We’re all passionate about something. We are all good at something. Some things we ace, just naturally excel at. Because at the end of the day, we are all inspired beings. There is always a push, a motivation that takes us forward and leads us through to get past the toughest times. So we reach our aim, strike our goal and realise our dreams.
But amongst a population of trillions and gazillions, not everyone finds the one thing that is made for them. We lose track, forget ways and go haywire. Sometimes it is but a bump along the road. For some doomed souls however, it can be a severe steering away that obscures their route bad enough to never be able to find their way back. It was ages ago that she had lost control over herself. Rejections, pressures, a strong urge to stay away from conformity, fear of blending with the herd and the typical herd mentality and a sense that she could do better made her forget her purpose of life. She developed a tendency to worship randomness, the abstract. Her deviations were not taken well by the makers of the norms. The normals did not appreciate her knack for idiosyncrasy. So she was by force of habit, termed ‘abnormal’. She was a female after all. Consistency with conventions was expected to come just as naturally to her. It would be wrong to say that they failed to have an effect on her. More than once, she wondered about whether she was losing her mind. More than once she had thoughts that she was losing herself, a sense of who she really was. Amidst all the drama, somehow she let go of all guards and she gave up on optimism and hope. The darker side grew on her, figuratively and literally. Night time was her time and shady stuff her area of expertise. She realised that little granules of white powder could relieve one of pain, make them sigh with a strange satisfaction. Puffs of smoke would reach her lungs and life would once again feel on track and everything would fall in place for a transitory phase. Money was not an issue. She was a girl, she had assets that people desired and so they paid heavy amounts for the gratification of such desires. It came on her path so simply, that she does not even remember the day she turned into a prostitute or her first time.
For some reason she could never explain, she never found anything wrong with what she was doing. She did what she did, out of choice. The one that she did it for, was doing it by choice. She did not quite understand why there was the need to pay any heed to a third opinion. There were tags attached to what she now chose to call her profession. Stigmas deemed the act as disgraceful, disrespectful, shameful and dishonourable. It reflected the upbringing of an uncultured family. The girl ought to belong to a set of ignoble parents. According to word spread around, she was never imparted the true knowledge of the keepings of a girl and the norms of what maintains her dignity in society. The fact that she was disowned by her own mother and father, that they staked no claim of her life and identity anymore, did not do anything to help the scandal and the consequent tittle-tattle. So she decided to let it go. She decided to shield herself in a bubble that would not be broken, irrespective of the intensity of what the others would say. She found her happy space and she made peace with the fact that it was on the other extreme of the conventional ideas of idealism.
It was an uncomplicated process she followed. She would perform sexual activities for a man who asked for it. He would willingly pay for it. From the money, she did what she wanted. She let the drugs relieve her of any discomfort and the smoke put her mind on track again. How was it any different from a normal occupation? How was it any different from the concubines that kings in age old times would keep? How was it any different from Mughal practice of appointing dancers in the court for the amusement and delight of the king? So how was it any less acceptable and any less desirable?
She was a prostitute and she could spell it out without any qualms about what that entailed. She smoked drugs and she could keep that in front of all feminists who jump at the mere mention of a girl junkie. It is a good time for women, some used to say. It is a time when the world concentration is focused on women empowerment, their uplifting and strengthening. Activists all over are apparently fighting for their cause, in order to grant them the simple rights and freedom of choice. Behind the facade of shining saviours, these humans she realised were nothing but hollow silhouettes of societal confinements. They spoke for no one but traditional rules of right and wrong. So she decided to let go of it all. She gave up on the world as the world had once made her almost give up on herself. As she lived the same life every day, not stopping or hesitating in her way to let the gossips creep in, she prayed that no girl falls prey to these hungry beasts. She prayed for all prostitutes and she prayed for all those who ever gave a thought to prostitution.