Darkness would always cover this area, any time of the day it may be, especially in winters. A labyrinth of narrow lanes amidst tightly packed hutments, people swarming in from everywhere, there is hardly any space for light to fit in- however people somehow manage to. But the place is dark, in the deeper sense of word as well. Crawling with goons, drug dealers, pimps; it is no place for a woman. Yet here these women dwell- it is their market, here they are bought and sold…and rented.
It will hurt her to know, that I visit here- often. Yet she must know, wherever in universe she dwells, as it is almost impossible for me to keep it from her. Unlike her, I have never been secretive.
It will hurt her to know, that I visit here- often. Yet she must know, wherever in universe she dwells, as it is almost impossible for me to keep it from her. Unlike her, I have never been secretive.
…
1.
I have always been uncomfortable around women. Shyness has never let me put the words right. No doubt I was single throughout my bachelor days. And then we had an arranged marriage.
When I saw her for the first time, in the guest room of her paternal home. I wanted to marry her without a second thought. Love at first sight few may call it, desperation most will. But that was how it was; she was beautiful… and in that pink glittering sari, she was magic!
I had to start the conversation; it was the norm for such kind of meetings. So, like a novice would, I began with the harmless topic of education. She reciprocated, and I noted her sweet voice. (With a hint of nervousness- but then, I was nervous too.)
After lingering from topic to topic, I discovered she had an interest in reading. ‘That is such a good thing!’ I thought. We spotted a common liking there. And somewhere, the conversation eased; at least for me. I wonder what was happening in her head then. We never discussed this topic ever after, perhaps for the better.
When I saw her for the first time, in the guest room of her paternal home. I wanted to marry her without a second thought. Love at first sight few may call it, desperation most will. But that was how it was; she was beautiful… and in that pink glittering sari, she was magic!
I had to start the conversation; it was the norm for such kind of meetings. So, like a novice would, I began with the harmless topic of education. She reciprocated, and I noted her sweet voice. (With a hint of nervousness- but then, I was nervous too.)
After lingering from topic to topic, I discovered she had an interest in reading. ‘That is such a good thing!’ I thought. We spotted a common liking there. And somewhere, the conversation eased; at least for me. I wonder what was happening in her head then. We never discussed this topic ever after, perhaps for the better.
I said ‘yes’ of course.
And I thanked all the good Gods, as she did too.
And I thanked all the good Gods, as she did too.
…
I have only one place to visit. Go straight from ‘aate wala chawk’- take right from the butcher shop, 3rd house, and 1st floor.
The mistress, Bimala greets me with a smile on her glossy face, as always. She takes the money and lays the rules; ‘use condom! No anal! No humiliation, just do it and leave’. Any of these rules I’m hinted by the way, can be broken with extra money. I, a man with my own misery, hardly cared.
Bimala knew the one I needed to see, so the part of choosing the girl was skipped. I waited for her, as she was occupied with someone else. Seated on the edge of the chair; I kept hold of the polythene bag I brought, pink fabric falling out of it.
…
2.
It is really hard to guess, what’s happening in a girl’s mind during the ceremony of marriage; especially in the case of an arranged marriage. So when you see her dull, you think perhaps she is scared, and you think, “Let this thing end, I will make it comfortable for her.” Or, what if she loves someone else, and it is all against her wishes, and you think, “But she told me she is not. Was she forced to?”
You whisper into her ears, “Are you ok?” and she nods.
And you sit muddling over her state, and egoistically decide that she is just a little scared; ‘I will make it right.’ And find your way to joy again. I held her hand in the car, when she was all in tears.
“You will be loved.” I told her. “I won’t let you miss a bit of it. I promise.”
I tried keeping that promise till the end. I wonder where I lacked. I now have hint though. She turned then, when we were leaving, gazing through the crowd, as if she was looking for someone.
“You will be loved.” I told her. “I won’t let you miss a bit of it. I promise.”
I tried keeping that promise till the end. I wonder where I lacked. I now have hint though. She turned then, when we were leaving, gazing through the crowd, as if she was looking for someone.
…
I first came to this place with a man I met at Café Fiesta. He worked for an NGO, engaged in rehabilitation of prostitutes. He was on a mission to rescue a girl out of this web. As I showed interest in his work, he asked me to tag along as he surveyed the area, so as to create a plan.
As we were on a stroll there, He told me the fundamental rules; behave like a customer, Don’t stop at a place for more than a minutes, locate hangout of goons, Don’t visit the victim more than twice (First, to tell her the date, brief plan; Second, When its time.). Frequent visitors are eyed upon.
He mapped all that he had to. He already had an account of who is who, and where is the risk; like a professional. And I was impressed.
My wife, she was a die-hard feminist, I thought. She would have loved to meet him. And lost as I was, after she was gone. I wondered if I could join him with the cause; probably that would take me closer to her. I would feel less lonely.
