About a Common Whore - 1
The Things We Do For Freedom
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About a Common Whore is a dark story. Yes, it’s sexy, but there’s a cost for it. When I started writing this story, I felt the kind of resistance that I have not felt while writing other stories. This story series will be more expansive compared to the story about Reeti and Untying the Knots.
This is a story about Roli. We meet Roli when she’s 23 years old, having lived 5 years of her adulthood, being a whore, having sex for random amounts of money. She’s an orphan, from the slums of Dharavi. At 18, Roli runs away from her abusive uncle and aunt, with Ramesh, in hope to make her dreams come true. Dreams that she hadn’t even visualized properly.
Her life takes a sharp turn when she is propositioned by Ramesh that the only way she can earn a living is by letting men fuck her in the ways they want. But there’s much more to the story.
Yes, it’s a story about a prostitute. It’s a story about abuse, but above everything else, it’s a story about human spirit. It’s a story about making the best out of what life gives you. I hope you enjoy reading this.
This is the first chapter, and like all the first chapters of my story series, it doesn’t have sex. But, it is sexual. I want you to know about Roli before I can tell you her story. I want you to know about Roli before I can tell you about her ambitions. I want you to know about Roli before I can tell you about the time she let three men fuck her, while she screamed their names so that she can earn an extra ₹500.
1
Roli was 23 years old when she realised that she was all alone in the world, that she has to fend for herself, and that no one would bat an eye if she disappeared from the face of the Earth. It was a sickening feeling. So much so that she had to run to the tiny sink in her chawl to throw up.
She wasn’t entirely sick of the feeling, but sick of coming off from opium. Opium which had kept her sane in all these years of dirt and hurt. Opium was both her escape and her jailer. For someone like Roli, who had been injecting opium in her veins, from as young as 18, it wasn’t easy to make the decision to stop getting high on it. Some things happened, things that are way too much for any 23-year-old, that made her do it.
After Roli rinsed her mouth and splashed her face, she stared at her in the mirror. The last week hadn’t been kind to her. Her face, which she had taken all the care in the world to keep pretty, looked worn down. She looked older than 23 years old. She had been told so, when she was younger, that she looked like a woman, even when she was just a girl. But, that morning, she looked years older than she was, and not in a good way.
She pulled down her eyelids, to check the burst blood vessels in her cornea. They were lesser than they were last night. It was a difficult night. She barely slept, her entire body was on fire. She would fall asleep, only to be woken up by hot flashes, and night sweats. Getting off opium wasn’t easy. Every molecule of her body wanted her to call Giri and get her next hit. It won’t take much time. Half an hour, and she could blissfully go back to the world that she had been building in her mind for the last 5 years.
But she had to keep her word. She had to keep her word about getting herself cleaned up, to be able to walk without tripping, to be not hazed out the next time she saw a client. It was a long journey, she had read on the YouTube video. It was a difficult YouTube video to understand, but she had summoned every bit of concentration that she could muster, to sit through it, as she rocked back and forth in her shorts and tank top.
Roli didn’t know how old she was when her parents moved from their village in Madhya Pradesh to Bombay. Her earliest memory was seeing her parents leave for work, while her mausi would ask her to sit straight, and eat poha for breakfast.
She would spend the day, going around her slum, playing with kids her age, some older than her, trying to roll tires and compete about who could make a discarded tire roll the furthest. She remembered being fascinated by seeing the tire roll.
She would come back home, her hair brown with dirty, her hands muddy from rubbing on the soil, after she’d picked the tire up from a drain. Her mausi would admonish her, call her a useless piece of mouth that her parents have to feed. She wouldn’t understand what was being told, and instead would smile at her mausi. Mausi would hit her now and then, but nothing more than kids her age to get.
Her next memory was the first day at school. It was more of a place to get her lunch than an education. She remembers wearing a worn down uniform, and carrying an empty bag, except for a notebook, a pencil, and a sharpener. She would go the school, sit in the class, staring at the blackboard, where an occasional teacher would come and write gibberish. She would pass the time by pulling the hair of the girls in front of her.
She would often get into fights for her pranks. She would come home with cuts on her lips and bruises on her cheeks. Her mother would be too tired from carrying bricks on her head to care about her bruised daughter. Her father would be out getting his daily hit of desi daaru. Dinner would be frugal, but she looked forward to it because she got to have it sitting on her mother’s lap. Her mother would kiss her cheeks, and make her eat the ration of rice and daal.
