In this seamy and sordid world where every painted face hides its talks of abhorrence by mellowed and sugarcoated conversations, every painted face also gifts to another a hope of a perfect, a flawless duration of their existence. ‘’ Happily ever after ‘’, the fact that this fairy tale notion is not conceivable to many is understandable. Even if this concept is estimated to be prevailing in some desolate corner of the world, it may just prove to be quite detrimental to the human race. Take for instance, that every aspect of your life has been assiduously placed, so impeccably that you never have a chance to fret; every movement that your eyes see completes the long-infested desire of your heart. The monotony of perfection bores you. That is what life is after your are meant to be living the fairy tale ending. The sun beamed luminously and the birds chirruped melodiously, caressing the ears of every listener. It was a typical winter Sunday when the sun’s rays feel your shivering body and instantly you come to life like a robot. I curled my frail body on the living room couch, grabbed the T.V remote and put on N.D.T.V, my favourite channel. NEWS – ‘’ Oscar girl becomes prostitute’’. A girl called Preeti who was one of the nine children who had worked in a movie called ‘Born to Brothels’, Zara Barik became a prostitute. The film won 20 international awards in 2005. A year after, the girl slipped into the vice, into the flesh trade…………..
…………….All eyes were on me, cameras flashed, people talking, our movie’s background music, it all merged into one, creating the best moments of my life. I, Preeti, was born in a slum in Mumbai and was picked up by Zara aunty when I was twelve. She filmed me in a documentary which won many awards. After all the adulation I had received, the money I had got, the neurosis of my life was, almost suddenly, distanced from me. My mother discreetly sold me to a brothel in the largest red light district in Asia called Sonagachhi. She had abased my entire existence by that treacherous deed. The price a mother had got for her daughter was one lakh.
I was brought to sonagachhi by two men who kept me in a room. The room had pink walls, uncouth women spoke like animals creating a din (unbearable), they wore the saree like it was a bikini, the lights were dim and pink, and cobwebs were hanging from every corner. I sat on my haunches and wailed. I screamed as loud as I could. No one cared. One of the men walked up to me and before I knew it he was carrying me into a small room. I violently moved my arms and legs, I wanted to run instantly. I beat his back with my fists. He impudently flung me on the bed and savagely he let me down bit by bit into that well I have unable to climb out of till now. After that I had many clients, their rough and unkempt hands frisked me and I simply succumbed to my destiny. In the same brothel there were more than twenty five females. One of them was called ‘Mishi’, she led the troop. As a prostitute I was taught never to reject a client. I was taught to be courteous to all my customers. If I ever muttered a word of dissatisfaction, I was mercilessly whipped. I worked round the clock everyday. In the beginning I remember I was difficult. I was resistant and would inquisitively ask questions about everything. But once I began getting slapped for my questions, I stopped talking. I fell silent like a river. Recently, Mishi took us all for a free medical check up. I had spent two years by then. I was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the brain and the chest. Mishi decided to leave me there as I had already recovered the money I was bought for.
I stood outside the hospital in deep contemplation. I tried to comprehend what I felt. I wasn’t elated to be free, I wasn’t sad either. I just couldn’t read my emotions. I guess I was confused. Should I go to Mumbai to my mother? Should I beg to be admitted back in the brothel? Life had carried me carelessly to a crossroad and had left me in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. Who was my assailant? Who was my well wisher? All the emotions merged and jumbled up in my head. A daze, a trance like state set in. A beautiful chaos.
………….Life, is this what it is? Preeti, thought she had reached the fairy tale ending, the so called ‘lalaland’ of her dreams. Mocked by the gods and her god-like mother, not one passenger of her life’s train journey had shown her even a vestige of altruism. The world thought at once while watching these nine children in their moment of glory – that at least now they are going to live happily ever after but who would say that this is what life after it turned out to be. But I guess personally, I can relate to what Preeti must have felt like. I know what it’s akin to at least. It is the day after Christmas, as a child, when all the magical gifts you receive feel like an amalgamation of merely plastic and paint.
