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We look down with contempt on women who use their bodies as sex workers, but what about their male clients? A look into our collective hypocrisy.
Am I in the news again? Oh yes, I very much am.
For all the wrong reasons, I’m in the news yet again.
But the media should have at least warned me. My illiterate mind had heard that the media is supposed to be responsible in a democracy. Isn’t that true? Ah…my poor mind. Wish I would have had been taught how to read rather than to unzip pants.
Well, what should I say in my defense? People today, they hardly understand; they just listen. Some of them do not even see, they just watch. Nobody can blame you my dear fellow citizens…
No, I’m sorry. Please forgive me for calling you my own; for wanting to be a part of you all.
Can you forgive me for once, citizens?
I remember… I used-to-be one of you!
But one day, somebody forcibly took me away from my parents to a place I didn’t know existed. Did you watch Mardaani, the Rani Mukherjee starrer? Do you recall the scenes? I underwent the same. It was painful at first; the ropes, the cuffs, the forced sex, those bruises, the blood. But I was too scared to fight back or run away; no mardaani ever came to my rescue; you see – some mardaana (male) never cared.
In another instance, I also became the one who was sold away by my own parents. They needed money; they let me go. Some even said that after giving birth to me, my parents just waited for my chest to start growing. That was the cue, citizens. I was ready.
I joined my office very proudly. I had so many dreams of self-independence – I never wanted to feel like a member of the weaker section of society. One day my boss stopped me for work, late at night and spiked my drink. In my unconscious state, I could not fight back. His beak had fun and his camera had my naked pictures. I was harassed. Till today, I’m his mistress and his friends have easy access to me, too.
My father died. My mother and my siblings started looking up to me. My mother asked me to sacrifice my education and fetch money so that the fire beneath the chulha does not extinguish. I started enquiring about work. Most of them denied me. Not everybody was cruel though. Some looked at my breasts, some my ass and at other times they would also pay me a huge sum of money if I just stripped in front of them. Slowly, my clientele grew and sex became my field of expertise. But I’m happy; I get money as I wish, gas has replaced the chulha, my siblings are well-educated and my mother content.
But I’m still not a citizen of this country. I’m not amongst you all but my clients are. How ironical!
I sell myself for a vada-pav. You do not!
I am forced to sleep with different men; in one single day. You are not.
I end up sometimes giving birth to a child but shame on me; I am unaware of his father’s name. But your child flaunts his father’s name.
I end up sacrificing my body and my honour for the bread and butter of my family. You do not.
This is an industry that I am a part of and yet, I’m a slave; not to you, not to him but to my fate. But those men who dipped their beaks in me, they definitely are some kind of citizens.
Very well, Citizens of India and the third pillar of Democracy – Media! I salute you for exposing our National Award Winner too. You deserve a pat on your back for such a revelation. Such a brilliant discovery, is it not?
But where are those men who are hiding themselves? Should not you find out about them too? After all, their needs command this industry.
This news won’t sell, I know.
Stained my chunari
Yet, it failed to
Stain my Soul!
Pic credit: paingouin (Used under a CC license)
Poetess, Author, Content Writer,a self proclaimed Feminist, a nature enthusiast and an intellectual adventurer, Shreya
Kumar is an economics graduate. In her work, she experiments with the underlying conflicts present around us and delves read more...
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