At night, she would go to her room, which was partitioned by her mom’s old saree, from their one-room kacha ghar. Her father would often come home late, loud, and smelling awful. She would hear whimpers and moans from her mother. She would keep her eyes tightly shut and would cover her ears to avoid the noises of love and anger of her parents.
And then suddenly one day, they were gone.
It was a simple afternoon. She was 16 when she came home to find people waiting outside her jhopdi. They were grown men, in white shirts and black pants. They spoke in Marathi, and told her that her parents died while working in a building. They told her that their bodies were in the Bhabha Hospital and that she should come with them and claim the bodies.
Roli remembered being shocked, unable to move a muscle. Her mausi was there too, beating her chest and howling. Roli didn’t shed a single tear, as she was handed over a paper with serial numbers, and names of her parents. Her mother was Sr. No. 1465 and her father was Sr. No. 1466. There was an address in the paper, where she was supposed to go and ‘claim’ her parents.
“I will take you there,” Ramesh had said. He was 4 years older than Roli. He had a bike, in which he roamed around every corner of the city, especially at night.
Roli had nodded, and had walked with him, and sat behind him. She kept reading the piece paper, thinking that she must be misunderstanding what she was reading. She was never great at reading Marathi or any language. She knew the language of memes and WhatsApp forwards.
All through the ride, Ramesh kept talking. But Roli had hardly heard anything. It was raining heavily, as it does in July in Bombay. Roli had forgotten that the paper would get damaged if she stared at it with the rain pouring. When the piece of paper had turned into mush, she felt lost. She started crying then.
She had buried her head on Ramesh’s shoulder and howled. They were at a traffic stop when she screaming, barely doing anything to muffle it. Ramesh kept saying things, but his voice drowned in the noise of the rain, and the honks behind them as the signal turned green.
The years after that day were a blur. Life changed pretty quickly for Roli. Another group of men showed up, in white shirts and with a cheque. They had asked Roli’s name. It was Anita, but she didn’t know it. Her mausi had given them Roli’s ID card. It was a cheque for ₹50,000. Roli remembered seeing everyone’s eyes widen when they heard the amount.
Roli didn’t have a bank account, and she was still a minor. So, the cheque was given to her mausi, with the arrangement that Roli would be able to withdraw the money when she was 18. That is the theory.
However, mausi’s husband, who was a worse drinker than Roli’s father, found the right people to talk to and withdrew the money. Roli wouldn’t know about this till the day she turned 18 and went to ask for the money.
But, by that time, she had bigger worries.
The mausa, would often come home and confuse Roli for his wife. He would fall over Roli, only for Roli to scream and kick him. Her mausi would be roused by then, to shout curses at her drunk husband. He would have often taken off his pants by then. She would pull her half-naked husband off Roli.
Then, there would be noises of her mausi being beaten. Her mausa had the habit of stripping his wife naked and slapping her. Roli would try to cover her ears, to shut out the groans and cries for help, as the sound of naked flesh being slapped reverberated through their jhopri.
Soon, mausa gave up the pretense of being drunk and confusing Roli for his wife. Whenever he would see Roli, he would touch himself, looking at her. He would now and then, take out his dick and point to her.
There are more unspeakable things, that happened to Roli in the course of her staying with her Mausi and Mausa. In all this, she had few things to look forward to in life. One of them was Ramesh.
On her 18th birthday, after she found out that all the money that was meant to be there for her, wasn’t there anymore, she stormed out of her jhopri. She called Ramesh, who said that he would be there in 10 mins, and asked her to meet at their usual spot.
Their usual spot was by the corner by a drain. It was a smelly place, and it was behind a cigarette tapri. Ramesh had first taken Roli there after a few days after her parents had passed away. He had bought a packet of Gold Flakes and offered her one. She had refused, but Ramesh had said that it would make things easier.
Amidst the smell and filth of the drain, Roli had taken her first hit of nicotine. She had coughed a lot, so much so that she had stopped breathing. But right after the coughing stopped, her eyes widen. She raised her eyebrows, as she felt the nicotine for the first time in her blood. She’d felt lightheaded, so much so that she leaned against a wall, to steady herself.
Roli had smiled for the first time she was orphaned. Ramesh was talking about something inane, some gossip about a family near their slum. She had tucked a hair behind her hair, and smiled at him.
The evening of her 18th birthday, Ramesh had reached exactly the time he had committed to. He parked his bike and got off it in one swift motion, kicking the bike stand. Roli had always found it fascinating.
