Breaking Barriers

Over the years she has been able to build a relationship of trust, not only with the prostitutes but also with some of their “owners”, the owners of brothels, and even the big “daddy” (Godfather) who “protects” them and who I bumped into when he came to collect his share of the profits. Officially in this area there are 6,000 women but it is obvious that there are far more than that.

The beauty salon or parlour is “where it’s at” and the place to get to know these women. It couldn’t be in a more central location as it is on the third f loor of a grimy multi-storey and multi-purpose complex where scores of women position themselves in the street below, and would-be clients wander up and down like packs of pariah dogs, hungry for anything on offer. As Rina wrenched the bars of the elevator to one side and we stepped in, she pointed to the ever present rust red spittle of paan all around the cubicle.

“We cleaned all of this but it didn’t last a week,” she told me.

We took the stairs the next time and every corner—in fact every free space along the walls of the complex—was covered in the stuff.

“We cleaned all of this too but look at it now! We have a few Indian N.G.O.’s on this f loor. This one is M.S.M.”

,p .“What’s M.S.M.?” I asked.

“Men sex with men”

I looked inside. There was an over-glamorous woman sat on the floor and a bold poster on thewall: “Sex isn’t sin—use condoms.”

Rina and Purnam (another woman I gave the training to last year) are both from Nepal. They are hard-working people who, although they have their own families to look after, also want to see transformation among these women. They have taken the risk of being grouped along with the sex workers. They will always be tainted simply by having Nepali faces and walking among the brothels. Yet the great paradox is that the Indian sex workers are considered holy!

Rina and Purnam told me that most of the Indian women of this area have been given over to the goddess Yellamma. This religious Hindu cult is keenly followed in Karnataka State.

Whenever there are too many girls in a family, at least one will be given to the goddess for Kama Sutra practice. So in the name of religion the girl is sacrificed to “god’s work” i.e. prostitution. From then onwards she will always wear a special talisman around her neck and a good amount of gold jewellery. She is usually about 17 or 18 years of age but may also be much younger when given. Sitting amongst the women outside the brothels repulsed me at first. Some had very sinister looks; some on the other hand seemed ordinary. Some looked really sick (we took one to the doctor), and a large number seemed mad.

Madness was the overwhelming feeling about the place. It was an open-air mental institution, or at least that was my first impression. The girls and women were of all ages; from about 17 years up into middle age. I think I was more shocked at seeing so many older ones. None were particularly pretty. All were very coarse.

The women live in groups and stick together but the groups do not intermingle. The animosity between them was almost tangible. One group was particularly grim. Rina said that depression often settles on them and they sit for hours without talking. It reminded me of the dogs here in India: packs of dogs, apparently in peace, lying near to each other one moment, and in the next, there is a huge fight for no obvious reason.

Another group surprised me because the women were friendly. One young woman (the only attractive one) had a little boy who had no real fingers or toes. He had been born that way, she said. We tried to cheer him up but he was very distraught and very anxious. Another older boy of about ten years held onto Rina.

Later we took him back to the beauty salon along with another child for want of a better place to go. We fed them something and let them play with a teddy bear. As we spent time with the friendly group they became inquisitive and wanted to know why I was there. This was my cue to explain the literacy programme. One by one they appeared to show genuine interest in learning to read. One woman was very keen. She said she wanted to be literate so that she could count her money. She wanted to understand how much she handed over to her boss each month. I found out that an average income was around Rs40,000 per month (about US$625—a large amount here). Of this, Rs20,000 goes straight to the boss. Then the woman pays a very high rent to the brothel owner. Then there are all the others like the Godfathers who want their slice of the cake. She is usually left with less than Rs5,000 to survive on. All the women wore very cheap clothing. For me this was a clear sign that they didn’t have much. So becoming literate would be no small thing. Such simple number work—a basic necessity—could prove dangerous for Rina, Purnam and the women and, of course, be detrimental to the boss’s business. A literacy class is to start next week; we have a list of around ten women.

Rina took me inside a brothel. Two steps ahead of me was a client. He hurriedly entered the adjoining room with a “worker” who looked like a washer- oman while we sat down in the depressing boss’s quarters. Rina knew this boss well and I was told ahead of time that she wanted to give everything up and follow Jesus. Rina was sharing her faith with the boss for about ten minutes when the client reappeared. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and left. A moment later a fierce looking man appeared with a huge moustache.