July 13, 2009

The Manipuri Goddess

His dark eyes surveyed the scene before him. It was a regular bar, losers sprawled across tables carelessly hinting at girls, Taking large swigs from their beer mugs. This was a bad day for me. Load of work left to do and I wanted to get drunk. Dark night, violent winds, fast bike, I always loved my bikes, a good bike ride can do wonders for you. Of course you must know how to handle your baby. You must know how to combine the front disc brake and your rear brake so that you skid to that perfect stop. One mistake and you are lying with dirt on your face. Right fate for an ignoramus.
If you ask me what was there in my heart I would laugh at you. What heart do you expect me to carry, what did my feelings and opinions matter in times such as these. I don’t suppose a story beautiful if you dramatize it with you opinions, make it flowery with your emotions. I detest that figure of speech and I despise any art which ever went that way wavering from something which was untrue. This story is not about hurt emotions or exaggerated feelings. This is about a simple boy who wants his answers. His innocence which we must all emulate.

Ranbir was brought up in an affluent aristocracy in southern Bihar, well known as Jharkhand. His school life was spent in bikes. Babes were not to his taste. It was Jharkhand after all, you won’t get those fashionable types here. He was adored by his friends mainly for spending cash recklessly, be it a party , be it a mere hangout , be it a wedding. Ranbir lived every part , a lover, a goon, best friend to a lover. Everything coalesced into the human figure. He did his schooling from DPS. His teachers did not particularly love him but they always said he was a decent kid. He was a good kid, if you found a way to his heart you could find a way to his treasury.
He got a call from his friend in delhi. They were having a bachelor’s party down in south delhi. His friend was getting married and yes this was an occasion to celebrate. He got his ticket to the great capital.
He reached the great modi residence around noon. His friend Ajay told him that they had to go out by afternoon to bring in the real stuff. What real stuff meant to Ranbir was always alcohol and weed. Ranchi did not offer him more. Well, he was in for a surprise. Around 3 pm they gathered around the crowded Connaught place. In about half an hour they found within themselves five highly fashionable and electable young female friends. Ranbir knew who they were, still he kept his mouth shut. He was riding in a gypsy, on sides were two Manipuri chicks barely adult, smoking Marijuana to the hot delhi traffic. He got into a conversation.
“since when are you in this business?”-Ranbir.
“long story dude can we wait for the Chandni Bar?”-she said.
“ya sure few drinks always help”-Ranbir said out of experience.
As I said the Chandni bar was a crowded bar. Thankfully these people had a booked a large table and the waiters looked bought out as they served shredded chicken in less than five minutes. Even a gorgeous cook wouldn’t do any better. Ranbir managed to get a seat beside this angel from the hills of Manipur. Which hills, maybe he didn’t care a bit.
“so how did you get into this business”-Ranbir said over a peg of his Indian whiskey.
“I was in love five years ago, I joined the Indraprashtha College in DU. I used to have a boyfriend. He was cool, he was popular and he was caring. I fell in love with him. He used my body. You got any questions?”- she asked.
“did you complete graduation?”- this was Intelligent Ranbir.
“no I flunked because of that monster, not to mention he flew off with flying colors. He had a good sex life in college, that much I can say”-she said, barely audible.
“so u joined this trade because you couldn’t pay your bills?”-Ranbir was getting impatient.
“My mother called up to say that I had to send money home for Dad’s operation, I had no job, I joined a parlour”- she said.
“I cut people’s hair and tricked ugly people and they actually thought they looked better”-she added.
“and then”-Ranbir added.
“I weighed my options , a 5000 bucks were not enough for me, a parlour job was filthy then why not do something filthier. Did my boyfriend not rape me the dozen times he promised he loved me. What could I do about it. I shut my heart. I shut my heart to emotions. I decided to be a proistitute. My heart was broken at least I could serve my mother and father, is that not noble. Is that not holy. I just lay there for people like you to scavenge on my body and reap the fruits of desire. My dad is ok, and I wont meet him before he is dead. My mom would understand. Anything else you want to know?”- she was trembling.
“will you marry me?”- Ranbir.


  1. Hmm..... One more tears stained story of a mercy-me woman.

    Somehow, I don't understand that why do people sympthize with prostitutes.

    Its normal. Prostitution is just like any other business. It is not unethical nor unholy. It just commercializes the most primal of needs. There are many people in this business who are perfectly happy with the money.

    Stephen got talent. He sells his writings and makes it big. Some other chap paints awesome, he trades his art for bucks. Its normal.

    Then why is there so much of furor over prostitutes. Its just the art of body selling, sale of sexual services.

    Be it prostitutes or gigolos, everyone takes it up by choice. And if they are there, they shouldn't complain.

    I respect and agree with those who are forcibly made to enter this profession. But with them my sympathy lies for what happened with them is against one's freewill, and not because they are in this trade.

    The story, in senses of literature is well written. Nice words, some meanings I didn't knew. You got a good vocab. The theme however is a done-and-done thing.

    However, its nice.

  2. I completely agree that there is nothing taboo as such about prostitution. i wouldnt agree more, but this story about one girl in one context.i am not sympathizing with prostitutes and i shouldnt be, i am just telling the story of a particular one.ya its a done in done story, this particular one was narrated to me by a friend.so i wrote it objectively, feelings if any came are not mine. hope this clears few things.

  3. dude...u really write good stories nd ur stories r awesome right frm the painter one which inspired me.....well wht cud she do....yes this is reality offcourse.. people have nothing left so they sucumb ....completely agreed whtver ila said . ....nice story dude

  4. Old theme or new... i dont care..
    but the narration just was excellent man.. especially the second paragraph n last part of first paragraph.... i loved the attitude..

  5. call it fact or fiction,narration is smooth as whisky ;).."cheers" 2 tat :D

  6. @all thanks a lot for the comments.
    @solitary writer glad u liked my stories ,but one piece of advice, it is not advisable to cut ilashree's name to ila...u may land up in trouble :P


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