She pulls out a cigarette from a box and wraps her fingers delicately around it. She tips it on the table (an act she mastered over the years) before lighting it with a matchstick. I never predicted life would turn out this way. But then again,there can be no predictions, she says blowing the smoke out sideways. She leans back on her armchair,staring at the clock in front of her. She adjusts her maroon skirt and smiles before saying,Its surprising Ive come this far. The woman is all of 30. Her day begins at 6 a.m.,when she wakes up to ready her seven-year-old son for school. He is in class III,and I am insistent that he study, she says. She has barely seen him off when she rushes back to her bed for a few hours of good sleep. Her nocturnal work begin at 8 p.m. A mother by the day and someones escort by night,the 30-year-olds transformation was rapid. As she goes around,setting her sons school books aside,she rummages through a pile of things on a side table. She finds ita Maybelline Colossal Kajal. When she arrived eight years ago from Punjabs Amritsar,Delhi was alien to her. A successful career and a good source of living was all she wanted,coming from a modest family in rural Punjab. She took up a PG accommodation in west Delhi. But as she went about preparing for a Bachelors degree from a distance-learning university,she watched and observed the other side of lifeher friends would bring friends over and soon,her room had transformed into a human collage. These girls would wear almost everything the latest fashion in clothing had to offer. There would be girls around,many of whom I didnt know. I wondered what they were doing,where they were all going,but was too hesitant to ask, she says. Her wondering soon turned into amazement as she watched them transform into what she calls Barbie dolls. They would strut about the room wearing six-inch heels,short skirts and tank tops. They were all like me,but somehow they seemed to be able to afford all that they wore, she says,adjusting her hair that falls just short of her shoulders. She watched and learnt. Whether knowingly or unknowingly,she was becoming them. Before she knew it,she was a college student by the day,dressed in an ordinary pair of jeans and a short kurta and known only to her close friends,and by night the new girl on the block. Everyone at the club knew me, she says. Her English is perfect. She has a style of smoking that is unique to her. She holds the glass as if she knew it all along. I learnt this in no time, she says with a wry smile. 4 p.m. She finishes her shower and skims through a few outfits before deciding on a red skirt and a yellow spaghetti. Her phone rings incessantly. She answers it and in a rather hushed tone says shes bringing in 14 with her. The 14 are the other girls who she is now responsible for. All 14 are escorts,who,like her,have their stories to tella life they left behind,a new life they now seek. She dresses quickly,though taking care of every tiny detail of her petite appearance. There will be new customers today. I need to look my best, she says. Her black make-up kit lies on the table. She picks the darkest shade of red lipstick,uses a brush to soften her cheeks which turn a pinkish red,puts on her skirt and the spaghetti. Admiring herself before a full length mirror,she says,I dont think Im that old. She chuckles before heading downstairs and disappearing behind the doors of a tinted,white SUV her agent at the club has sent her. At the club,she has her agent,the club manager and the bouncersthe usual peoplewaiting for her. They are informed of her arrival and so,have men standing guard. Its routine. She walks up to the entrance. The bouncer nods and lets her in with another man. The man could be a foreigner,an Indian or even a regular customer. They need an entry,and they can do so only with a woman like me, she says. Inside the club are her 14 girls,some new and innocent,still learning the tricks of the trade,while others move about swiftly,sipping a drink or two here and there. Its simple. Grab their attention and make them pay, she says,ordering a dry martini by the bar. She engages the man in a conversation and soon,one after another,she orders the most expensive drinks,dances with her partner and returns to the bar. She has had her share of traumatising moments when she was new in her job. I was in the VIP lounge at a popular bar here,when a few drunken men tried to act fresh with me. I remained aloof for a few days. But I later realised that only I was responsible for this and no one else. I chose this to make my extra money. So I decided to move on. But at 24,life turned upside down when she gave birth to a child. I was restless after my child was born. I needed my old life back. But I realised I was responsible for my child and that he was legally mine. I knew I had to make money and get on with life and I have been doing just that, she says. Ask her about her husband and the expression on her face stiffens. I dont wish to go there, she says. The industry,she explains,works on one mantraBreaking a mans trust. Once she introduced one of her girls to a customer as someone whose father was undergoing treatment for cancer. The girl was only 16 when she came to me. The man bought this story and sympathised with her. He ended up spending almost Rs 60,000 on her over the next few weeks and I took a share of that money, she says. At the night club,they have a deal. Attract customers and increase the clubs billing. The club gets its money through the drinks each customer orders. The more they order for us,the more money the club gets and hence a certain percentage for me and my girls, she says. The pay is great. I manage to make anything between Rs 30,000 and Rs 40,000 a month; something I wouldnt have gotten had I only done a Masters degree. Its a full-time profession now, she says. Its all glamorousall the glitz,the money,the clothes,the life. But when I grow old and my son grows up,I wonder wholl look after me, she says as she slips back into the SUV and drives back home.
