My interactions with 'them': The Untold Story by Gitanjali Babbar
On recalling my first day inside a brothel, or even on the GB Road itself, I am hit by the now alien feeling of trepidation. I was sent out by NACO; it was assumed to be a challenging project. However, instead of being tense, I was curious to find out what rests on the other side of the veiled walls.
My colleagues in the field took me to a brothel after much reluctance, and the walk towards the brothel itself was an unnerving one too.
As you walk through the lanes, you expect to see brothels lined, as if on display. However, on my first visit I was presented with surprises, one after another: I walked past hardware shops, eyeing to spot the brothels, only to be suddenly pulled aside by my co-worker. As I tried to make note of things, I was asked to follow him upstairs, while the other two shielded me from behind. And, a few stairs up a low-lit, steep case of steps; no two people could even walk side-by-side through those, and we were already inside a ‘brothel. The room was small, but full with women – all placed as objects of lust.
As understanding dawned on me, I was astonished to see the exhibition of young girls sitting in mini-skirts, with painted yet expressionless faces, waiting to be picked by men in exchange for cheap cash. They looked like mannequins, but were actual people on sale.
We were made to sit in the big room, where everyone spent the day, gathered for meals and conversations. The small rooms were attached to this one room. And I could also see wooden compartments. My colleague told me, these were cabinets where they ‘entertained’ the clients. These were also called encounter rooms. I couldn’t imagine enough space for one to sit inside that space, let alone 2 people having sex.
While we waited, at around 2pm, an old man walked in with chhola bhaturas for the ladies’ breakfast. A few more visits inside the brothels and I learnt, even two wholesome meals were out of their reach despite having literally sold everything off themselves. One assumes bhaturas as delish treats, but inside a brothel they are mere cheap alternatives for staying full for long, that one could only get hold of once the madams or malkins were done eating.
What we call a brothel is also a house for these ladies. However, a roof as shelter does not mean care or even a decent night’s sleep. They were housed in dingy rooms – boxes carved by dividing a single room into multiple smaller ones. These small capsules for a room only had enough space for them to lie down, surrounded by their belongings, with no ventilation, let alone air to breathe. And other rooms, if any different, were dormitories, loaded with women. It was not only through the day but also at night, they lived a compromised life.
I recall I was soon asked to leave. Outsiders are not permitted to spend time with them in their rooms; I had collected enough for my first visit. I was sure, I will keep coming back.
From my visits with NACO, I learnt that there are nearly 30-40 girls in a brothel, and they don’t sleep before 4 in the morning, working all night to attend to clients. When they wake up at 11, one can see queues outside washrooms, since there are only 2-3 in a brothel. Such was their routine. I wanted to talk more, hear them out. But the maalkins made sure I only limit the discussions to those around official concerns – protection and sexual health.
I’ve often heard women say “humari zindagi toh narakh se bhi bhattar hai” (our life is worse than hell). And, I haven’t ever been to hell, but as a spectator, I can agree. They live in dark rooms and filthy conditions, deprived of essentials and surrounded by dangerous people. How else would one define hell?
I clearly remember, when I got back to the big room, the old ladies smirked and shrugged, and said “dekh liya hum kaese jeete hain? Ab tum NGO wale kya kar loge! Sirf baatein karte ho.” (now that you’ve seen our conditions, what do you think will you be able to change? We’ve only seen NGO representatives talk) I was holding a responsible position, however, I could hardly change things; I felt powerless.
Thereon, everytime I had to visit the G.B Road center, I would make sure that I went inside brothels, took a closer look; and I found out that they were deprived of all rights and freedom. They were slaves.
I could only think about their plight, and spent sleepless nights. I could see change was necessary and I promised I would bring back dignity and respect for these women.
I started sharing my intention with others, went searching for suitable people, and found a friend Ankush who later became the regional head of Yuva Parivartan, an NGO facilitating skill development in young dropouts. As an experiment we decided to train in newer skills, as alternative livelihood options for them.
We went out looking for a safe space, and met Mr. Raess who agreed to give out a floor of his nursing home. And, all that was left was to convince the ladies to trust us and try learning new skills.
We started visiting brothels with a different agenda this time. We hoped to learn about their interests and have them meet us at the nursing centre. However, they were reluctant and even said they were made for sex work alone. They felt cheated and were not willing to trust again. I distinctly remember how in one brothel they decided to surround us and put us down, claiming we too shall leave in no time once our ‘motives’ are met.
Despite all of it, we managed to have two ladies join us. This was our opportunity to prove it to other women how we were here to stay and genuinely help out.
They brought in luck; within 10days sewing machines arrived and a trainer joined, and soon two more women joined. Then a few more started meeting us over the weekends, where we gathered to watch films, conduct discussions or to do art and craft etc.
My team also grew in number and I was joined by another volunteer from the Yuva Parivahan. Abhay soon became the spine of the project and took charge of all administrative issues.
Our interactions with the ladies brought out their concerns, and we realized they needed to learn how to read and write. Only two of them could read. We thus reached out through Facebook, and began looking for volunteers to teach. And, we met Radha who was willing to come down to the G. B. Road and teach. She was a corporate employee then. She did not only enjoy the first day, but became a friend for the ladies, and took them out to McDonald’s in Connaught Place. What maybe a routine for us, was a first for the ladies, and understandably so, they were overjoyed!
Our presence and experiments have been growing since, and we continue to run out stitching classes, bridge school and other training programmes for the Didis and their children. We have days when motivation runs dry, with funds, and volunteer support missing and other obstacles. But I am certain, we will witness the day when all of 2900 women will be skilled, literate and have a livelihood other than sex work. They will get the chance to hold their heads high, and the culprits will be held culprits for their follies. And, they will not only be accepted outside the G.B. Road, but also receive support and respect.
Whenever, I feel low or feel very happy, I remind myself: “Kuch aisa kar ke dikha, khud khush ho jaye khudah” (leave a mark so impactful, that even God is delighted).