Civic issues, Features and Personalities of Navi Mumbai
Story of a Prostitute (sex worker)
I was sleeping, but not intended to, when I met her. It was surprising, but was not wrong when she told me ‘thu to bacha he’ (you are just a child). I spend 4 long hours with the most intelligent women that I ever met. Those intellectuals may call her a “prostitute”, but she names herself as an Indian women. She sounds much more like a teacher with immense life experiences.
Desperate hope of an Indian woman who forgot to dream
she (Sheela-name changed) taught me from the history of class struggles to bitterness of compromising emotions better than any of my teachers. Even that was in just few hours.
As a young reporter, furious to find something new, I love to roam around the city of Panvel. Panvel never disappointed me, but always gave me lives and experiences. In such an evening I was disappointed with no stories in hand, sitting in open veranda of a hotel. Exhausted, I was surrounded by a group of girls at 11 pm. I acted like a dead sleeping animal. They searched all over my body to find some money, but they couldn’t. One of them gave me a strong kick on head when others poured some Marathi terms, which I couldn’t understand.
I was tired and fall asleep on that veranda. In the dark midnight, I was awake and got a company on other side of veranda. She was also trying sleep, but couldn’t due to heavy cold atmosphere. We remained silent for half an hour by sharing a single veranda. I started talking, as I could not control my curiosity.
She showed me a cow staying near to the hotel. The cow was eating something and was little fat. “The same people who respect and supply immense amount food to this animal, consider me as a filthy creature on this earth. Why that.” she said. I was surprised when she said “it is not only me, but color of Indian womanhood” in English. “How a woman from red light area could speak in English” I asked with in no time.
There she opened the story of a well educated but cursed life of an Indian woman.
She was undoubtful and sound bold while talking to me. But I could smell her crying mind when explained her experiences. She was not wearing colorful dress or covered with perfumes. Still she was shinning like a star in that dark sky in front of my naked eyes. It was all silence all around us, when she pours out her heart. “It is the odour of suppressed, deprived Indian youth. It’s not so inspiring to hear the voice of those even forgot to dream” She said. Against all odds happened in her life, she still dreams for a day when her son (lives somewhere in his village) will have his own identity and not known as a “son of prostitute”.
Her husband was an engineer. He was hopeful to settle in a foreign country with a good job, like many Indian youths. But destiny took him into some bad friends. They took him into drug, fake currency and flesh trade. Though this brought him money, it costs his family. One day he was disappeared and never came back. By that time Sheela was in the hands of bad people. Sold to some red streets in Mumbai, she was later sent to Panvel. After many attempts to escape, she understood it is almost impossible to escape. She said ” I know only death can take me out of this trap”.
I asked her “what can I do for u”. She replied ” Tu tho bacha hai”. It was hard for me to acknowledge that I am helpless. It was sure that she is pure from her heart and representing the Indian womanhood. This is why I said “A Night with a Virgin”
For I acknowledge my wickedness
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