her eyes not as lustrous as Helen',
her clothes not as rich as Parvati'.
Yet she was someone beautiful
Someone worth remembering!
A few days back, I met a young girl -of my age- in the brothels of GB road. She clearly didn't belong to the ruthless world of prostitution - but then nobody does and yet they exist, have always existed.Will always exist.
She was shy and silent as if talking to me was her mission impossible.
Her eyes did not reflect the pain she experienced every night.Her mouth never uttered the shocks she faced at a young age. Her lips never quivered at my constant questions- almost accusing tone.
She clearly did not trust me and kept telling me that everything is consensual but why will someone live in the tin like rooms-with a blend of urine,water,semen ,spit flowing on the floor and remains of their customers' pleasure? Why will someone live in the suffocating spaces which give freedom to someone else's sexual desires? Why will they quench someone else's thirst.
I had so many questions yet her answers seemed repetitive like a parrot praising his master - even though it clearly wished to fly.
I gave up at last and was about to leave," There is no difference between you and me.You think you live a normal life. I believe the same.
Yet we both live in an illusion.
Stop looking at me as if I am the victim. Look at the mirror and see me in yourself."
I visited the brothel again -this time not with questions - unfortunately I was told that the young girl had left-rescued by the police.Displaced from one "evil" world and rehabilitated into another.