My Date With Chameli

Before I start, let me just tell you one thing- this is not a work of fiction. It is just a fact, a fact with no moral, no theme, no inspirations. It is a real life incident encountered by me some six months ago, which I just wanted to share.

I was waiting at our railway station, Jasidih junction, to catch Patliputra Express to my way back to Dhanbad, after a weekend at my home. The platform was not as much crowded as it generally is. There were even some unoccupied benches, which is a rarity at a railway station nowadays. I was sitting on one of the unoccupied benches, totally engrossed with myself. Suddenly my train of thought was interrupted by a female voice in Bengali, who was asking me the platform from where she could board a train to Malda. I turned to see a girl sitting on my bench. She seemed to be 16 or 17. Though she still had the innocence of child on her face, there was something which looked very unusual in her. I tried to think but could not find it. I just told her plainly (in Hindi) that there was no train for Malda from Jasidih and slid a little away from her on my bench. Now my thought pattern shifted towards her. I was trying to figure out what it was which made her look so unusual, so different from other girls of her age group. I stole few furtive glances to see that she was wearing a dark lipstick. The way she had dressed herself looked cheap. I must confess that even a wild idea came to me that she was not a girl but a eunuch, but her female voice and soft features made me discard the idea as quickly as it had come.

She tried to say something, this time in Hindi, but her vocabulary failed her and she ended up asking me in Bhojpuri(a dialect of Hindi) how she could reach Malda from that station. I was trying to think about some break journey route to Malda when a man in his 50s, who was trying to hear this piece of conversation, interrupted. He started telling her some route and then both of them engaged themselves in some casual conversation in Bhojpuri. I felt a little relaxed and happy over the ‘divine intervention’ and thanked god for sending that man to my rescue. But the fact that she was not able to say even any word in Hindi and was very fluent in Bhojpuri, started to give me some concern and other sort of thought train started in my mind.

I originally belong to the Bhojpuri region of Bihar and so I know that region very well. They have still retained the feudal culture and there is still the tradition of mujra and ‘whore-dancing’ during marriage ceremonies in that region. The prostitutes for that purpose are imported from the poor villages of west Bengal. Those Bengali girls end up being fluent in Bhojpuri without knowing a bit of Hindi. Summing up all those facts I came to one conclusion that she was also one of them and this made me a little nervous.

Meanwhile the duo was continuing with their casual conversion. I heard the man asking her about her home etc. and then the girl asked him whether she could ask him something. Getting the reply from the man in affirmative, she asked,

‘Can you give me Rs twenty? I don’t have money to buy me my fare’

It appeared from the man’s expression that somebody had asked him his whole fortune.

‘What do you think; you will be able to buy a ticket for Malda in just 20 rupees?’

‘no, actually I will travel without ticket, by train, till Malda. But from there I will have to take a bus to reach my village, and the Bus-wallah will not take me without money. So I need at least twenty bucks’

The man paused for a bit, after some thinking he said that he didn’t have extra money but a friend of his would be coming in few minutes and then he would be able to give her the required money. Saying this he quietly slipped off. After his exit, my comfort level started dipping. I noticed that she had two heavy bags as luggage which she had carried herself. It seemed that she was running away from somewhere. I sat there for few seconds and then decided to ask her about herself that who she was and why she was traveling alone and under this condition. Collecting my whole mental strength I asked that from where she was coming.

Her reply knocked me off my senses. She was coming from Bhojpur. Now it was almost confirmed that she was one of the horrendous creatures, whom some of us love to hate and some hate to love. Before I could make a quick exit from the scene I had done a grave mistake. I don’t know which bug bit me in my mind that I asked her the most insane question you can ever imagine.

‘Are you a baai jee’ was my question. (Baai is a euphemism used for prostitutes)

Even today also, after six months have passed I become uneasy when I think that how could have I asked such type of question.

You can’t ask a question like this from anyone roaming around, or for matter of fact, anyone sitting on a railway platform. It doesn’t matter that whether you have used a euphemism or a dirty slang.

But what could I do?

Words, once spoken, can’t be taken back and so after this formidable mistake I was sure of a tight slap on my face. But hearing a cold reply which said that I was correct surprised me. I looked up to see her face. It was blank, without any sign of anger or guilt. She reacted in the same way as I when asked that whether I am an engineering student

Wasn’t she ashamed of herself, was my first reaction. She could have easily told me a lie, or even she could have shown some fake anger over my question. But all she did was she answered me in affirmative that I was correct about her profession

. Now when I think more closely, I ask that why should she alone be ashamed?

The whole society should be carrying the same amount of shamefacedness on their faces. But then, there was no time for all these things. I was just another guy from a reputed background, sitting very uncomfortably in a ‘tainted company’. My first impulse was to run, but something held me back. I decided to wait there, as only 5minutes were left for my train besides, I wanted to see that whether that middle aged man would turn up or not. I just slid away on my bench, as far as possible from her, just sitting on the edge. I was so nervous that I could hardly think anything. Only one thing was coming in my mind that I was sharing my bench with a prostitute and it was giving a shiver wave through my body. I was on verge of trembling.

Time passed very slowly. I was literally counting every second due for my train. The man turned up after about 2 minutes. As expected, his friend had not come and so he was unable to give her the money. But he had some very good suggestions. If she asked from some other person, she would definitely get the money. Saying this, he disappeared. What a suggestion!

I saw an expression of disappointment on her face, as if something on which she had banked heavily, had failed. I started thinking that what should be my step. Should I give her money? Since I was returning from home, money was not a problem and that too twenty rupee we waste on cold drinks everyday. But the main issue was that, was I supposed to talk to a girl after knowing that she was a prostitute? From whatever faint knowledge I had about Malda, I knew that she wouldn’t be able to reach there before 10:00 in the morning. The electronic clock on platform showed 8:45 PM. So, she wouldn’t be able to eat anything for about 12 hours. And god knows how far her village from the railway station was. I had become concerned for her by that time. But would I give her money? Suppose anybody saw me then? What if my hand touched her while giving the money? The very idea seemed so outrageous that I got up to go away from there. As I was picking my bag, my sight fell on her again. She was looking at me and our eyes met for a moment. It seemed that her eyes were pleading something. I stopped there for a moment, took out my wallet. There were some 10 rupees bills. I kept one bill for myself for paying the rickshaw-wallah and threw the rest on her lap telling her to buy something to eat from whatever she would be left with, after paying for the bus ticket. Saying this I ran as fast as I could, from that place, without bothering to see back that whether the bills I threw, landed up on her lap or not. Luckily my train arrived at that moment itself and so no one seemed to notice me running there, like a madman.

I boarded my train and sat on an empty seat. The gush of wind through window was giving a soothing effect. But still I wasn’t able to concentrate.

From what brutality was she fleeing from?

May be, she was the sole bread earner for her old parents.

How her parents must have been feeling while eating each bite of their food.

How unlucky are those families, who have to use their 16 year old daughter to satisfy their hunger?

And how unlucky are we people, who are lucky enough to throw money over their 16 year old daughters.