Welcome to GB Road - home of वेश्यावृत्ति

GB Road is in Old Delhi and it is as chaotic and crazy and you'd imagine. There are rickshaws, bicycles, motorbikes, cars, trucks, cows and ox pulling carts all trying to navigate down the narrow road. But GB Road isn't just famous for its crazy atmosphere and bright colours. GB Road is the most famous red light district in Delhi. And GB Road was one of my first stops in India.

Two or three stories above the street stalls and rickshaw drivers are windows covered by grilles. Between these bars hang women calling down to the streets tempting man to come up and sample their goods. But they aren't selling electronics or jewellery like elsewhere on the street. They are selling themselves.

Walking up the narrow, steep steps to the second floor of a building I could tell by the smell that this wasn't a nice place. As I walked through a narrow opening, I encountered 30 faces all sitting in a room on offer to any paying customers. I felt like I was in a swimming pool change room. Everywhere was tiled. And off the main room there were doors into cubicles - just like the showers at your local gym. The tiny women's shoes lined up neatly outside each cubicle, next to large hastly dumped men's shoes, left me in no doubt as to what occurred in these filthy, dark cubicles.

Half the women we met had their faces painted blue. It was only later when I asked about the makeup that I found out this is the traditional costume of Burma. The women working in a cramped and depressing brothel on GB Road in Delhi had come from Burma. Whether they were trafficked or smuggled I don't know. What I do know is that no person would choose to end up working there. This brothel served the poorest rickshaw drivers and stall vendors in Old Delhi. The rickshaw drivers make little money. Imagine how bad the conditions must be in this establishment if even the lowest paid workers in India can afford to sample the goods??

So how do these women, ranging from 18 to my age, 22, to late 30s end up in such a depressing deadend place? Often they come to work as they have no money to feed their children or their families. Often they have debts they need to work off. But even if they do escape the life of a prostitute on GB Road they are often faced with horrendous challenges as their families and villages shun them for the dirty work they have been involved in. Physically abused inside the brothel they will be emotionally abused and isolated if they manage to leave.

Sounds bad right? Well imagine how bad this situation was for the children - 3 and 4 year olds - I met in the brothel who spent their days watching mummy work. What kind of futures could they hope for? Next post I'll tell you all about the lives of the little children born into life in a brothel on GB Road.

पटाका

Little Pataka means little firecracker.

Thought it was only appropriate to start my very first post by telling you about the very first child I met in India who I fell in love with. I don't know his name. In fact, I'd spent half an hour in the dirty slum where he lives before I even noticed him. In my defence it was the first slum I'd ever visited and I was so overwhelmed. I couldn't take my eyes off the rubbish, mud, pigs and shacks lining the streets. I was bursting with joy and love for the hundreds (literally!) of people surrounding me and the beautiful, gentle little children desperate to hold my hands.

We were in the Natwantola slum in Kanpur. Kanpur is the dirtiest, filthiest place I've ever been. I entered Kanpur by driving over the mighty mother Ganga river. The river which was black, polluted and nothing like the 'holy' river I had envisioned. Kanpur didn't improve from there. The streets are lined with rubbish. Tonnes of it. Shanties and tarps are strung between and on the mountains of rubbish with tiny children working in the shadows. Kanpur disgusted me. And it was my favourite place in all of India. Haha - quite a jump there eh? Digusting and yet my favourite place? It was my favourite place because it was India. It is exactly what I'd imagined. It was filthy, yes, but more importantly it was alive. There were people and bikes and cows and rickshaws everywhere. The people were darting in and out of shops and roadside vendors. It was so energetic and delightful. And seeing as it was my favourite place in all of India you'll be hearing lots more about it.

But back to this delightful boy it took me so long to notice in a slum in Kanpur. We'd been involved in a large celebration and ceremony and the whole community came out to take part. Now this little boy is tiny. He must be about 6. And this little boy was hidden somewhere in the crowd of 100 children all trying to get as close to us as they can. But then it started raining. And by raining I mean bucketing. Welcome monsoon rains. And to shelter from the monsoon rains we ran to the nearest hut and stood peering out. There was little room and so apart from the 4 Australian visitors pretty much everyone else stood in the bucketing rain staring in at us. And then a cheeky little confident boy pushed through to the front. He was absolutely drenched but curiousity about these visitors from Australia got the better of him and he came up under the verandah shelter to be closer to us. He had the most beautiful smile. He didn't stop grinning the whole time we were there. He didn't speak english. I don't speak hindi. But lucky we did have one thing we could share - mohawks.

Yes, in the drenching rain everyone's hair had been messed up. And this beautiful little boy wanted to impress these visitors so he was busy smoothing down his hair. So imagine how shocked he was when I decided to scruffle it. Instead of getting cross, he just giggled and squealed and smoothed it down again. Having too much fun with this delightful little boy I didn't hear any of the presentation that was happening metres from me. Instead all my attention was focused on teaching this funny little confident boy from Kanpur how to do a mohawk, how to shake your hair out like when removing a motorcycle helmet (yes, you do have to look sexy even in a monsoonal downpour) and how to 'fake comb' your hair like Danny Zuko. He giggled and made faces at all of us and then it was time for us to leave. And all the kids chased after our car waving and laughing. But out of nowhere, just like before, this little boy appeared and made his way to the front. And he ran faster than all of the others. And he ran barefoot in the flooded streets through the rubbish until we left the slum.

This little boy had such energy and confidence even though he was surrounded by illness, poverty and despair. He was a bit of a surprise package! I hadn't noticed him when we first arrived and he was so little it was easy to expect him to be quiet and timid. I look forward to knowing what this little boy with so much fire inside him can achieve.

Little Pataka means little firecracker. I hope you love this little Pataka as much as I do.

20.09.09
Also loving @GlobeTrek for the Hindi corrections! 'It's "pataka", sounds like "puh-taa-kaa".'