Unguarded in Kamathipura- 3

First job in the red light area of Mumbai

Consistence. A mere simple word whose gravity I am trying to learn now and the least to mention, it isn’t easy. I promised myself to write every week and I was keeping at it until some things hit me personally and it all went for a toll. I skipped a week and then second and then third and then fourth. It took me a while again to pick up my thoughts and get back to what I actually love. It’s funny isn’t it? Sometimes things we love are the hardest to execute. Nonetheless, trying again is the key and here I am back again to complete what we started. Please do forgive me for keeping the loop open for a while. I hope this new year teaches me consistence and I keep up with all that’s required for it.

Kamathipura isn’t just the red light area of Mumbai. It’s the place that teaches you so much about life, most importantly it throws a bright light on what survival means to lakhs of people and in order to live, the tough choices they have to make. It also changes your outlook from white and black to the grey hues that subtly redefine your definitions of right and wrong.

Images are taken from Google for reference only

We did speak about the women, the ever-increasing HIV cases due to the pressure of their customers to not use protection and the women’s take on earning through a new skill. To be frank, while I was working there I sort of understood that we won’t be able to do much for the women. They have built layers of defense while surviving and nothing seems to move them. It won’t be wrong to say that most of them have accepted their fate and do not wish to change their routine anymore. Most of these women were perpetually worried about their daughters (from their love partners/ live-in partners) and it was/is a very genuine concern. How do you take your daughter away when every step of their growing up takes them closer to their rate cards? As a part of my job, I worked with adolescent girls to keep them out of inter-generation prostitution. We gave them tuition and tried to keep them at our center as long as possible. We also tried our best to get them admitted to boarding schools. We did all that we could do but sometimes we are never prepared for the upcoming challenges.

Taking you a little back on the timeline where I almost completed 8 months working in Kamathipura. We were strictly told to not be in office post 7 as it wasn’t safe. But sometimes, the journalist in me takes the front foot. I decided to see for myself what actually happens after 7. I spoke to a paan wala and requested him to show me around. He was reluctant but sometimes money solves for these kind of hesitations. I left the office and waited outside a lane.

It was around 7 30 pm when the area suddenly glittered with all kinds of lighting. Every house, every tree, every small shop or even roadside carts lightened up like it was Diwali. My guide for the day arrived and took me through the lanes. I saw thousands of women, high on alcohol and make-up laughing and giggling. I saw younger boys standing out of the brothels. I saw pimps looking for customers ensuring hypocrite secrecy. I saw men from all forms of life moving towards their closure for the night. My guide showed me some interesting escape routes used by brothel owners and pimps in case of a raid. The place indeed changes a lot in the night and every nook and corner speaks of money.

Images taken from Google for reference only

When I came back, I sat alone and started to draw the map of this area. I drew the lanes, the escape routes, the shops that I vividly remembered and the spots where the pimps keep a watch on everyone. And when I joined the dots, I realized what a horrible web it was. Every street was overlooked by atleast 4 men and it was quite impossible to go unnoticed.

After a week, while I was taking some session with the women, I saw 2 new young girls. Normally, the new ones were not allowed to even come to our center, but looking at their faces, it was easy to guess that they had been crying since days and may be some women convinced the brothel owner to let them go for some change. They kept crying through out the session and once it got over, they waited for everyone to leave and literally held my legs.

I took them to my desk and asked them what happened. “Hamein shadi ke naam se phasaya hai didi. Ye aadmi ne mujhse shadi ki aur yahan laake patak diya. Hamein bacha lo didi. Hum mar jayenge per ye kaam nahi karenge”. (We have been trapped in the name of marriage. This man married me and then threw us here. Please save us didi. We will die but won’t do this work). Apparently, there was a man whose job was to trap women in the name of marriage every month and bring them down here. In this case, the women was ~20 years old from a distant village in South. Her sister accompanied her to go her new house, rather a new journey but instead the man gave them to the brothel owner and earned good bucks for it.

