Sugam Gautam
She got up from the bed, walked toward the door, and looked back at the bed where a man with unkempt hair was asleep. She had spent the previous night with him, a man probably in his mid-twenties. Now he looked peaceful in his sleep, his left hand dangling from the bed. Unlike most of the boys she had slept with, he was strong yet kind. But one night was not enough to tell whether he was kind or not. He had even kissed her forehead before he fell asleep. Moved by his affection, she couldn’t sleep for a long time.
Now she was staring at him in admiration, her body leaning against the door. How would she treat him if he were her husband? She would ask him to trim his hair and she would comb it by applying almond oil. She would take breakfast to the bed and they would eat it together. Then he would leave at 9 for the office and come home by 4. Once back from work, he would hug her straight away and plant a gentle kiss on top of her head. How different her life would be!
As she dived back into reality from her reverie, she realized she was just a prostitute and no boys would accompany her, except for the one-night stand. She hated calling herself a prostitute, but it was the truth. She asked herself: on what basis should I say I am a prostitute? Over the years, she had sated all sorts of men: police; fat ones; hoodlums; those who smelled and those who promised they would marry her. She couldn’t even remember the face of those men who’d once said that they would take her away from this dirty world to a beautiful space where people would treat her as a normal girl.
At times, she felt unhappy about what she was doing. But she solaced herself telling that fate had pushed her to this unpleasant act of selling her body for money. Blaming her fate would be a bit inappropriate; she would have looked for jobs. Maybe it was her choice or temptation to make easy money.
When she was small, she had never imagined she would lead such a shameful life. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. In her initial days in Pokhara, she must have knocked on hundreds of doors to find a job. She had come to Pokhara with a strong will and determination to do something in life. The problem was that the jobs she had applied for required sound academic qualifications and she had barely passed her tenth. Her parents in the remote village of Myagdi had no idea about what she was doing to sustain herself in Pokhara, one of the most expensive cities in the country. They had suggested she continue her studies in Myagdi, but she convinced them by telling there were more opportunities in Pokhara. Maybe she could go to college in the morning and work in the afternoon. She told them it would make her independent. Her mother hadn’t liked the idea, but her father was convinced that she must be independent now.
“You have to study well. And you have to work too,” her father had said, letting out an anxious sigh.
When she first came to Pokhara, she had Rs 8000 in her old purse. She’d thought the money would cover her needs for a month or two but she was unknown that Pokhara was highly expensive. It was hard for her to find a room, but she managed to find one in Bhairav Tole. The room had a single bed and a table where she could keep her stuff. In a week, she gathered everything that would come to her use. Now her next move was to get enrolled in a college, so she started scanning the streets to find a college that offered quality education at a reasonable fee. She had a meager amount of money, and after discovering how expensive Pokhara was, she knew the money would not last long. Not only college but she also had to find a job before the money was consumed. She was beginning to realize that it was going to be hard for her to survive in Pokhara. But she already made the decision that she would stand on her own no matter what. Her poor parents couldn’t look after her anymore. She was a grown-up lady and she must assist her family now. Even while she was growing up, she never bothered her parents, demanding this and that. At an early age itself, she had understood that her parents were poor and couldn’t spend a large sum of money on her demands.
She went to numerous colleges to inquire about the tuition fee but she couldn’t locate the one that suited her budget. All the colleges were beyond her grasp. Now, what was the next move? What would happen if she discontinue her studies and focus on working money? After all, the ultimate aim of every human is to earn money. Would education do any good to her? What would she tell to her father? He’d wanted her to study well and do a small job alongside. “Once you pass your college, you’ll find a good job,” he had said. Perhaps she would lie to her parents and tell them she was continuing her studies. They would never come to see her in Pokhara, nor would they find about her from any source. She herself wasn’t fond of studies. Yes, she loved money because she had spent most of her life on scarce. She needed to make money. Money was more important for her than education. But what job would she be offered? Her academic qualification was the major issue, but she had already made up her mind that she would no longer study.
In her attempt to find a job, she encountered a number of people who asked her about her education. When she told them about her educational background, they made faces and looked at each other in disappointment. Maybe she’d wasted their precious time. Their eyes seemed to tell that she was good for nothing. Maybe they would have added her to the team and asked her to mop the floor or make tea and snacks, but there were already other people assigned to do such lowly duties. Moreover, she felt she had self-esteem, so she wouldn’t allow herself to mop the floor.
Her parents phoned her occasionally and she told them everything was alright. They asked if she had found a job and she told them she had. Each time she hung up the phone, she would break into tears until she fell asleep. Once she opened her eyes, she would sob again, clutching the bed sheet.
She knew no one in the city, except her landlord, a woman in her mid-thirties, who smiled whenever she saw her. The money she had brought with her was almost spent now. She must do something now. Returning home was the worst idea as she had already lied to her parents. If there were any friends, she would have asked them for money and returned it after she started earning. Now, what was the next option? Perhaps she must not be ambitious and start looking for a small job where she was required to clean the tiles or something like that. It was a town and people from town valued education, so she must avoid the idea of working in an office with the comfort of AC and TV. Even if she luckily got a chance to work in the office, she was not a good candidate for the supreme position. She must not forget that she was a girl from the village.
One day, she’d gone to Chipledhunga in search of a job. Chipledhunga had countless organizations and consultancies, so it occurred to her that she might find a job there. Everyone walking on the street was in haste. The blaring of horns made her mind hazy. She was unaccustomed to seeing so many people at once. As she walked past the big stone by the road, her eyes fell upon the shiny board of a big restaurant. If you slipped into one of the alleys in Chipledhunga, you would find cafes cramped together. But there was hardly any restaurant around the main street. She began to wonder if she should try her luck in a restaurant. The thought of working in a restaurant had never come to her.
