small-mindedness, you overlooked my righteousness and divine path. This oversight unveiled a stark truth—unlike pollinating bees, who take to honey, you are scavenger flies that take to human refuse, unable to identify a freshwater brook trout that thrives in its pristine habitat.

It’s called integrity.

No one known to me—be it a friend, colleague, professional contact, or acquaintance (from any part of the world) can claim ownership of their identity and say: “Heera spoke ill of you, or slandered you, or shared what you confided in her.” I do not engage in gossip, backstabbing, or violate others’ trust. Instead, I actively advocate for those around me and fiercely defend individuals who are treated unjustly. Moreover, I do not impose allegiances or ask others to choose sides.

Spittoons.

I had to come to terms with the harsh reality that your pitch-dark existence—with artificial lights and glimmer—centres around gossip, slandering, character assassination, smear campaigns, deceit, denial, minimisation, pretence, and mobbing. Regardless of your credentials, wealth, or influence, you are nothing more than a spittoon—a receptacle that collects and trades filth throughout your existence. Whether you perceive yourself as a dilapidated spittoon, an ostentatious branded one or a commissioned Millefiori, the reality remains: you were born to consume, proliferate and disseminate filth, destined to leave this world as a spittoon.

As a mob, spearheaded by satan, the nefarious cult and criminal accomplices, you engaged in malicious and defamatory campaigns. You projected your failings onto me, threw unsubstantiated accusations, and vandalised my life. Furthermore, your deceptive actions and the dissemination of misinformation aided the actor’s criminality.

You crucified me for no fault of mine, trivialising my trauma and relishing my anguish caused by your metastasising, which drove me to contemplate suicide.

MIASMA OF CORRUPTION

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
English playwright and poet 

Flightless and alethophobic.

You all made a generational commitment to remain disenfranchised, perpetuating a miasma of corruption—a pervasive eco-system that insists on immorality, dishonesty, bribery and cruelty.  Over the course of your lives, you have consciously filled your chasm with impurities—slander, greed, and weakness—rendering you capable only of bribery, scheming, fabrication, destruction, judgment, boasting, harassment, humiliation, backstabbing, betrayal, justification, philandering, mockery, maligning, defamation, coercion, disrespect, delusion, taunting, withholding, looting, denial, concealment, and constant pretence, and often indulging at someone else’s expense while growing increasingly riddled with diseases.

Though you target the innocent, the real victim is you—compromised souls that can never traverse the marginalised terrain of your inner world, rife with desolation. You will never experience the freedom and power that come from living a life untethered by superficiality and spectatorship. 

Forget grappling with complex issues and facts; being malnourished—deprived of the nutrients essential for authenticity, fearlessness and progress—ensures you remain stripped of the fortitude required to transcend self-imposed barriers of cowardice, criminality and corruption. 

Despite the facade of power, your inherent weakness binds you to a condition of benightedness, rendering you inhabitants of a miasma—flightless and alethophobic.

WELL-OILED MACHINERY 

“Truth will rise above falsehood as oil above water.”

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA 
Spanish writer and poet

Press-titutes.

Journalistic credibility and ethics are essential for fostering a well-informed society.  In this context, you represent a faction derisively labelled “Press-titutes”—compromised and shockingly misogynistic (upheld by insecure women shackled to internalised biases). Withn this sick environment, journalistic ethics are disregarded, and credibility is rendered meaningless.  

In this compromised landscape—marked by cowardice and corruption—the objective is clear: to systematically whitewash reality and reshape the public perception of a perpetrator. The meticulously orchestrated campaign seeks to downplay and obscure the perpetrator’s wrongdoing through tactics that include bribing for insincere praise and staging scripted, rehearsed “interviews.” Such complicity not only dehumanises the female victim, stripping her of dignity, but also fosters a climate of fear, all while the perpetrator is portrayed as the victim.

This well-oiled misogynistic machinery that seeks to character assassinate and destroy the reputation of innocent women,  all while masquerading as powerful, is in reality as flaccid as … well, let’s leave it at that.