I had no idea what to say to them. I knew of incidents where women were sacrificed (read killed) if they were sick and the owners had to pay for their treatment. They kept crying and begging to be free. I told them, “If I was at your place, I wouldn’t try leaving because there’s a fair chance I won’t survive”. I knew my answer did not satisfy them and in the heat of the moment, I briefly told them the routes from my map. I think, this was the first time I was introduced to fear of life so closely. I told them to go back with the women. Some days passed and I never saw them. I visited the brothel, did various sessions for the women but I never saw those two girls again. A sense of guilt took over me. A burden, that my smartness may have costed them their life. I couldn’t inquire about them through anyone. And after almost three months, I made myself believe that they were no more. I don’t think I shared this with anyone for a long long time. I had sleepless nights and the regret did not leave me for a second.

I lost my plot completely and decided to quit this job because what good was I adding? I accepted that I am no good for this job and this responsibility is too much for me to handle. It’s a different kind of grieve if you let someone down but here it was about their lives. And I had failed terribly. Those were some of the most difficult months of my life. The darkness of the truth kept getting darker every night. Thinking that resigning will atleast put a full stop on my incapabilities for this job, I quit.

But this wasn’t the end. On my notice period, while I was teaching the girls, I saw one of the younger ones had marks on her neck and hands. She was bruised. It took me almost 10 days to get her to speak only to understand that her step-father was sexually assaulting her. I followed the protocol and reached out to various organizations for legal support but they all declined. And that’s one of the limitations of the organizations that work in the red light area. The nature of the job of the sex workers somehow also deprives them of their basic rights. I had quit by now with a new purpose that no matter what, I will file a case. I went to the police station and when I told them the issue, they laughed on my face. One of them also told me, “Madam aapko ye jagah pata hai na? Yahan in sab baaton ki report nahi likhi jati. Aap apna aur hamara time waste na karo”. (Madam, do you know what place is this? In this area, we don’t lodge a report for these issues. Please don’t waste your and my time).

I had seen these things in movies but it hits you differently when it happens with you in real life. I called as many lawyers I could to support us moving forward. And thankfully I had met one of the Commissioners during my Dharavi time. I reached out to him, he did mention if I really wanted to do this and when I insisted, he spoke to the Police Incharge in Kamathipura. The assaulter was taken to the jail and the beautiful girl was sent to a boarding school in the next month. I can never forget her smile with tears in her eyes. She was not more than 8 years old and it still gives me shivers to think what she must have gone through. Some people really ruin the meaning of what it means to be a father or a mother or a husband and how difficult must it be for the victims who have to live through this.

And after almost 8 months, while I was traveling back from work (another job), I got a call from an unknown number. I picked up. “Didi, mai aur behen apne gaon pahunch gaye hain. Sorry aapko jaldi call nahi kiya. Bahut dare hue the. Per ab sab thik hai. Thank you didi. Apne bacha liya hamein”. And I burst out crying. I don’t think I could say anything more than, “Apna khayal rakhna”. I cried letting go of the regret I was burdened with for months, I cried that they were safe and I cried that they were alive and I cried for that call for days to come.

Looking back, I feel content and also unfinished. There are thousands of women and girls who face hell everyday and there is so little that can be done. The organizations in the red light area do their bit, but the legal processes and the truth about judiciary in India limits them to take the right steps. And it’s not their fault, is it? Because the options are either to run their everyday projects (which is quite hectic) or make rounds of the police station with a very little hope of success? But yes, that also doesn’t mean that you turn a blind eye to these horrendous incidents. On the brighter side, I met some fabulous groups of women lawyers working for the rights of the women and girls to ensure no such thing happens to them.

What can we do, you ask? Ideally, make the process a bit simple. Aware the people in-charge about these rights and also to work for them. Educate the girls and their mothers on their rights and ensure them that justice still prevails. Support the NGOs and also encourage them to take a stand for their communities because they really do need it. And as individuals, promise ourselves that if we ever witness any such incident, we will not stop until we have found the “right” solution for the fighter.

With this, my series on Kamathipura ends and the most important lesson I have learned is that “survival” can have so many different versions. But when it comes to its literal meaning, the girls and women in Kamathipura are the bravest. They make difficult choices every second, every new day is the same miserable old story for them but they do not give up and survive. And that my friends, is the most valuable asset.

Do share your thoughts and questions. Can’t wait :)

Love,

Ankita