Pretty Woman

Image: Mid-day

They belong to “the oldest profession in the world”. They exist, and have existed, in every culture and civilisation. They are glorified in art, fiction and films from around the world (including the Hollywood film that gives this post its title). They are vilified in social convention, ignored in polite conversation, talked about passionately at social justice conventions. They were once called ‘prostitutes’ (or, less politely, ‘whores’), also ‘courtesans’, ‘call girls’ and even ‘ladies of the night’; now they’re referred to (by the government, press and NGOs) as ‘commercial sex workers’. But what and who are they? Are they so much prostitutes as being-prostituteds? Are they more than conduits for erotic energy and frustration?

As part of our formation, we are asked to commit some time (usually around 3 hours a week, including commute, for DNC scholastics) to apostolic work. Some scholastics go to nearby parishes to help out with catechetics or parish home visiting; some others organise events for children of construction works; yet others work with young adults in Pune as part of a group called Searching and Service in Unity (SSU), founded by our (philosophers’) superior, Fr. Cyril Debruslais SJ. A few weeks back one of my fellow-philosophers asked me to consider teaching English and communication skills to the volunteers and social workers at Saheli (Hindi: “friend”), a CBO (community-based organisation) that works with commercial sex workers at Budhwar Peth, a residential locality of Pune that houses a famous Ganesha temple, a bustling shopping district and one of the largest organised brothels in India (if not the world). Saheli offers these women (and men – or more precisely, trans-genders) emotional support, HIV/AIDS prevention information, condoms, emergency food and medicines, crèche services for their children etc.

Yesterday afternoon, four DNC scholastics (the above-mentioned scholastic, the coordinator of JDV’s social action group, another fellow-philosopher and I) took the bus from Ramwadi to Manapā, from which Budhwar Peth is a short walk. Through the ride in the Indian afternoon sun I wondered what I could (or would) say if I were to enter into conversation with a prostituted woman. That didn’t happen yesterday; it will have to wait for another day. We visited the offices of Saheli and spoke to some of the workers there. This November’s a busy month as they’ve just received some funding and need to prepare the necessary reports etc. But yes, they would very much like some English classes. Although most of them have a Master’s in Social Work (MSW), they are not confident enough when speaking, especially, to foreign donors and agencies.

Having fixed a mutually convenient time for these classes (mine is on Saturday afternoons), we visited the crèche. Most of the children (1-5 years) were asleep; a few were having a late lunch. I was told later that most of these children will be moved to orphanages around and just outside Pune once they’re older – Budhwar Peth is not a safe or suitable place for them to grow up in.

The four of us then took the opportunity to walk around the main brothel area. Since it was mid-afternoon, the streets were relatively quiet and we were able to move without much difficulty (apparently the streets get so busy in the evenings it’s difficult for even small groups to stay together). We did, however, run the risk of being hustled for quick “business” during the quiet hour; so we had to stay together. The first thing we saw as we arrived were the women themselves, sitting on plastic chairs on the pavement or standing in the shade just inside the houses on either side, heavily made up and (usually) in colourful sleeveless tops or blouses. We walked up one of the numerous blocks of flats that constitute the brothel. Almost all the flats were open, the wares inside hidden only (and only sometimes) by a curtain half-drawn. Elderly woman (usually ex-prostitutes themselves) sat outside most flats, beckoning the numerous men who walked by to come in and see. Inside each single-bedroom flat were about 8-12 women, awaiting customers, sitting around, or chatting. Perhaps another day I might have the courage to go in and have a chat, yesterday I didn’t. Indeed, I could see that many of them were having late lunches, so I felt embarrassed at being an intrusion. I am told over 5,000 sex workers (not including the men / trans-genders) live and work in the area.

We only visited one floor yesterday. One floor is education, any more voyeurism, I felt. At the end of the street was the main police station of the area. A few police constables milled around in the late afternoon sun. Apparently, prostitution was “legalised” in Budhwar Peth some years back. I think this means the police made an unofficial policy decision to look the other way, allowing social organisations like Saheli to come in and work more effectively with the sex workers. I was reminded of Season 2 of the hit US series, The Wire, where drug trade is unofficially “legalised” in a fictional street of Baltimore, nicknamed “Amsterdam”. If it cannot be stopped, it can at least be controlled and overseen.

On our way back to the bus station, we also visited one of the side-streets where the male (trans-gender) prostituteds work. They have a reputation for being more aggressive (a few stood guard at the top of the street impolitely dissuading casual gawkers from going any further). We moved on and got the bus back to DNC.