He asked for his usual two cigarettes from the tapri and went behind it. It wasn’t the most private of places, because other smokers would sometimes hang out to see a young man and a girl talk and smoke cigarettes. It was more of a nuisance than an inconvenience for Roli. Ramesh would always bring two cigarettes lit. He handed Roli her lit cigarette. Roli took it without looking at him, their fingers brushing, for no particular reason.
She took her first drag, with her eyes closed shut, because even after these many years of smoking, her eyes still burnt now and then from the smoke.
“What happened?” Ramesh asked.
“It’s my birthday today,” Roli said.
“No, it’s not! I know your —”
“Not my real birthday, but ID wala,” Roli said.
“Oh,” Ramesh looked at Roli intently.
She was wearing her usual, a kurta and a pair of denims. Her kurtas were always a size too big. That way they lasted longer. Her denim though, was tight, hugging her thighs tightly. Ramesh could only imagine how her ass would look in the jeans, if only he could see her in a top and jeans, instead of an ass-covering kurta. Her kurta had parted a little, as she hunched over to smoke, but the neckline was too high to see anything.
“They stole it,” Roli said finally.
She told Ramesh everything — about her mausi telling her that all the money is gone. For someone like Roli, that money was everything. She didn’t know what she could buy with it, but she knew that was enough to let her think of what she could buy.
For the last two years, she had only gotten things that were given to her. They weren’t much and she had no say in what was given to her. Not even her bra. Not even her panty. With the money, she wanted to go somewhere and buy something finally. All those years of humiliation, of sleepless nights fending off a grown man off her, had been for nothing.
She had been looking forward to it for so long, that she didn’t know what she should be doing then. The thought of tomorrow, without the ethereal dream of ₹50,000, made her tear up.
Ramesh touched her shoulder, and rubbed it while he said, “It will all be okay.”
Roli shook her head and wiped a tear off her cheek.
Roli came home eventually, around 9 PM, after talking with Ramesh, and then simply walking alone around the slum. Mausi offered her dinner, but she refused to eat. She got to her mattress and kept the thick stick that she used to fend her mausa away. She knew she would not be able to sleep. She texted Ramesh. He didn’t reply for a while, before sending a text that will change Roli’s life forever.
“You should pack everything that you want to carry. Let’s run away,” he texted.
“What?! But where?” Roli had replied, staring intently at the screen, waiting for his reply.
“I have a chawl in Byculla. I will wait near your place around 11 PM,” he texted.
Roli couldn’t understand the full gravity of what she was being told. She looked up at the ceiling. She listened to her mausi snoring. She thought of mausa coming home soon, taking off his pant and coming to Roli first. He might be too drunk, to not even budge after being beaten by the stick. It might be one of those nights, when he jerked off in front of her, and came on her nighty.
She looked back at the phone, and typed, “But you live here. Why do you have a place there?”
“It is a long story. I have it there because I have business there,” Ramesh said.
“But what will everybody say?” Roli texted.
“Who is everybody? And whom will they say? To your thieving mu-bola relatives?”
Roli rubbed her chin. She had 30 minutes or so to pack and leave. But, why would Ramesh do this? And what will she do at the chawl?
She asked the same thing to Ramesh.
“We will figure that out later. Tell me, will you do it or not?”
Roli sat behind Ramesh, with a duffel bag that said Nyke. She didn’t have much that needed packing. She packed her clothes and a few of the lipsticks that she had managed to acquire with much hardship. Once they were away from the slum, Ramesh stopped the bike, and lit cigarettes for both of them.
It was December, pleasantly chill. Roli was wearing a sleeveless kurta and jeans. She felt colder than was comfortable, but it was a small price to pay to feel free. Roli got off the bike, and rested her ass against the bike, while Ramesh stayed seated on the bike. They smoked silently for a moment before Roli said, out loud, “I am scared.”
Ramesh craned his neck, and smiled at her.
“Why are you scared?” Ramesh asked.
“What am I going to do? And I have run away with a man, what will everybody say?”
“Who are these everybody? And to whom will they say these things to? Your mausi and mausa, who stole from you?”
Ramesh reached for her hand, and held it. He squeezed Roli’s hand as he said, “And about running away with a man, what do you think they are going to say?”
Roli smiled faintly, took the last puff of her cigarette, and said, “That we are lovers.”
She threw the butt of the cigarette on the ground and looked up. Ramesh was looking intently at her. She blushed.
“Okay, let’s go. We should be there in 15 mins,” Ramesh kick-started his bike. Roli sat on the bike, resting her hands on Ramesh’s shoulders. Ramesh turned and smiled, before accelerating his bike.
