There is no other way to earn as profitably as I do. My husband Somi has no job. As long as I make money by offering my body, I can support my man and my children. For the last three years this is how I have earned my living. I don’t look towards any future for myself. I am only concerned about what happens from day to day and what my children can look forward to. I want them to be educated, to go to school regularly. But how could I buy them their books, their pens and pencils, their clothes? Feed them? How? This was the easiest way for me. My man, Somi, is always around. He is there, waiting outside the hotel till I come out. He makes the arrangements with the clients. Sometimes he has to be careful. If the man looks too rough, a real thug, he puts him off. But then we cannot afford to be to choosy. The feel of their bodies, smells, odours, the roughness; their greed, violence, urgency, their weaknesses—these are all things I put up with, endure as long as I can take money back home with me, to my children. What can Somi do? How can I blame him if he cannot afford to find a steady job? He once had hopes that he could support his family. Provide for us, give us a home and keep me there to look after the children. He had studied, passed exams, tried hard to get steady employment.

When we look around us there are so many who appear to be prosperous. Building new houses, buying vehicles, travelling in Pajeros, Toyotas, BMWs, beginning business enterprises. There are those who have gone to the Middle East, to Kuwait, Oman, Sharjah, Riyadh. You can tell by the way their wives and children dress that they have money. The way they shop at the super-markets, the gold that adorns them. There is poverty too, all around us in this city. The homeless with their meagre belongings camp under wide shady trees, or huddle on pavements and on steps leading to old, disused buildings. At least I have a home to return to. I see those human forms like carelessly strewn bundles, sleeping under the stars at the Fort railway station, guarding their little space jealously. Their territory. Where will they end? Before the early morning trains set out, some of the women and children limp to the station toilets and perform their ablutions. They prepare for the long, hard day ahead. When the monsoon rains fall I do not know where they sleep.