There she was amid the fake twinkles of life; swaying
her bare hands, tapping those skinny legs and occasionally shaking those
voluptuous breasts. The first day when she entered that room she was 11 years old and she witnessed a whole new dirty world stretched open her. As she grew, she was a hit. A pretty fair face with a curvaceous to-kill-for kind
of a body! What else she needed to be a star amongst the dark patched sulky
faces. An instant blockbuster indeed !!! But she didn't feel it that
way. Every day, every hour spent in that bar sucked her towards a whole
worse life. She had no choice; after all she was a show piece sold at a hefty price . She felt ugly there, uglier than ever. Especially when money fell upon her touching her golden blouse, swiftly caressing her bare belly to find its
native near her foot. That was the real reason why she was there. That was the
reason why she was asked to hide her womanhood under a shining much revealing
blouse and a low hung red lehenga and a partially visible dupatta. There she
was feeling the void inside her soul, crying out loud only to hear the
dikh-chik music playing aloud. She wasn't proud being a bar dancer, but to say
less, she had to survive.
Everyday sharp at 7 pm she entered this cheap world of
smoke, alcohol, music and nudity. Her eyes witnessed police stations on some
days and dingy looking hotel bedrooms on another. Yet, it was this smoke filled
dim lighted bar she hated the most. She felt raped every second. Those prying
eyes scrutinized every single detail whacking her femininity hard. She smiled,
dying a million deaths inside. She smiled when they pulled her hand and offered
their lap to sit. They touched her, pinched her, insulted her, and molested
her. She only smiled.
One evening a man on the right corner table signaled
her with a bundle of notes as she silently walked towards him. A stout man, his
stomach largely popping out from the table and shining bald head glittered even
more than the thick gold chain hung over his neck. Richness was savoring every
bit of him. Instantly, she knew –she had
come across many of this kind – the man seeks nothing more but physical
pleasure jaded with the same position with the same wife. The moment her hands
reached for the bundle, he quickly shifted it inside his safari coat giving a
come-get-it-baby laughter. Playfulness was pouring out of his alcohol stuffed
body. She sat on his lap at his command served him drinks and gave him a ride
through her beautiful giggles. When the bundle was out he reached for her
blouse to insert them inside having his moment of fun. Next day, same right
corner table felt his presence and so did her golden blouse and so many days
afterwards. She had seen no customer being so prompt at the table and waiting
only for her. She even wondered once or twice if he was in love with her, only
to laugh at her tiny joke shoving her laughter.
But with each day he explored her body a bit more as if that bundle
owned her. At last, bar manager asked her to accompany him to the room upstairs
and there was an instant truth lying naked in front of her, no love was her
destiny; it was all in the name of lust!
Once again the same smelly dark bedroom called out her
name. Once again, she couldn't meet the eyes of barely naked women in those
half torn posters glued to the wall. Once again a new man stood right in front
- striped. Once again, she felt she wouldn't repeat this act again. Once again
she saw herself being exposed, killing her morals, her innocence and her
self-respect. When she felt his heavy body on her broken soul, she felt captive
of this male dominated society who used her just for pleasure. Her identity was
being razed, she kept silent. She was silent all these years unable to break
free. But it was different that night. The voices grew louder and she couldn't
even close her ears. She shut her eyes tight, yet those violent noises made her
nauseate. She saw him, heard him and felt him. She wanted to scream aloud – get
off me you asshole. But she kept silent but for how long? The lava of anguish
was ready to burst open and her soul begged for mercy and freedom. All those years were rolling in front of her
like a motion picture and she knew, she was more than a bar dancer. If nothing
great, at least a human being! She couldn't live this life forever. She couldn't
be a whore in the lap of a dancer. She couldn't be that tied animal wagging
tail on command. She had to be free. And she knew freedom was lying next to her
satisfied.
Next day morning, when police arrived they saw her lay
amid the pool of blood. His blood was scattered all around redefining an old
saga of a woman’s revenge. And he rested motionless beside her. His paunch
still popping out, his safari all torn and tormented while his severed body
parts roared a brutal torture. Her frustration, anger, helplessness were marked
on every brick of that room but more on his body. May be her vengeance was over
and story too. But her real life began there.
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