She held the pistol in her trembling hands and without wasting anytime she aimed the gun and shot. A deafening roar pierced through the air.
It was early morning at 7 and the city was already astir. I got out of my car, with a recorder in my hand I crossed the road and started looking for hotel Shaalimar. It is Bombay so the place was crowded even at this time. I could see people going to work and some waiting for their buses. A school going kid helped me with the directions and I finally saw the hotel. It was a very busy place with children as young as 12 wiping tables and providing tea. I made a note of mentioning it in my next article. I was wearing a brown jacket and with the number of eyes rounding up on me, I decided to take out the Press ID card from my neck and kept it inside my hand bag.
Two muscular guys, dressed in black t-shirts and blue denims, came towards me and asked my name. One of them wore a golden necklace and the other was playing with his car keys. After seeing my ID and confirming with their boss they took me with them in a Scorpio. They dropped me in front of a three storied building and told me to go to the first floor. As I took a flight of stairs, I was really shocked at what I saw. The place was really not like what I had seen in the movies or read in some books. This place was actually neat and tidy, no shabby yellow-red lighting, it even had a good décor and frankly looked better than my own place. I was served with a hot cup of coffee and some snacks as I waited to meet the owner of the brothel, who was called ‘Aunty’ by everyone.
She looked forty years old and was wearing a beautiful blue sari. Again, I had hoped of meeting someone chewing tobacco, smoking a cigarette and dressed provocatively in a loud dress. She sat opposite to me and asked “How are you doing?” I replied “I am fine.” Looking at my amazed face she said “Not exactly what you were expecting? Well, what can I say, along with India even we have progressed and also we have some rich and powerful clients who prefer a tidy place.” I jumped in “oh so you have policemen, lawyers and businessmen over here too?” She grinned and said “This isn’t my first interview with you press pests. I agreed only because we have a mutual friend. So tell me what you want” Seeing that we were no longer cordial I said “I want an interview”
“You are already having one”
“No not you. With someone new in your business” She simply shook her head and said “not possible”. I said “I will give you 10000 for two hours of that girls time. I know you charge 6000, so it’s a good deal for you too.” She examined me through those steely cold eyes and then ordered one of her guys to call someone.
She was a young girl, maybe 19 or just 20 years old. She had black hair with huge brown eyes, clear pale skin and a few freckles on her upturned nose. She walked with a slight limp on her left leg. The landlady looked at her with a smile and said “Don’t do or speak anything you shouldn’t. Or you know how you will pay”. I was first asked to meet her in one of the rooms but I simply declined and said I will talk to her in the front garden. I paid 1000 rupees extra for it but I wanted the girl to be comfortable with me and not haunted by the past experiences she might have shared in those rooms. I wanted her to just come out of that place and see that a world around her still exists and it’s beautiful. “Can you walk down these stairs? Because I can see you are hurt” I asked. She nodded without even looking at me and started walking. We walked towards a rotten swing which squeaked as we sat. Her face flits from cute to beautiful when she smiles and says “This is the first time in the past ten months that I have come out here. So, thank you.” I tried to smile but all that went in my head was ‘TEN months’, the poor girl had been enslaved here for ten months.
I was shocked to know that she had done her schooling from a reputed school in Delhi and was the topper in her 10th standard. I talked about myself and told her how I ended up as a journalist. We talked how Bombay is different to Delhi and everything. We had two cups of coffee served for us. I took a small sip and seeing that she was comfortable, I asked “So why and how did you end up here?”
We were talking in Hindi up until now when she said “Talk in English if you want a real interview. The guards do not speak English and you can know everything then. I repeat do not say any word that they might understand.” I knew I was in for something real.
She started her story.
I was in class eleventh and I had my first boyfriend. He was one of the popular guys from school and I liked him a lot. I never knew that apart from just cigarettes and beer, he was into some harder things too. One night at his house he introduced me to some drugs which I later on realized was ecstasy. He was from a rich family and never had problems with buying such expensive stuff. I soon got addicted to him as well as his drugs. Then, one day he broke up with me. I got over him but I couldn’t get over my other addiction. Now I was really desperate to earn some money and get the drugs. I couldn’t tell my parents as they would have killed me, and if I didn’t get the drugs soon they will come to know eventually. So I started looking for some jobs online. I found one it said ‘Women employee needed. Aged 17-22. Urgent. Contact no:- 9XXXXXXXXX.’ I contacted that number and was asked to meet him at a restaurant. I asked him about the job. The guy was in his early 30s and looking at me asked my age to which I replied 18. He kept looking at me and then said “The job is simple. I want you to be mine for 3 hours. I want to play with you. I will give you 5000 rupees if you just let me play with you.” I wanted to slap him but I also knew I needed the money. He waited for a few minutes and said “I know you girls. Your constant itching and your fingers, they all scream drugs. I know you are desperate. It’s a safe deal for you too. Take it.” And I made the biggest mistake of my life, I said ‘yes.’