The chawl that Roli and Ramesh were to live in was humble. Ramesh parked his bike in the courtyard, picked up Roli’s bag and asked her to follow him. It was late at night, and yet people were awake. Their chawl was on the third floor, meaning they have to climb three flights of stairs.
While taking the stair, Roli noticed men, old and young, sitting on the steps, and smoking their bidis. They eyed Roli. She was used to men staring at her. She had gotten used to feeling their stares on her ass and on her breasts. They never looked her in the eyes. Whenever she tried to make eye contact with these men, they will look away. She only knew one man who kept eye contact with her, and she was following him upstairs to a place where she is going to live, with only the things that she could contain in her duffel.
Ramesh keyed the fat lock that was there on the wooden doors of the chawl - 306. That number would stay relevant in Roli’s life for a long time. It all seemed surreal, when Ramesh pushed the door, and walked inside.
He flipped a switch beside the door. An incandescent bulb lit the room. The chawl was empty, except for a bed, which was barely wider than cotton mattress that she used to sleep on. The bedsheet was dirty, but didn’t have any tears like hers did in her jhopri.
And the smell. She was so used to living in jhopri, that even the dull smell of the chawl felt fragrant.
Roli didn’t realize that she was still at the door, and hadn’t crossed the ledge of the chawl. It was only Ramesh said, “Come in, what are you waiting for?”
Roli walked in, Ramesh walked passed her, closed the door and locked it with a solitary latch. And just like that, she was alone in a room, with a guy she had known for years, but who was more his smoking partner than anything else. That wasn’t entirely true. But it would take some time for Roli to realize what Ramesh is in her life.
When he closed the door, Roli instinctively adjusted her kurti, to check if it covered her ass.
“Okay, so let me give you a tour of this palace,” Ramesh said.
The kitchen that they have was a slab, with a basin. There was an induction heater and three utensils and two plates. No spoons, and no bowls. But then again, Roli wasn’t used to those things. Ramesh opened a plastic drum to show her the ration that was there — a few kilos of rice, some daal, tea, salt and sugar.
“I will soon be buying something, since we cannot afford to buy food from outside every day,” Ramesh said, closing the lid.
Roli felt the first tingling of anxiety. She couldn’t place her finger on why she felt that.
Ramesh then showed her the bathroom, a tiny place, with barely any gap between the shower head and the commode.
When they were done with the ‘tour’, Ramesh said, “Do you want some water?”
Roli nodded. Ramesh took a glass from the kitchen slab, and opened the tap of a portable drinking water set-up with an inverted water cylinder. As she sipped the water, she saw Ramesh keeping his keys down on a small table that was beside the bed, and sit on it.
“Where will I sleep?” Roli asked, after she was done with the glass.
Ramesh smiled and tapped the bed on which he was sitting.
And that’s how 18-year-old Roli and 22-year-old Ramesh started sleeping together. The bed wasn’t very wide, and invariably their bodies will touch. They would fall asleep facing opposite directions, but when Roli woke up in the morning, she would find Ramesh’s arm across her waist, and one of his legs on her.
The first time she woke up like that, it felt weird. It didn’t feel sexual. But it was intimate to wake up like that. Roli would place his arm away, and get up from the bed, and make some tea for herself. Ramesh usually slept late, before leaving for work.
As she watched Ramesh sleep, she would notice the bump in his pant, and obvious erection. She had seen only naked dick in her life, and it was small and ugly. She would sip her tea, eyeing Ramesh’s erection, wondering what it would be like.
Before Ramesh woke up, she would finish her morning ablutions. She would change into a kurta and salwar, and would be drying her hair when Ramesh would wake up.
Ramesh didn’t speak much till he finished smoking his first cigarette. Roli would make her some tea. In the early days, she would try to ask him about his work, but Ramesh would be evasive, saying that she wouldn’t understand any of it.
After Ramesh left for his work, Roli would feel lost. She didn’t know anybody in the chawl. Not that she didn’t try.
The first time she went down to get some biscuits, she met a group of ladies.
“You are new here, right?” one of them had asked.
Roli smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, she is in 306. Ramesh-wali,” the other one had said.
The two ladies exchanged a look, as if being Ramesh-wali had a meaning in itself.
Roli tried to excuse herself, when the first lady asked her, “Are you pregnant already?”
Roli had shaken her head and walked past them. After that day, she kept her head down if she had to go down for something, or told Ramesh to get the things that were required.
Other than that, Roli was lonely. She didn’t have anybody to talk to, except Ramesh. But Ramesh often came back after 10 PM, and went to bed by 11 PM, and would fall asleep fast. She tried to spend her day watching YouTube videos, listening to songs, or making the most of what was available in the meager ration. She didn’t have friends whom she could WhatsApp.