Not a single one of you “journalists” took the time to investigate what truly transpired.  You accepted the dirty black money concealed in white envelopes, stuffed your faces with slaughtered animals, indulged in alcohol and engaged in arranged sex (I will refrain from humiliating the female counterparts with the apparent). By disseminating biased and degrading misinformation, you not only contribute to your own moral decline but also to your audience—an extension of yourselves.

You do not have the authority to construct a narrative about me that serves your convenience. You cannot whitewash slavery, nor can you assert that the Bondi Beach massacre is merely a figment of artificial intelligence. Likewise,  the gravity of the crimes committed against me cannot be concealed, nullified, erased, or silenced. 

SOLE AUTHOR

“When a woman tells the truth
she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.” 

ADRIENNE RICH
American poet and feminist

I am the sole author of my life and will define it according to my qualities, values, and principles. I choose to defend my dignity and integrity ferociously.

I speak for the infant within me,
I speak for the child within me, I speak for the daughter within me,
I speak for the young adult within me, I speak for the woman I am,
I speak for the life I embody,
and I speak for the essence of my soul.

I am presenting the narrative (succinctly) as it truly exists, rather than how it has been portrayed through the actor’s distorted perspective and criminality.

At the onset, the actor roped me in with a compelling, sad story, confiding in me about his mother’s battle with acute schizophrenia and his father’s extreme violence. He painted a picture of their home environment as unbearable, which led both of his siblings to move out, leaving him to serve as his mother’s surrogate caretaker. He made it clear that he harboured strong contempt for his older sibling, whom he characterised as a mentally ill sadist. Additionally, he spoke about his own challenges as an actor and the harsh treatment he faced in the film industry. Through this narrative, the actor successfully gained my trust and sympathy. As a scapegoat with a strong sense of empathy, I felt compassion for the actor’s mother while also defending his older sibling, all the while empathising with the actor’s challenging circumstances. I took him under my generous, protective wings.

In contrast to my own established success, which I took in my stride without letting it cloud my judgment, the actor wrestled with his lack of achievements. I didn’t hold his status as a school dropout against him, nor did I judge him for having no friends or for living with his parents in a cramped, unsanitary flat.  Instead, I extended my support to him, as I did to anyone in need—be it orphanages, old age homes, special needs children and centres for juvenile delinquents, as well as to (so-called) friends and acquaintances.

The actor was a constant presence in my life for three years, relaxing, dining, finding solace and encouragement. He became intertwined with every aspect of my existence—attending parties, celebrations, and professional events, including those where I hosted. I even intentionally made him the focal point at my housewarming party, knowing he was still living in his parents’ flat and grappling with insecurity and self-consciousness. I aimed to help him broaden his horizons and introduced him to the Netherlands, Spain, London, and Italy.

The actor moved alarming fast, often disregarding professional boundaries by appearing unannounced at my filming locations—whether in Jaipur, Hyderabad, Ootacamund, or Madras. Moreover, the actor inundated the press—much to my discomfort, as I value my privacy—with articles filled with praise, love-bombing me and extolling my intelligence and articulate nature. He even urged the media to advocate for our marriage, and they created a nuisance. The actor sent colleagues to my home, persistently pressuring me about marriage, disrupting my life, and leaving me little room to breathe. In hindsight, his constant presence and marriage pronouncements were aimed to influence producers and other actors to distance themselves from me—a mission he ultimately succeeded in accomplishing.

The actor frequently discouraged me from pursuing my career, also urging me to forgo premieres I was invited to—ones he wasn’t—and expressing anger whenever I honoured my professional commitments. I never interfered with his work or obstructed his pursuits; I even stood in the sweltering sun to support his recreational interest. Yet, despite knowing my passion for swimming, he insisted that I stop, claiming he didn’t want anyone to see me in a swimsuit and that he would build me a pool.  The actor’s jealousy over my achievements was palpable, and I found myself diminishing my presence to make him feel better. As a scapegoat, I was accustomed to prioritising others’ happiness while relegating my own needs to the background, becoming the floor, the wall, or the dust.

Despite the actor’s frequent visits to my filming locations, I maintained my dignity, upheld boundaries, and refrained from encroaching on his professional space. Nor was I invited to dine at his parents’ flat. On the rare occasions I did go there, I noticed his mother slumped over the sticky plastic sheet-covered dining table, appearing depressed, lacking emotional expression, and disorganised, while his father ridiculed and snapped at his wife, prompting the actor to console his mother and express a desire to leave the premises.

