A work or just another bad word? |Deepsikha Roy| |pixtox|

Jewelled in all red and pretended gold,

I always have an image to hold. 

Holding back all the tears,

I know, I have a lot more to bear. 

Bearing the pleasures of other people,

My wailing is just a piece of sample. 

Samplings of joy are what I collect,

With the ones I can hardly connect. 

Love, this is what they make, I was told.

But I don't understand why am I not able to take it anymore. 

Holding the instructions of my head,

I am always asked for the legs to spread. 

Spreading immense of pleasures, a work, I was told.

No more do I sense any pain, 

My madam assumes, I am bold.

I practice taking part in sexual activities in exchange of capital. In the unknown world, people call it business. 

Turning back to the pages of Indian history, the earlier adaptations of us were called as 'devadasi' who considered the Gods as their husbands and therefore contributed their entire lives for the devotion of the same. Later, they were called the 'nagarvadhu' or 'the brides of the town' and were summoned by the royals for various cultural performances where they were treated with deference and respect. 

After the British stepped in India, these nagarvadhus started performing in front of the British officers and this became the beginning of the one night stands. 

We too have a fascinating days of old. Isn't it?

Well, much of fiction. Neither did I want to assign my complete existence in the name of the God, nor did I consider them as my husband. 

So, why am I here? 

I was too little to remember when I was dropped here. My madam narrates, I am here because nobody wanted me as a girl child. Surekha didi tells, she was thrown away by her own husband. Nalini aunty says, she was raped by her brother and that's why her parents abandoned her. I heard gossips about some girls who had nothing to ingest and so they turned up here just to eat their meals in exchange of their bodies. Earlier I resonated only females in our lustrous mansion. Nowadays, I even encounter young boys and strange people who neither look like men nor women. May be they also did not have anything to feed on.

People give their 9 to 5 of the workday for money. Here, we devote our entire persona for the God, history says.

Seems quite daring. Isn't it? 

Divided by contrasting stories, we are united with the same work. Yes, our madam calls it a work.

So will it be unlawful of me saying that I am a prostitute, it's a profession and definitely not a slang?

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