The shady and deserted roads tell a tale of stories untold and unheard.
The dilapidated state of the “homes’’ and the clogged lanes showcase a story of neglect.
The bruised looks on their faces gives a story of indifference.
A walk on the GB road tells you all these stories. GB ROAD, the red light district of Delhi.
A place where humanity seems dead and the world seems depressed. That place is the home for many prostitutes who live the tragedy of life everyday
There are laws made for them. For their safety, for their protection. BUT, there’s a catch. Every law is per se against them. In case of raids, it’s the prostitutes who get arrested. They have to face the music. Every condition in life pushes them back, so forcefully, that they lose the power to come out.
They start their day there and end it there. There is no escape. It’s actually funny how people come to them as a means of escape, while they themselves can’t go out of the chains of their profession.
Here are a few lines of a self-composed poem on a girl in such a situation.
The sky seems to be full of stories untold
One of them is her story which now begins to unfold
Cheated by destiny, laughed at by fate
Nothing worthwhile in life for which she waits
She carries along with her the weight of disparity and sadness
She needs a power too huge to get her out of this mess
She wants to move ahead
But each time she tries, her past seems to cope up with her
And the tragedy of her life once again begins to stir
She needs that power so much that she agrees to pay the price of the debt
Someone has to hurry up before she drops dead.
