Just a minute drive from New Delhi Railway Station, three-storyed dilapidated buildings with fading paint was on one side of the road which carries a various flashy billboards that says -- G.B. Road, Shradhanand Marg. The street lights after few meters clearly shows that there is market which is closed during night.
The road was filled with speeding rickshaw pullers with two or one commuters. The rickshaw pullers fighting from other for pass. Whenever, a rickshaw stops near the one of these building – two to three men wearing black jackets and having deadly face approach them.
After a minute conversation, they then take them to dark corridors smeared with foul-smelling. As soon as they move, a few teenagers approach them and tries to sell something (condoms). These black jackets men shoo them away.
It was 11 p.m on Friday. The night was cold and foggy. I parked my bike between a few cars after crossing a police check post. As I took out the keys from my bike, two men from nowhere in no time were standing beside me. “Sahib kaisa chahiye (Sir what kind do you want),” said one of them, whose eyes were only visible as he had covered his face with a muffler to save himself from cold..
I was at Garstin Bastion (G.B.) Road -- the red light area – of the national capital and these two men who approached me were pimps -- dalals -- in the payroll of wealthier kothas. They were these for customers. I told them to come after ten minutes. But one of them threatened not to stand there. Police will catch you and throw out of the place. Come along with me. We will provide you whatever you want ... North Indian, South Indian, Foreigners, North East... Will also provide you whatever age ... 15, 16, 25, 35... will provide you everything. Will also provide you in whatever rate do you want,” said and put his hand on my shoulder and forcing me towards one a dark corridor. I resisted and asked them to leave.
Standing alone across the road where there is Indian Railways Coach Care Centre, I saw people in bike, cars, rickshaws and on feet coming and going inside the dark corridors with 'these men' to fulfill their carnal desires where bodies are sold for minimum of Rs 250.
Just to find how they operate and where are these khotas, I went towards these dark corridors. The shutters of the shops were closed and as I walked down, I witnesses a few aged women along with two to three these men – pimps -- sitting on a thin, dark staircase between the shops.
One of them, stopped me and asked me to come inside. I again resisted but then just to check out, I complied and entered into the stair and promised to pay them Rs 250. As I climbed, I saw five aged women sitting on the stairs. They asked me to shell out Rs 500. I told them I don't have. One of them, who was later identified as Manju , said give Rs 400 and get inside.
I was pushed inside the dark staircase and one of the aged women was acting as a guide. Then suddenly, there was light a bulb and a hall. One side of the hall was locked with huge iron grills. Women and men were sitting on a sofa and talking to each other. There was overbearing smell of inexpensive perfume, rancid body fluids and oil. A man opened lock and pulled me inside the hall and asked me to sit.
They inquired do I prefer liquor?. I said, “No.” One of them then went inside and called around five women and asked me to select one of them. Wearing blouse and petticoat with loud make up, the women were presented. All the eyes struck on me. There were smiles on their faces but behind that those smiles lies an untold tortured story.
Seeing them, I felt sorry and asked the man, who identified as Umesh, to open the lock and let me out the hall. He replied, “Why have you come here for wasting out our time during this peak business hour.” He opened the door and I with fast steps came climb down the dark staircase to the corridor where a few men were climbing up.
Out a three-storyed dilapidated building, I wondered how these 4000 women, confined in a four-by-six room, became emotionless, unthinking, mechanical sex workers.
The road was filled with speeding rickshaw pullers with two or one commuters. The rickshaw pullers fighting from other for pass. Whenever, a rickshaw stops near the one of these building – two to three men wearing black jackets and having deadly face approach them.
After a minute conversation, they then take them to dark corridors smeared with foul-smelling. As soon as they move, a few teenagers approach them and tries to sell something (condoms). These black jackets men shoo them away.
It was 11 p.m on Friday. The night was cold and foggy. I parked my bike between a few cars after crossing a police check post. As I took out the keys from my bike, two men from nowhere in no time were standing beside me. “Sahib kaisa chahiye (Sir what kind do you want),” said one of them, whose eyes were only visible as he had covered his face with a muffler to save himself from cold..
I was at Garstin Bastion (G.B.) Road -- the red light area – of the national capital and these two men who approached me were pimps -- dalals -- in the payroll of wealthier kothas. They were these for customers. I told them to come after ten minutes. But one of them threatened not to stand there. Police will catch you and throw out of the place. Come along with me. We will provide you whatever you want ... North Indian, South Indian, Foreigners, North East... Will also provide you whatever age ... 15, 16, 25, 35... will provide you everything. Will also provide you in whatever rate do you want,” said and put his hand on my shoulder and forcing me towards one a dark corridor. I resisted and asked them to leave.
Standing alone across the road where there is Indian Railways Coach Care Centre, I saw people in bike, cars, rickshaws and on feet coming and going inside the dark corridors with 'these men' to fulfill their carnal desires where bodies are sold for minimum of Rs 250.
Just to find how they operate and where are these khotas, I went towards these dark corridors. The shutters of the shops were closed and as I walked down, I witnesses a few aged women along with two to three these men – pimps -- sitting on a thin, dark staircase between the shops.
One of them, stopped me and asked me to come inside. I again resisted but then just to check out, I complied and entered into the stair and promised to pay them Rs 250. As I climbed, I saw five aged women sitting on the stairs. They asked me to shell out Rs 500. I told them I don't have. One of them, who was later identified as Manju , said give Rs 400 and get inside.
I was pushed inside the dark staircase and one of the aged women was acting as a guide. Then suddenly, there was light a bulb and a hall. One side of the hall was locked with huge iron grills. Women and men were sitting on a sofa and talking to each other. There was overbearing smell of inexpensive perfume, rancid body fluids and oil. A man opened lock and pulled me inside the hall and asked me to sit.
They inquired do I prefer liquor?. I said, “No.” One of them then went inside and called around five women and asked me to select one of them. Wearing blouse and petticoat with loud make up, the women were presented. All the eyes struck on me. There were smiles on their faces but behind that those smiles lies an untold tortured story.
Seeing them, I felt sorry and asked the man, who identified as Umesh, to open the lock and let me out the hall. He replied, “Why have you come here for wasting out our time during this peak business hour.” He opened the door and I with fast steps came climb down the dark staircase to the corridor where a few men were climbing up.
Out a three-storyed dilapidated building, I wondered how these 4000 women, confined in a four-by-six room, became emotionless, unthinking, mechanical sex workers.
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