PROSTITUTION

*Prostitution*

“I won’t pay a penny more than 200 rupees.” Sahib said. I looked at him seductively biting my lips. “Make it 300 sahib, I promise you won’t regret it.” “I’ll pay you 250 and that is final. You have to make my night worth or I won’t pay you a single penny.” I had no customers that day and I had no option but to agree. “Okay Sahib, as you say. Give me the money and I’ll make preparations for everything.”

I am a prostitute by profession and a proud one at that. My name is Priti but people here call me ‘Chikni’. It’s like a pen name you writer guys have. My parents wanted me to become a doctor. But I have always wanted to be a lawyer. Things became bad when my dad lost his job as a security guard when the mall closed down. I had to discontinue my studies because I was expected to take care of the house, my parents, and my younger brother.
I remember how my mother forced me to sleep with my neighbour for a hundred rupees. I was fifteen then. I felt dirty and used. But I had a hearty meal after days. I couldn’t sleep that day. I kept wondering what is worse: people’s self-imposed morals or sacrificing yourself on the altar of your self-imposed morals. Hell, I don’t think I did anything wrong. I would rather be called a prostitute and be looked down upon than go hungry for days because somebody else thinks it is morally wrong.

“Here’s your money.” Sahib threw the notes on my face. “Thank You Sahib.” I bowed. I couldn’t stop thinking what I’d do of those notes. I had to buy rice and vegetables. I was going to buy a few onions too. It’d been ages since I had onions. I wanted to buy an ice cream too, strawberry flavour. So much to do, so little to spend, I smiled.

In life, I’ve realised, morals are like neighbours. We are all fine with them, until they threaten to invade our life to totally ruin it. I could see the glee on my brother’s face when I gave him the ice cream. Your morals don’t make him happy, my lack of it, does.