As I was contemplating, I saw this girl in the balcony. And everything stopped for a moment.
“Lets go!” He said.
I left, with that face, clear in my mind.
It was in news after a few days- a dead body found in the sewers, near ‘aate wala chawk’. The good man, whom my wife would have loved to meet, died.
…
3.
Given a sluggish start with our married life, our honeymoon went great (skipping the details!). Now we were talking freely; she had eased up. I tried being her friend more than a husband, and she did the same.
We would gossip. She would rest her head on me and indulge herself in some novel, while I watched TV. We would laugh together…and do things that couple do.
I finally felt loved. And that life is on the right track. We were planning life, investing intelligently.
Two years passed full of love and joy, we finally felt settled and were planning to have a baby (or two, if twins). Her mother came to visit us, and insisted that we have one soon. Her mother by the way is one of her kind- a radio without the pause button. My mother had the same interest by the way, and thankfully we were all set for it.
Her behavior changed… Drastically. We ended up in pointless arguments. I being the patient one, had to normalize the environment. The stress on her face would however, never go. I missed her smile. I consoled her; we had medication for depression…nothing was working; and I kept wondering what has happened.
The idea of having a baby, needless to say, was postponed.
She started spending weeks at her mother’s. I agreed hoping that would make her ok. She somehow looked better when she returned. And I muddled if I should be happy to see her better; or be sad, that I am unable to keep her the same way.
“I’m sorry!” she said one day. Eyes drenched in tears, unable to form comprehensive words; she somehow managed to say, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” So clueless I was.
“You remember our neighbor; my childhood friend. I love him; I always have… I cannot lie to you anymore!” While words were being dropped by her mouth as missiles, I thought, ‘I knew!’
“I should have told you earlier…” She continued. “But I had moved on! Its just mumma told me about him…and I met him. He was in a lot of pain… I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Should anyone else have slapped her? People who know my story tell me they would have. But I loved her, like I still do (Like mad! People aptly say.) I gathered her in my arms, wanting her to calm down, to have breath.
I was hurt… badly! But I wasn’t angry. (To my own surprise at times, when I think about it.) Of all things I know, she was a nice person.
“You want to be with him.” I asked
She didn’t answer- and there was her answer.
We filed a divorce. And she kept saying sorry; I kept myself strong. Though inside, each of her apologies was breaking me bit by bit. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop loving her… May be I will care for someone, but not love. But for the kinds of us (me and her…) first love…is first love. It is rather everything.
…
Finally, She was free and it was my turn. Her room, like any other room in the house (Brothel, if you thought so.) was just enough to accommodate a bed and a cupboard; behind the door was the cloth hanger. I kept the packet on bed; and sat at a corner appreciable distance away from her. She knew the drill.
She looked just like my wife (Ex-wife, now that you know.). It amazed me, the first glance at her. I had to come back to be sure. There is a marginal difference, with the nose I think. But similarity has captured me. I come here, whenever I miss my wife (Ex- wife, I apologize…) In the pink sari, this girl brings that magic back from the day I first fell in love (Love at first sight, I will call it; the hell with people!).
To her, my visit was like rest, easy money. She probably considered me crazy…surely did, who won’t? She however knew, I try seeing my wife in her; from a one liner answer I gave to her, for her queries about my stupid idea. She agrees to it.
I was seeing her getting undressed to wear the sari. And I saw a burn below her navel; a recent one, still red. It wasn’t of cigarette (most common for such a scenario) rather from a hot piece of iron to my guess.
“Kya huh? (What happened?)” I asked
“Ajeeb ajeeb type k log aateh yaha! Ek sala sari pehna k khush hai! dusra chamdi utarne ko taiyaar! BehenChod! (Strange people visit here! One is happy with making me wear a sari and other wants to peal my skin off!)” she said while making plates in the sari.
“To kuch dawai lagai koi? (So, you applied any ointment?) ”
“Tujhe kya? Dikhti hai mein tere biwi jaisi! Hai nhi! Ek aaya tha khayal karne wala mera… nikaal lega bola mere ko yahan se, kaat k phenke use nali mein. Tu apne se kaam rakh! (Why do you care? I just look like your life, but I am not. There was a guy who cared for me, he said that he will take me out of here, they butcher him and threw him in the sewers. You think of yourself!)”
“Le ho gya! Jee bhar ke dekh aur phut le! (It's done. gaze as much you want and leave!)” She continued, while putting the pallu over her shoulder.
…
That day, I couldn’t see her- my ex-wife, my love in this woman in front of me. I just remembered the good man I met; and that wonderment I had.
“That’s the right way to be close to her.” I whispered to myself.
P.S. My ex- wife is no more. They both passed away together, she and her childhood love. I work for welfare of prostitutes. My ex-wife’s look-alike is now rescued.
