Arjan Pannu, 77, arrived in Hong Kong in 1936 to join his older brother and his father who was in the Hong Kong Police Force. He was enrolled at the Sir Ellis Kadoorie School in So Kon Po, and stayed there until the Japanese arrived on December 8, 1941. What followed was untold hardship, imprisonment and torture at the hands of the Japanese. Indian nationals were incarcerated separate from other POWs, and for four days after the Japanese surrender, no one bothered to check if they were still alive. Pannu's voice filled with emotion as he recounted how he thought they would all die of starvation, locked in their cells. I was on my way to school one morning when I saw bombs exploding at Kai Tak airport. We lived in Causeway Bay, not far from my school. When I arrived, the head announced that war had broken out and that the school was closed until further notice. I was 13, and remember being happy that there was no school. The fear started when bombs began falling in earnest. Most of the Sikh community gathered at the temple in Queen's Road West and took refuge in tunnels, which ran from Stubbs Road to Kennedy Road, under Wah Yan College. In 1941, on December 25, the day of the British surrender, we heard shouting at the entrance to the tunnel and the Japanese came and took away some women. It is presumed they were raped. My brother was arrested in May 1945 and I was swept along with him. There were 37 of us. We were imprisoned at the police quarters at Old Bailey Street, where there was an underground torture chamber. We were placed in separate cells and interrogated. My turn came after two weeks. They stood me on a stool, tied my hands behind my back, attached my arms to a hook and then kicked the stool out from under me. They beat me on the soles of my feet until I agreed to talk. The pain was so great that I agreed to say whatever they wanted, just to make it stop. Another technique was water torture. They tied you to a ladder, put a cloth over your face and put your head under a hydrant turned on full force. Then everything stopped at the end of July because we were being relocated to Stanley. We thought that was the end for us. We knew that Indians who were moved to Stanley were killed. By this stage, four of our number had died. For the three months of our captivity we were fed rice cooked with rotten vegetables. These were rolled into little rice balls, which fitted into the palm of your hand. Each prisoner was given one ball in the morning and at night. It was all we had to eat. We became walking bones. The first person died on July 11 and the fourth on August 8. On August 14, 1945, the Japanese went away and left us locked in our cells. They surrendered the next day. No one rescued us until August 18. When they arrived, we couldn't move because we were so weak. We thought that having survived the war, we were going to starve to death in those cells. I can't describe the feeling when my door opened and I was told that the war was over and I was free. I was too weak to move. All I could do was cry. Our families had no idea where we were, or if we were alive. Many of us had to be carried out. Before my brother was arrested on suspicion of being anti-Japanese, he was a policeman for the Japanese. The police were paid in rice, the most important commodity. Another brother worked for the railway and was also paid in rice. My job was to go up to the hills and return with anything green. This was boiled with the congee. That's how we stayed alive. The type of rice we ate was broken bits of grain. The best we could afford at times was tiny fish, the kind people feed to cats. In the mornings, the dead could be seen on the waterfront with thighs and calves missing. The flesh was sold in the markets as pork. After the war, the British government agreed to repatriate Indians and I returned to Amritsar where I completed my education. I returned to Hong Kong in 1956, armed with a degree in teaching. I taught at Eton College, spent 18 years at the Polytechnic, and retired in 1992 as head of the English department at the Sing Yin Catholic School. I also joined the Auxiliary Police in 1966 and retired in 1988 with the rank of senior inspector. We moved to Canada in 1990. Then in 1995, our son decided to return to Hong Kong and join the police. My wife liked Canada and we were going to stay. What persuaded us was when our daughter got a job here as a teacher. Swarn Kaur and I were married in India in 1972. It was an arranged marriage. My mother chose her. We have never regretted the return to Hong Kong.