In the early days, every time the phone rang, she expected it to be her mausi. But it would invariably be a robot call, selling her a policy or telling her about her lottery.
After a month of that, she had given up on waiting on a call. But it only made her feel lonely.
One evening, Ramesh came back from work, and told her something that changed her life.
“You have to start earning now,” he declared in a flat tone.
“Yes, I want to —”
“I’ve been working on it. Tomorrow, will be your first day,” Ramesh said, taking out his phone.
“My first day? Doing what?” Roli asked.
Ramesh took a deep breath, and got up from the bed.
“Tomorrow, at 7 PM, I and two of my friends would be here,” Ramesh said, walking up to her.
“Okay, and?”
“And, we will drink and laugh. They will bring their own alcohol, and food. You only have to serve us the things,” Ramesh said, looking into his eyes.
It would be the first time people other than Ramesh and Roli would be in the house. And yes, she would be serving people for the first time. She didn’t know what hosting meant, her mausi never had guests other than people who came to ask her for the money they owed. But she can smile, look pretty and serve. She didn’t drink, but it would be fun to try alcohol, she thought. After all, it was Ramesh with whom she had smoked the first cigarette.
“But how is this going to earn me anything?”
Ramesh took a step closer, so much so that their bodies were touching. She was used to his touches by then, especially because they slept together. Ramesh held the hem of her kurta and said, “You will be doing all this, without wearing anything.”
Roli blinked twice before she could respond. And when she managed a response, it was, “What?”
“Yeah. You will go around the house, doing the things I said, wearing absolutely nothing. I will get you a razor, you will have to shave —”
“No! How can you —”
“Do not interrupt me,” Ramesh said in a stern tone.
“You will have to shave this,” he said, touching Roli’s crotch.
Roli gasped, caught off guard by a rough touch by an otherwise gentle Ramesh.
“I won’t do it. I —”
“You will do it. Either you go around the place, serving us with a smile, wearing nothing. Or,” Ramesh took a step back, and took out a cigarette.
“Or what?”
“Or, I will tie your wrists to the bed, strip you naked, and then spread your legs wide apart,” he exhaled his smoke, “and, I won’t stop my friends from doing anything they wanted to you.”
Roli gulped. She looked at the locked door, and then at Ramesh. Ramesh read his mind and said, “You want to leave, then leave. But you have to leave right now. If you stay, you will have to earn.”
“But there are other ways to earn, right?”
“Not as much as this,” Ramesh walked back to the bed and sat down.
“Your friends will pay you?”
“No,” Ramesh said.
“Then why are you making me do this?” Roli clenched her fists.
“To make you comfortable. To be comfortable being naked with strange men,” he said.
“What will they do to me?” Roli asked, her voice wavering, with fear and sadness.
“My friends? They will only watch. They might touch you, where they feel like, but they won’t fuck you. They might take their dicks out, but they won’t ask you to do anything with that,” Ramesh scratched his cheek thinking, “actually, they can do anything except fucking you.”
Roli walked up to him, and crouched down, on her knees. The hard floor hurt, but her heart was hurting more, “Please don’t do this. I can do other things. I can clean people’s houses, I can —”
“Roli, you have a young body, and I have been with enough women to know that you have the kind of body that men will pay a lot for. Anything else you do, will be a waste of your body,” Ramesh caressed her cheek.
Roli felt repulsed, for the first time in her life, when Ramesh touched her. She flinched, and sighed.
“Do I have to tie you up tomorrow?” Ramesh asked, holding both of her wrists and squeezing them.
When Roli had made the decision to leave her slum in Dharavi, she wanted freedom. She had been free, in some sense, in the past couple of months with Ramesh. She had expected Ramesh to make a move on her. She was prepared for it. She would have in fact liked it, if Ramesh tried to kiss her. She liked him enough to kiss him, to let him do whatever he wanted to do with her. But what he asked of her — she wasn’t prepared.
If she said no to it, she would have to leave right then. Where would she go? Back to her jhopri, where everybody will ask questions like those ladies in chawl. She was still a virgin, but people would think Ramesh fucked her till he was bored, and then kicked her out. There was no way back from all that.
“No,” Roli said, her eyes looking at the floor, her cheeks hot with shame and sorrow.
“Good. It will be a good publicity too. I am sure my friends will talk about you with others. I am really looking forward to your first time. We can make a lot of money by telling people about your virgin pussy,” Ramesh said, caressing Roli’s chin.
Continue Reading
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