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?
It was a Thursday evening. I just got home from work, another rainy day has passed. I checked the places to visit in Delhi, AGAIN. The song “THE ODYSSEY” was playing on my new phone. The thoughts of Delhi being insecure and how one of my cousins had bad experiences in the capital thronged my head. Even when I didn’t want to think about it, the pictures of NIRBHAYA! When I was in school, my cousin always used to tell me his experiences in Delhi and I never really thought I would want to go there. It was never the destination for education or career. But the lanes of Delhi- 6, the poems about Delhi by Zubair Rizvi and Ghalib, the street food, the culture, the historic forts and the infrastructure from the Pre- Independence Era. The beauty of the places as seen in the works of the great photo journo Scott Schuman or Manou. One week, that’s it! Bang! Tickets done.