Reshma

1

The clothes were pricking Reshma a lot. Maybe it's the fault of the mirror work, she thought. She adjusted her low-waist saree and yanked it higher.

"Arey, arey, arey! Kya kar rahi hai chori? Uthaar usey neeche..." Sarla came from behind.

"Kya uthaar? Yeh kitna chubh raha hai, main janti hoon ki tu?" Reshma rolled her eyes. "No, tell me, what kind of a saree is this?" Reshma asked.

Sarla laughed. "That's what Memsahib has asked us to do; wear extremely gaudy clothes, put extra makeup, and show off a lot. Do it. You want your salary to be cut or something?"

"No! Well, I've no option do I?"

"You don't. What can we do, you tell. Our wish and will doesn't work in this brothel."

"Theek boli," came a voice from behind. Reshma immediately pulled down her saree, to expose even more skin. She turned to see Memsahib's face, covered with layers of makeup.

"Ji," Sarla said.

"Tum jo chahte ho...living like a free bird, enjoy in the outside world...that's not possible," Memsahib sighed. "It won't happen. You have to do this for an earning. "Just be happy that this place is government approved. No raids and stuff. At least your job is secure."

"Our lives aren't, Memsahib." Reshma said.

"You're not the only one. Even I am one of you. I had to go through the same pain everyday. It's just that now I'm older. So I'm made your mentor by the management. I am just waiting to leave this place." Memsahib snapped.

Reshma could understand a bit, if not completely. Memsahib, her real name being Pratibha, had joined this prostitute centre when she was just 22. This place was still illegal then. When she was mid-thirties, the government had approved this centre along with six others in Maharashtra. Now she was in her late forties. Though she wasn't an available call girl, being the person to see this brothel through its different phases, she was made into their mentor. She used to look after the centre and the people. Who would want to be working in a brothel for more than 20 years, first as an employee and then as a trustee?

"Memsahib," a woman named Janice came.

"Hmm..."

"A boy is waiting. He wants a girl,"

"So? Go give him one,"

"He's not ready to select one from the register."

"Why not?" Memsahib was confused. The register had it all—name, place, height, weight... Only the girl's picture wasn't pasted.

"He wants to see the girl, and meet her it seems." Janice smirked.

"Then you may ask him to leave."

"That he's not ready to do."

"Who is this? Ughh... I'll come in a minute. Reshma, Sarla, go find a better work to do."

Memsahib went to the main hall. Reshma looked at Sarla with a twinkle in her eye.

"Whoa...hold on! Seriously? Why do you even bother?" Sarla asked exasperated.

"Oh, c'mon! Let's see who it is!" Reshma pleaded. She took Sarla's hand and dragged her, tailing Memsahib. They stopped at the back entrance, and hid halfway behind the door, where both the guy in question and Memsahib were standing.

He was young. Dusky coloured, straight, jet black hair, a stubble on his face, the boy was of medium height. He looked rich, wearing branded clothes. Illegal brothels would've given him any number of girls. But this was a legal one, that too looked after by Memsahib.