Since we forecasted our take off to Pune; I was hearing about the Budhwarpett, a
street of call girls, where human body sold at a bread rate; where men guzzle feminine
blood; a red street at the heart of Pune city. When I landed at Pune, I saw a direct pick
up cab waiting outside to Budhwarpett, be-seated already by my friends. Also I used to
hear about the place from my colleagues who came before me at Pune. On the same
evening, the very first, four of us planned to take a visit there. The visit actually didn’t
mean ‘just a visit’ but to have some ‘relax’ at a fixed rate of Hundred and fifty rupees
only or cheaper. Is sex that cheap? May be or may we didn’t know the price of life and
life’s most beautiful thing.
The cab took us to the place where my friends asked to. My heartbeats were
very high as I was excited about what I will see there. Two of my friends were going like
to win a challenge, a deadly challenge. The previous night they went taking a bucket of
Vodka and both failed to complete the mission, to erect or ejaculate. So that day
everybody was with dry stomach and was intended to achieve it. The moment we
reached, both the guys vanished with their ‘Partners of the night’. Will they achieve it
tonight? Don’t know but they should.
I wondered seeing the place, ‘The Market of Whores’. Every girl over there was
made up, to attract devils, her customer, with rose powders and deep red lipsticks.
Years ago, they also might have dreamed of preparing in bridal wear, or some might
have been once or may more. But the fate played such a game with them and they are
now making up for a days food. They now wait for a customer where once they waited
for groom, a good life partner. Every one of them had their own heart melting story, but
what we got to do with that? We were not there for an emotional drama. We needed
was only a sex, a cheap sex.
I and Rahul kept on walking in the street searching a good looking girl to spend
the night, to say some un-said naughty tales of Aesop. I don’t know, why it happened,
may be because I believe ‘nothing happens without a reason’; my mind took a U-turn
towards the dark face of my country; may be after being tired of searching. Thereafter I
saw a community in my country who were alive with lifeless hearts; or preserved; or
froze; or lost; or stolen; or broke. For them, in their eyes and life, the entire world is bad,
bad is good for their stomach and every male is a cheat; but whom they have to please
every time is the same cheats, life’s irony. Do they have the right to live? Or why should
they live? Is the life so precious? I asked myself.
It took a long time to find a satisfying answer. They were there as prostitutes
because of a wrong choice or as a part of life’s game, fate. Certainly they were like us
once, but something somewhere went wrong and they failed to take a right decision or
someone like us didn’t let them and gradually they got directed under red lights. Now
they are professionally in to it and saving our country from a lot of stuffs which are out of
forbidden lines. The place we call a red street, prohibited, is a core of attraction. Every
male know it, some remains satisfied or disciplined by restricting himself in life. Others
atleast once in a lifetime might have thought of these fairies. They opted a cheap night
than neighbour’s wife or daughter. They still had a family life, when wives failed to
satisfy. They paid these self-sellers to avoid doing rapes. This control of nature made
other women to walk on roads, to land in moon, to fly fighters, to lead wars, to rule
nations and to care their children. We can’t count how many housewives and parents
are eating the fruit of their service. And it’s scary to see a woman looking at a prostitute.
What she might not know is her husband’s Hundred rupee note was there in that
prostitute’s purse. We could find that ladies being contempt every time, helplessly. No
prostitute ever got any medal for social work, because every child hears them as sex
workers since birth, and sex work is not social work in any way; sex is fun, just fun. No
medals for fun.
So, they certainly have the right to live may be than us because we need them,
every women need them.
We never respect them and also abuses. Men plead them to reduce the rates
and to co-operate in bed. How tough is nature’s law sometimes! Do you respect a
prostitute? If not, don’t abuse them at least.
But my friend did, he did love a prostitute. He loved the smile of Muskaan, a low
rated prostitute. He respected her. He took her out to peaceful places, sat with her and
talked a lot. He paid her much and they kept sending SMSs, so romantic ones. Both
were very happy on each others company. In result you know, what we did? We made
fun of him. For such deeds the society where we live always made fun, after all it’s a
custom.
Amidst the way, I saw a ‘mother’ playing with her small child. It touched me so
deep. I stood there watching and bought a mango juice for that child, Anju. Anju was six
months old. The lady introduced herself as the mother of the child. Everybody out there
was Anju’s mother, the mothers forbidden from the normal life, being a wife of someone
or being a mother of a child with a father. So Anju was a child of all of them. She will
grow with these mothers. She will see them crying, pleading abusing and sleeping with
as much as people they can. She may go school and college; where she may be
treated bad, odd and out from children with good societal status. But am sure she will
not cry on the first day at kindergarten. I wish, she may, achieve heights, to touch the
sky, or to land in moon, or to lead a war or to rule a nation. I want the world to eagerly
wait for her live lecture on TV, and she proudly saying to the world,
“Yes, I am a child of prostitute. My mother served the world, the thirsty humans.
But the world ill-treated her, abused her and she taught me to smile at you in return.
She hid her tears from me, from you, for me and she made me grow and live for you.
She is no different from any other mother, but she was restricted in so many ways. Now
I stand in front of you all being the daughter of a prostitute and you are no better than
me, but we are all same.”
I gave that mango juice for Anju but that lady refused and said she drinks only
milk. I played with Anju for a little time. Children are all alike, cute, innocent, lovely and
pure. I didn’t notice that my friends were back and staring at me. I stood up to leave. I
waved at her and she didn’t bother at all. She was a kid; she knew nothing even about
her father. This time it was me, my friends made fun of me. For such deeds the society
where we live always made fun and no worry, again it’s a custom. It is not at all a
feather on the crown of our country, having such places. Still these places are,
forbidden and restricted but, they are not less than ashrams, where the God’s wives
chose to serve the world with relax for a nominal fee for food.
Let’s pray to God,
Before them, After them, Respect by heart,
Every man and every women, for their
Mother, sister and daughter, now pray,
‘May the Lord show his grace on them,
May the human devote the Lord for them.’
