BACK TO THE FLOOR

The ban on the dance bars of Mumbai has been lifted. And the girls are dressing up to get back to work

Where has the customer gone? I just go to make the bill and he vanishes!8221; yells Ruksana, anger mixed with frustration on her overmade-up face. Ruksana has still not got used to waitressing in Kar-ishma Bar in Dadar in central Mumbai. The dance bar ban came into effect on August 15 last year. Bars which once couldn8217;t be imagined without the swirl of glittering lehengas and the shower of money metamorphosed overnight into plain bars with girls serving liquor, or 8220;or-chestra bars8221;. And girls, who used to glue them-selves to the TV in the quest to copy the latest Hindi film dance steps, had now to learn to do new things. Like learning to open beer bottles. The more adventurous ones took to singing in the orchestras. In other bars, women were made to stand and look around suggestively. Ruksana8217;s obviously drunk customer now sways back to his seat and she hands over the bill with a forced smile. But very soon she is cel-ebrating. For today is April 12. The day the Mumbai High Court ruled against the ban and turned on the dance floor lights in 2,500 bars across Maharashtra. And the day 75,000 girls won back their right to livelihood.

The dance has not yet begun. It will be an-other two months before the girls don their lehenga cholis and step on the dance floor. But the excitement in the air is unmistakable. It8217;s time for celebration. And lots of shopping. Ruksana plans to visit her tailor soon. 8220;I had sold off my suits to get some money,8221; she says. Purse strings are a little tight now, though. 8220;But I will try and make at least two to three simple ones. I want to be wearing a new piece when I step on the floor again.8221;

Clothes apart, there are other things to be bought8212;like make-up and contact lenses.

Twenty-year-old Payal Sengupta from Ellora Bar in Borivali scrutinises herself in the mirror and wonders aloud if she needs a hair cut. Her dyed-blonde hair matches her light brown contact lenses. 8220;I want a new look when I dance again,8221; she says. Sengupta was brought from Kolkata by an agent called Sohail Khan.

8220;He would approach girls and give them this job offer. We were told that we would have to dance and he would pay us Rs 3,000 per month.8221; For these past eight months, she8217;s been singing8212;or trying to sing8212;and laughing artificially into the mike. 8220;I can sing any song well,8221; she proclaims, supremely confident. Usha Verma, 22, and Payal Soni, 20, friends from Faridabad in Haryana do not know the difference between the High Court and the Supreme Court where the state government is appealing. All they heard on TV was that the ban on their means to life had been lifted. The very next moment, they were packing their bags and arranging for train tickets.

They had gone back home after the ban and got jobs as tailors sewing clothes for an export company. But they quit in less than two months. Reason: the way they were treated. 8220;Girls working there were often the butt of dirty jokes,8221; says Usha. 8220;And when we worked at night, it was worse. The boss also tried making sexual advances on us.8221; They lived on the com-pany premises and were allowed sleep for only three to four hours. All this for Rs 3,000 a month. Without meaning to, Usha and Payal have given a face to exactly what the High Court verdict stated: 8220;If women other than dancers can work in prohibited establishments and that does not amount to exploitation, we don8217;t see why when women dance to earn their livelihood, it becomes exploitation.8221;

Now they are in Karishma Bar. Usha tries to look flirtatiously at a middle-aged customer. 8220;Bahut pyaar karte hai tumko sanam8230;8221;sings an-other girl at the mike. Usha knows she has to vie with the singing girl for the man8217;s attention and tries harder. When the man calls her over and hands over a Rs 100 note, she sashays next to him and pulls the note with one quick flick of her wrist, allowing him just a momentary touch of her fingertip. Back in the changing room, she collapses on the sofa. 8220;Its awkward now, but things will be better when we dance again,8221; she muses.

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The girls are heading back to bars that they had once quit8212;quit because they couldn8217;t sing and were too embarrassed to serve. Elu-sive and camera-shy, they had come out in the open when their livelihoods were threatened8212; when Deputy Chief Minister R.R. Patil pro-posed the ban. Hordes of them peeped out of their veil, albeit only for a few days. Now that they have won the battle, most are too content to come out again. Says Usha: 8220;When they banned us, I too gave interviews on TV. There were a lot of girls doing it, so I didn8217;t mind.8221; Sengupta is thinking of marriage. 8220;My par-ents are looking for a boy for me back home in Kolkata. What if the boy8217;s family sees the photograph?8221; They will all unhesitatingly say that they are doing nothing wrong. But they also know society will not accept it. And so they continue to live within the four walls of their lives.

The government8217;s impending appeal to the Supreme Court does not seem to deter the girls or the bar owners. Karishma Bar, which had broken down its changing room, will now have to rebuild it. The VIP Enclosure, which was shut down and turned into a godown for want of customers, will have to be remade. It8217;s time to don the lehenga cholis. Time to turn on the lights. And get back to work.