A woman of the street, prostitute, call girl, a wrong woman is all synonyms of a woman whose nights are dressed up in the finest attire, shinning fake jewelry adorning their bodies with stunning, glamorous makeup to present her artistry in enticing the customers for the night to plunder her body, disrobe her soul, muzzle her feelings. Sheaths after sheaths on her body is ruthlessly peeled off and made to dance at the command of her one night predator.
How this old profession started, when it started and its reasons are not serious for contemplation and evaluation. Serious are the issues these women go through on a daily basis, why and how they receive the barbarous torture of their comely bodies and what is their mind frame towards this remorseless society devoid of any penitence. This business in the narrow lanes of the bed world, hotels, roadside motels who glare with multi-colored bulbs at night, churning out loud music and the betel chewing pimps with their crooked looks, always on the move to find the clients, for the last many centuries have never depreciated rather built up with the passage of time.
The call girls standing around a lamp-post looking with their mischievous eyes would keep the world moving by satisfying the carnal desires of men in the garb of wolves. The men as always had their supremacy, women being most vulnerable, weak, docile, sentimental and full of sex reduced to mere a pawn and an easy earning source. How unfortunate indeed?.
The reasons as abduction, poverty, selling off, coercion are many such that brings them to this perverted, jaundiced world of human nature. Yes, many in pursuit of the good life and making a fast buck, lend themselves in this craft and sometimes unwillingly becomes the lasting voice of this deal. Nothing is left for them except a new man on every night, muzzling their honor and hated like a street bitch.
This profession is equally old as civilization. It seems this profession started as a sacred prostitution throughout the world, particularly with Ashtroreth worship in ancient Isreal, the same is being practiced today. The tale of Judah and Tamar as of sacred prostitution is well recognized, but some historians have refuted its claim. From the Papal pimps who put brothels in the Vatican, to modern day streets of Soho and Amsterdam, prostitution has propagated as a source of income for those who considered women an easy target of lust and merriment.
From the brothels in the Vatican to the latest exploits of Hollywood, Bollywood and the film industry of the world, drug mafia of South American states, Devdasi system in India to the known and unknown ghettos of the world have reaped its rewards. The high class call-girls of ancient Greece, restoration actors, professional courtesans and high-powered madams all had their loot in the world of prostitution, who didn’t mind earning fast buck in this evergreen and flourishing business. The prostitute’s lot has been constantly shifting – over time whores and harlots have been elevated to the modern day call girls, fashionable women, society women and what not, but the frame of reference of her being, as any other commodity has never ever changed. Only the buyers changed with each night, but as it is discovered, it’s a surprisingly resilient profession that has shot down all attempts to suppress and control it. No nation in the globe can boast to have completely eradicated this menace. The Gulf and Muslim states that accept the toughest and cruel laws against prostitution is the most frequented place of the bold and beautiful.
Many of the prostitutes performing sexual favors in some obscure nook of a room are all about money or for the survival, but history is replete with instance of women who with their skill, mannerism and their crafty maneuvering changed the history or brought for themselves power, position and prestige. Who can forget Rahab the Harlot, Aspasia, Nell Gwynn, Umrao Jaan, Aqleem Akhtar, Mary Boleyn, Elizabeth Stride, Air Force Amy, Naho Hazuki and thousands of others who placed themselves in important positions by their sheer maneuvering of their art of soft voices, ever dancing eyes and with their pompous cat walk. They didn’t only make this profession attractive in terms of money, but at times, many held such positions that may be envious of others.
The prostitutes, pimps, madams, call girls, professional courtesans, the murky underworld of massage boutiques of Thailand have all reaped awards in their own way. The costumes, makeup, mannerism all may have changed in the last thousands of years, but if not changed is the sexual habits, outlook towards women, undoubtedly more than before she undergoes exploitation. More than before she is estimated for her beauty, virginity, more than before she is disrobed and more than before her vociferous attempts to abolish this ignoble profession is enfeebled with an equally strong advocates for this trade.