When people commented on how the actor seemed to study me—mimicking my mannerisms and speech—I didn’t pay much heed to his mirroring; in fact, I felt a sense of satisfaction that he felt comfortable enough to express himself in that manner. I always sought to motivate, uplift, and include him, but when I advised him against using foul language, he would often become angry. For example, in London, when he launched into a tirade against the superstar,  referring to him in a derogatory manner as c$%#, I intervened, asking him to cease such demeaning remarks. Unfortunately, my intervention led to a confrontation, and the actor stormed out.

Coming to the surgery, I was caught off guard to learn about it at the last minute, and dropped everything on hand to offer my support. The actor expressed his wish for me to be by his side during his hospital recovery. I remained standing by the actor’s side the entire time, eventually leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor for a brief rest, as the only chair was occupied. As someone who values privacy, I found it abnormal and overwhelming to witness the influx of visitors that transformed the hospital room—and the corridor—into something akin to a chaotic and crude fish market. The ambience lacked the integrity of healing required for a genuine patient. In retrospect, the actor had wanted this attention and adulation.

When the actor urged me to continue supporting him at home, I assured him that I would return after a brief professional commitment in Hyderabad, lasting just a handful of days. To my shock, upon my return, the actor had disappeared—there was no way to reach him. I was utterly confused and devastated by his sudden disappearance and abandonment, with no forthcoming explanations.

My only option was to visit his parents’ flat, where I encountered his schizophrenic mother and mentally ill, sadistic older sibling, who both treated me poorly (so much for years of my empathy for the mother and defending the sibling). They informed me that the actor wanted nothing to do with me and had left the city to spend time with his younger sibling and live-in Hispanic girlfriend. His mother dismissed me curtly, “You go now.” I left, humiliated and shattered.

Much later, the actor had all the gifts I had given him sent back to me through a third party. The impact of this gesture was traumatising. To say I was in shock, confusion, and emotional turmoil would be an understatement.

Eventually, I had a brief encounter with him at the studio; he was cold and callous, leaving me shattered. To my dismay, I soon discovered that he was giving an interview in which he implied that I had betrayed him. From that moment onward, I found myself the target of an increasing number of degrading stories being circulated about me.

How ironic that the actor, a confessed pornography addict—who once immersed himself in pornography for three consecutive months; a deviant who described his desire to engage in simultaneous sexual escapades with three maid servants (en route to a Yanni concert in New Delhi. I was deeply repulsed and offended by his comments, needing to discuss it with my therapist) and a promiscuous male who wanted to engage in sex with his co-star (rumba shoes assist with journalistic pursuits) should project his debauched reality on me. For this morally twisted actor, who aimed to ruin my life, to engage in such deceit is absolutely unforgivable.

MORBID JEALOUSY MUTATES TO CRIMINALITY.

While I was deeply concerned for the actor due to his surgery, defending him against medical professionals who labelled the procedure a hoax, the truth was that the actor, who had exploited my kindness, trust, and goodness for years, had been deceiving me all along—colluding with malevolent forces. Where the covert evil rallied the killer whales in society, the actor executed a mobbing within the film industry and society. Like a cunning antagonist, the actor operated under the mistaken belief that I would crumble in shame, convinced that the truth of his criminality would remain buried.

A petty and envious person could not handle his success, and the actor sought to utilise his rise to destroy me. The actor had usurped my identity, kicked me into the flames, and rallied others to humiliate, ostracise, and ruin my opportunities.

I was a young adult, a highly sensitive, fully trusting woman known for my quiet, private nature. The magnitude of betrayal I endured left me in shock, confusion, humiliation, loss of reputation, loss of income, and ultimately resulted in being blacklisted—all of which broke my spirit. I recalled  the cautionary words of a veteran actor who warned me, “Heera, do not let him (the actor) break your spirit.” My therapist also highlighted specific aspects of my ongoing situation around his jealousy, addictions and anger. My tendency to be overly trusting, forgiving, caring, and optimistic led me to overlook the actor’s father’s warning: “Do not trust my son; his left hand does not know what his right hand is plotting.” The actor himself often reiterated this notion, remarking, “Even the best of the best has to be fooled.” While I disagreed with his perspective, I never expected to become the target of the actor’s malice.