She had heard about Lakeside, a place where rich Nepalese and foreigners sat by the lake, smoking hookahs and drinking beers. Since Lakeside was a hub of Pokhara, she felt she would definitely get a job that offered a handsome salary.
“Okay. Not in Chipledhunga. If I’m going to work in a restaurant, it will be in Lakeside,” she thought.
It felt like a different country to her as she advanced toward Lakeside from Baidam. Dusk had set in. Lights from restaurants and lounges illuminated the street. The street was quite clean, totally different than other parts of the city. Tall, white-looking people were taking snaps of almost everything, a gleam on their faces. She had put on her old jeans for which she felt stupid. The last thing she would love to do was compare her dress with people walking on the street. Amused, she kept on walking with a thread of hope. Would she be able to pull out some luck?
Perhaps she would be offered to work as a waiter. “I can surely be a waiter,” she thought. Once she reached Nepal Mandala Book Shop, she stopped by and observed the piles of books. She had the urge to step inside the store and trace the cover of books, but she dismissed her thoughts and walked ahead.
The crowd was getting thicker now and she had begun to enjoy the sumptuous atmosphere. She took out phone from her pocket and checked the time. It was 6:30 in the evening. The sky was awash with orange clouds. Her room was approximately 10 kilometer away from Lakeside, but she was not at the least bothered about that. She was totally immersed in her fantasy: she imagined her parents walking on the street of Lakeside, relishing the beauty. Her mother would point her finger at one of the restaurants and her father would ask if she wanted to go inside and have some snacks. Together, they would observe the city life.
It seemed that she’d forgotten why she was here. Only when her shoulder collided with a white woman did she realize that she was there to find a job. “I must find a job around this beautiful place,” she thought.
The presence of so many restaurants left her confused. Which restaurant should she step in and plead for a job? She found herself uncomfortable in this sophisticated setting, but she must not turn away. Eventually, she entered a restaurant whose name was written in English at the entrance. The restaurant was two-story tall and its tail end overlooked the beautiful Fewa Lake. When her eyes darted across the big space, she learned it was not just a restaurant but a dance bar as well. However, there were no dancers around. Just as she made her way toward the reception desk, a guy, perhaps a customer, stood from the chair and came to attend her.
She was shocked, a fear rushing through her body.
“Are you alone?” he asked, his voice shaky. He must have had a few shots of whisky, she assumed.
Unable to think anything, she replied, “Yes.”
A young-looking receptionist watched in amusement as the two went away to settle on the table. It was the first time she had gone to such a cozy restaurant, so she had no idea how to act and deal with the people there. It was awkward for her to share the table with a man she’d never spoken to. “Why did he ask me to join him?” Questions flooded her mind.
“I’m also alone. You can join me,” she said and displayed her teeth.
He was sipping a whisky from the glass.
“Do you want some?” he said, pointing toward his glass.
She shrugged. She’d never tasted alcohol and no women used to drink in her village.
“Why did you come alone?” he asked, tucking his hair behind the ear.
“I’m here in search of a job,” came a prompt reply.
“Here?” he smirked.
She nodded
“What sort of job?” He didn’t stop smiling. The smile, she sensed, was an evil one.
“I’m running short of money. Any kind of job will do,” she said, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening around.
“How much money will they offer in restaurants? I’ll give you enough money. Come with me,” he said in the smallest voice possible.
She was taken aback by the boldness of the man. She knew what he exactly meant. Would she slap him and call the police? No! She didn’t know if things worked this way in Lakeside. Plus, she couldn’t dare to threaten a man from the city in his own city. The only option was to stay quiet and avoid his gaze. She did it perfectly until the man began to persuade her.
“Listen,” he said.
“Hajur,” she replied hesitantly.
Her heart was beating rapidly. He noticed her cheeks had turned crimson. Trying to soothe her, he began,” No one will know. Just the two of us. There’s no harm.” He leaned forward to read her face.
Her face was red with fear. A part of her was mad at him and wanted to land a fist on his face. She wanted to tell him that not all the poor girls sell their bodies for money, but she couldn’t even utter a word. She sank into deep thought. She would make easy money if she sacrificed herself to the man sitting across from her.
Would she say yes to him? How much money would he offer?
“You don’t want to?” he asked. He was getting impatient.
She looked up and met his eyes for the first time. Her body was quivering and her lips trembling. “Okay. If you don’t want to,” he said. His voice was calm this time.
“Should I leave?” he asked as he got up from the chair. It had dawned on him that she was not the kind of girl he was looking for. I’ve wasted my time, he thought. Just as he was about to walk away from the table, a shrill voice fell upon his ear. “Sit down,” she had said. He glanced at her in disbelief. After a battle between thoughts inside her head, she jumped to the conclusion that she would agree to do what the man wanted her to. She was short of money and couldn’t stay like that anymore. The money she would earn tonight would help her sustain until she found a job. “Just for tonight,” she thought and agreed to sleep with the man she didn’t know.
Little did she know that this evening would change her life forever. That it was not just for one night and would go on for a long period. Her life would have been different had she denied the man at the restaurant that day. Now she was accustomed to the men climbing on her, spending quite a time there, and giving money for that. Too many years passed since the day she had her first sex, and now she had accumulated some money to start something on her own. Perhaps a small business. But she wanted more money so that she could do something big. Once she felt the money she had summoned was enough, she would give up sleeping with men for money and start looking for the love of her life. But the money she had now was not enough and she must continue to please the men every night until she felt the money was enough.
[Sugam is a young writer from Pokhara, Nepal. He has published a novel, Dear Mamta, besides several stories in isolation.]