A recent survey done by SanLaap, sates that 20% of the women employed in brothels are underage and 74% of them are forced into this red light business.
The next day I went over to his place. He just wanted to look at me naked and kiss me and say dirty things to me. When he was done I put my clothes back on and he gave me my money. I counted it and it was only 2000. I barked at him “What the hell is this! You promised me 5000!” He slapped me on my left cheek and said “Shut up bitch! I can easily throw you out of here without paying you a single penny. Walk out of here with what you have or I will take that back too.” I went back to my room that day and cried. I cried a lot. I felt used, disgusted and wanted to kill myself. I tried jumping off the building but well it’s not really that easy. The first thing I did with that money was buy my drugs. Please don’t mistake me here, I started reducing it and soon I also joined a support group for the drug addicts.
I kept on doing this for a few more months and just needed a few more thousand to get myself into rehab. Then, one day I was called by a client to a hotel. It was a dirty hotel in the Pahadganj Area of Delhi, close to the railway station. When I entered the room he welcomed me with a drink, which I refused. But he insisted again and again. I kept on refusing and suddenly he was on top of me with the glass in his hand, he forced the liquor inside me. The next thing I remember was waking up in a shabby room, lying on a wooden bed with dirty linens and the sexually decorated walls. I was scared and started banging the door but no one opened it. I looked inside the drawers and found packets of condom and a box of pills. I looked outside through a small hole in the broken window and I realized where I was. It was the famous G. B. Road of Delhi.
I cried for the next four days, without water or food. One day a man dressed up in a white shirt and black trousers came with two goons and fed me. I was hungry and ate everything on the plate. After I was done he said with a straight tone “you are my property now. I will handle you, sell you and do whatever I want. This door will be left open but do not try to run from here.” He left saying that. Later that night at 3, I woke up and slowly got out of my bed. I looked for the stairs and made a run for it. I was walking slowly and only when I was about to reach the ground floor, a man snatched my hair from behind. He grabbed me and threw me on the floor. He was the same man who I had met at the hotel in Delhi. I tried fighting him and the whole building was up now. The man, whose ‘property’ I was, came down and slapped me. Once, twice and thrice! He brought his face close to me and started abusing me to which I replied by spitting back at him. He wiped his face and whispered something to his goons. Then two guys came towards me, one held my arms and the other held my right feet on the ground. A third man came with a drilling machine towards me and drilled a small hole through my left leg calves.
Over 80% of the agents bring young women into the profession were known people and not traffickers such as neighbors, relatives, etc.
After that I could no longer run and I never asked anyone for help. I made a few friends and realized almost half of them shared my story. No one came here voluntarily and no one can leave voluntarily either. I still remember my first time with a man. He was a fifty year old. Remembering that night still sends shivers down my body which kills a part of me every day.”
She took another sip of her coffee and jut lay quiet for some time. She wiped a tear off her right cheek and said “After some months I was sold off to the Kamatipura area of Bombay and since then I have been here. I have been used by more than hundred men already. I cannot have a child because the Aunty here forced me into an operation. I will be forced out of here as soon as I turn 30 as Aunty says ‘You are useful to me only as long as you are useful to my clients’. Every day I wake up in pain and live in pain. Every day I just want to kill myself and wish to end this suffering for ever. But guess what, a whore has no rights. Not even the right to end her life.”
Two guys standing closer to me now picked me up with my collar and said “It is time for you to leave now. Your two hours are over.” I fought back saying “No, but I am not done yet. I want to talk more. Leave me you bastards.” The goons looked up towards the terrace where the Aunty shook her head signalling a big ‘No’. I looked at the girl sitting on that swing and as they dragged me out I said “I am sorry. I wish I could do something for you. I am really sorry.”
She stood up all of a sudden and ran towards the guy who was standing in front of me with my neck in his hands. He couldn’t see her coming. She forced her hands on that guy and took out his pistol which was pushed into his jeans on the back. She held the pistol in her trembling hands and without wasting anytime she aimed the gun and shot. A deafening roar pierced through the air.
She was lying on the ground as blood poured out of her shattered skull. The grief ridden face was now gone and she welcomed the calm sleep.
Meghna committed suicide on 28th April 2014.
Where will I find again, my old dreams, my lost innocence and my forgotten childhood? Where is gone the shade of the trees that were once my home?
Life, as I see it. 