FACTS unCHECKED

“The lightnings of heaven may scar and blacken it.
An earthquake may shake its foundations, but the character
which it commemorates and illustrates is secure.”

SENATOR ROBERT WINTHROP
[Dedication of the Washington Monument, February 21, 1885]

As the “powerful” press and, by extension, the “esteemed” society, you have eagerly propagated these appalling fabrications and wounded me.

I urge you to publish the following—

The government-issued identification [ID] of the breeders—the male species who impregnated the female species, resulting in the male species with whom I am alleged to have had an affair. Additionally, provide the dates and locations where this alleged relationship was conducted. Alternatively, disclose the names of the bona fide sex addict cheaters, including their sexcapade locations and a list of their debauchery.

The government-issued identification [ID] of the informant who disseminated the sexual slander, along with details about the informant’s profession, the name of their employer, the nature of their relationship with the employer, the location where the informant and employer met to collude, and the compensation received for distributing the slander. Additionally, include insights into the actor and the primary person’s long-standing relationship.

The property documents concerning the asset you claim the actor gifted to me, or disclose the identity of the kept woman who received this property. The actor did gift me a cuckoo clock, and to the best of my knowledge, it did not necessitate real estate registration, nor was it large enough for me to fit inside like a bird—though that would have been welcome!

A comprehensive list of the expensive gifts the actor supposedly presented to me, or the names of the women who received those gifts.

The identity of the narcotics dealer, the location from which the drugs were procured, and specifics regarding the names and prices of the substances involved. Alternatively, a list of individuals within the film industry who are known to regularly consume narcotics. What are the consumption preferences of these so-called heroes and heroines—do they lean towards laced alcoholic drinks, sniffing, pills, or other methods?

The moving company that facilitated the transportation of my belongings to the area during the time you assert I was in a live-in relationship (which I have no objection to, provided the information is accurate) with the actor, including details of the “live-in” time frame, the property address, the moving company’s owner’s name, and the compensation provided. Alternatively, list the women involved in this arrangement.

I also implore you to investigate and publish the other crimes the actor has committed against me.

Genuine, kind-hearted, high-value women like me enter relationships with a clear intent to give rather than take.  We offer our trust, time, compassion, support, joy, encouragement, energy, inclusiveness, generosity, optimism and forgiveness. In addition to these invaluable contributions, we provide stability, resources, and enriching experiences, with thoughtful gifts serving as delightful bonuses.

Conversely, those who extend their hands, flatter, praise and defend to curry favours are often the ones deemed to be kept women. Within the outwardly sanctimonious film industry, it’s worth noting that unassuming married women can just as easily be mistresses, and an actor’s mistress may also pursue sexual relationships with other men.

CONSEQUENCES

“Everybody, soon or late, sits down to a banquet of consequences.”

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
Scottish writer

Harsh yields.

If I come across as repulsed, it is because I am. The mere thought of this actor invokes an intense revulsion, akin to the emotions one harbours toward the rapists of Nirbhaya, Gisèle and Virginia. Driven by morbid jealousy, the actor believed he had succeeded in destroying me. In truth, however, a higher power unveiled the actor’s true identity—morally repugnant and wretchedly destitute.

The pathologically jealous actor’s meticulously orchestrated criminal conspiracy in cahoots with malevolent forces, coupled with the public disrobing that cast me into the flames, will ultimately serve as the very inferno that, after his lifetime, engulfs his own. From his designated place in hell, burdened by his morbid jealousy, arrogance, entitlement, bruised ego, shame and cowardice, he will bear witness to the power of divine justice. One day, a woman from a future generation will question the unimaginable suffering endured by women in this lineage and will uncover the truth: our ancestor was a duplicitous, pathologically jealous criminal who exploited, betrayed, and destroyed an anointed female. Document this truth—it will be your so-called journalist progeny’s only honest reportage on the universe’s imprecation.

Hanuman’s tail.