‘I die every night’ relates to a young, vivacious, beautiful girl who belonged to a lower middle class, noble and pious family, the turn of the events in her life, like an eruption of a volcano forced her to accept prostitution much against her intellect and consciousness. The God had been very generous in imparting her with exceptional beauty with a sharp mind, rest the world taught her. This determined woman, with light bluish wide eyes, her peach shaped alluring face, her enticing cat walks, punishing her onlookers to look at her once more and once more, during her heyday was among the most sought after, call girl of Bombay. Despite choosing this profession much against her appetite and all the odds against her, didn’t dither in exposing her bosom for the destitute, poor women compelled like her to get in the trade called – prostitution. Bequeathing her entire earnings for charitable purposes, donating some vital parts of her body to the needy and bestowing the ownership of her body on her death for medical purposes.
Her lively and minute details are stunning with many of her clients and varied were the experiences from being a wife for some days to a cunning whore, from a police accomplice to an ultra modern call girl, from a murderer of a minister, to a benevolent woman whose heart never failed to sympathize for the women like her. Her face masked different characters performed with an outstanding talent and grit, unreachable for many. Her desire to be a wife and have her own family at many times was like a fierce eruption, looking throughout her life for a kind and benevolent man who would have the mercy on her past and will take her in his arms and plant passionate kisses on her cheeks. This pain she carried deep down her spine making her weep often, speaking with a maligned heart about this ignominious society and carrying in her mind the most spiteful opinion about the wolves who tore her every night, but never a word she uttered against the Almighty who brought her into this world of discrimination.
A friend of mine Vijay (Name changed) while; in Bombay, for a conference, ran into this woman in a five- star hotel and such a bond built up between them, they spent full two days together and my friend experiencing the most horrific and challenging story of a prostitute’s making from her mouth. Her short life was full of dragons, potholes, craters and the images of those predators who made her weep every night. Since my friend’s meeting with Gulnar, the mysteriousness still pops up on and off why did Gulnar trust him and narrated her deplorable saga of her life, the shroud of mystery is colossal and her silence is immense and killing. My friend asked her this question while; leaving Bombay, but where my friend failed miserably to get the answer drop down from the lips of Gulnar, her slushy eyes hidden behind her dark goggles had the everything to say and indeed they came out true – she trusted him more than anybody else as he didn’t ask her bare body, he didn’t bleed her heart with a dagger in his hand, he didn’t turn out a wolf likes others to tear her apart, but empathized with her for her every word and sentence.
Vijay’s responsiveness and good vibrations, perhaps helped her to speak her mind to a stranger who did not wish anything from her, maybe she could not find anybody else like him in woefully low in sentiments and extremely low in human respect – Bombay, a jungle of high rise buildings, always on a move to catch the moon and more than anything else – distress fully short of a friend on whose shoulder you can keep your head and weep for hours.
Gulnar, I salute you. You trusted my friend – a stranger. On my friend’s part he too kept the affection for you in his most secretive part of his body for all these years until a few months back, he narrated this story to me and exhorted to pen down those beautiful days he had with you. This novel nevertheless a short biography of yours will never ever see the day for you to go through, but will definitely stir millions of hearts.
It was no less than a Herculean task for me to pen down the memories of my friend, the subject was so alluring, my heart could not decline the heart rendering echoes of an aggrieved woman. Saying no would be corresponding to disrespect to my friend and our glorious association of years and would have stained with the black marks of stigma of fair weather friends. My several meetings with Vijay, sometimes along with his wife, questioning his motives, scientific line of reasoning, investigating like an ace spy, judicious and logical inquiry, putting forth up teen uncomfortable situations before him to capture the right sequences and moods undeniably antagonized him several times, but our intercourse on the subject did not cast any shadow on our unblemished friendship of many years, rather made it stronger. My intrusiveness was rather well taken care of by my well-groomed, polite and suave friend. I pay my highest regards to Vijay and his lovely wife Abha, who reinforced me with their outright support and deemed me competent to write this novel and this is no less than a feather in my cap.
A debt of gratitude is in order for my family, friends, and near and dear for their unflinching support in writing this book.
I am equally thankful to my publisher for their outright support.
The names of the characters, offices, events, government, non- government organizations have been all fictionalized and it does not in any way purports to anyone. Any relation will be simply a coincidence.
Completely engrossed for the last six months to bring out in physical form this novel, I didn’t spare any effort on my part to present the right narration coupled with the right feelings and the most proper words with sentences. Candidly speaking, it brings pain and anguish for not being sincere to the readers, nothing more is heartbroken, nothing is more embarrassing than the readers rejecting your workmanship.
Here I present ‘I die every night’.