I remember going through an article when I was in Guwahati, maybe I was doing my engineering then. It read- “My husband sends me to the prostitute house to earn money for his liquor but beats me up if I get a few minutes late from the specified time. He thinks that I start showing interest on my customer.” It also read- “I have undergone 3 abortions and now I don’t even want to have a baby of my own. Although, I know I won’t have a say if my husband wants a child.” Then there was this article on Facebook which popped up on my timeline a few weeks back. It depicted how ugly the life of a sex- worker is and still how contended they sound! Apparently, the vagina of one of the sex workers has got rotten and you could smell it from a distance. Nobody would go near her. But you could hear her prayer recitals. Upon reading the post, I felt I was there and everything was happening in front of my eyes. The misery, the pain, the anxiety and yet not longing for the outside world. Isn’t it owning one’s sexuality?