In the Hindu epic Ramayana, a pivotal event involves Hanuman’s tail. Ravana, not realising he was writing the first chapter in the story of his own destruction, after capturing Hanuman and as an act of humiliation, orders Hanuman’s tail to be set on fire. However, Hanuman’s purity and devotion to truth-speaking Rama keep Hanuman unscathed by fire. With his tail on fire, Hanuman jumped from building to building, setting Lanka ablaze, demonstrating his immense power and the power of righteousness.

Mocking the divine.

You lack an understanding of the rudimentary principles of the divine. People who adhere to god’s ordinance, regardless of their circumstances, walk the path of righteousness. Conversely, those who align themselves with Satan and heed the call of darkness become willing accomplices with malevolence, remaining mired in indolence, impurity, and powerlessness.

When evil grips an entire society, it reveals the self-betrayers forming a profoundly sick society. As Jiddu Krishnamurti, the philosopher, observed, “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”  Your performative worship has yielded no evidence of honourable qualities, because they are rooted in deception and motivated by a desire to placate god—reflecting a bargain steeped in dishonesty, greed, corruption, and weakness, while maintaining a meticulously curated public persona to mask your transgressions.

What a stark contradiction
—to engage in the full spectrum of performative prayers
while, in reality, embodying the essence of moral decay.

The very mouth that savours a “sacred offering” simultaneously seeks to satiate its monstrous appetite with the foulness of sewage. In the same vein, the ears that listen to “religious prayers and chants” are the sullied ears that seek out repugnant misinformation. Likewise, the eyes that gaze at deities and religious texts are the same contaminated eyes that consume vulgar and degrading content. Furthermore, the hand that offers flowers is the same stained hand that both gives and receives bribes.

Despite decades spent consuming sanctified food (including the VIP variety!), you remain untouched by divine grace, failing to show up in life and act honourably; instead, you exist powerless, in a state of victimhood. And though surrounded by towering statues and chanting “spiritual gurus”, you remain shackled in demeaning marriages of convenience, merely playing house. Even with the fragrant presence of outward representations of the divine, your mind remains unhygienic. The lives that install idols and prayer rooms are, paradoxically, the same debased lives—contaminated swamps surrounded by faecal moats—that collude with evil.

The divine sees you all as you truly are and is appalled by your mockery of his name, rendering you as abysmal cavities—voiceless, prisoners in fancy-gaudy cages, which no crowbar can break. How revealing it is—your wealth has afforded you material luxuries, but it has left you ills-confined, denying you a clean mind and a strong spine.

THE FINAL WORD

”You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies,
you may trod me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

MAYA ANGELOU
American poet and civil rights activist

Critters chatter.

Had I chosen to take my own life, you would undoubtedly have congregated among your spitoon selves, much the same as you are going to do now, proclaiming, “Well, she was an actress after all,” (How ironic that you refer to me as an actress when it is you who act 24/7 in real life.).” You would have seized the opportunity to revel in your prescient prediction: “I told you. We always suspected she might take such a drastic step. There were  murmurs about her questionable character, and did you know she battled with drug addiction?” In the same breath, you would associate yourselves with the divine, stating, “By the way, I just acquired a stunning yellow saree, an auspicious colour for Lord Rama’s darshan. You know how devout we are. We constantly strive to speak with pure intentions.” With your customary malice, you would add, “She brought this upon herself by cheating on her partner. Good riddance. She had a mental illness.” Soon after, you’d switch gears and say, “By the way, I recite the Hanuman Chalisa; it brings me a sense of empowerment and rejuvenation.” Then, you would proceed with your unsavoury speculations, questioning, “Did she die on the train tracks, hang herself from the fan, or drown in the ocean? What are you saying, ya? How tragic, ya. Can you believe it, ya?”

The last word.

Unfortunately for you, my survival is divinely ordained.  When the divine chooses you, those who embody hell cannot silence you.  When the divine chooses you, he endows you with the strength to lift the rock and reveal the human vermin, asserting that I have the final word, declaring: “After all, you are nothing more than roi des rats—human rats with self-paralysed scaly tails perpetually ensnared together—you are compromised miasma cesspools.”

Unapologetic and unflinching,
Heera Alaya

President, Farm Sanctuary, USA