I usually go to First Cross Street. Always near this particular hotel. Rooms can be rented out to women like us who take our clients there. They make easy money out of us. We pay Rs 150 for a few hours. On that particular night I was with my husband. A three wheeler drew up. There was a man peering out of it. I noticed the colour of his shirt. It was chocolate brown. His sarong was blue. With checks. The neon light from the hotel cast its reflection on his clothes. He beckoned me towards the three wheeler. I felt a sudden sense of fear. I didn’t want to leave Somi and get into the vehicle, to be taken away somewhere alone, to be even murdered. Somi should always be within reach. Somi himself went up to the man and spoke to him. The man stepped out of the three wheeler and asked me to accompany him to the hotel. He seemed to know his way around here.

At the entrance to the hotel there were four men whom I recognized. The man went to them and began speaking. They were Ratne, Podimahattaya, Sene and Suduputha. Suduputha is the hotel servant. I went up the stairs by myself to the room I was accustomed to using. The walls were stained with damp, the plaster was peeling off like scabs. White paint scratched and scraped off revealed the hidden coat of blue beneath the surface. Most of these hotels are really old buildings. No one gives the insides a new coat of paint. I think some of these buildings are over a hundred years old. The walls are so thick that you cannot hear a scream or cry if anything were to happen. I’m not the only woman who comes here. There are plenty of habituais like myself. This part of the city teems with people. Some of them, indeed many of them, are pleasure seekers. Pleasure seeking, survival, trade and barter, everything goes on here. There are shops, boutiques, night kades, apana shalawas, hotels—not the posh hotels with red carpets, subdued lighting, crystal chandeliers and air-conditioned rooms. Beautifully furnished. Room service. Oh, the same things go on everywhere but at a different price. Here the rooms smell of sweat. The walls are grimy. The mattress sags. Dusty unswept floors bear the imprint of many feet ….