While I was researching material for my upcoming novel ‘Lonely in Mumbai’ I had to meet up with people from all walks of life, well literally, men and women who walk the streets in Mumbai, and figuratively.  The underground sex workers, escort services, bodies used to pleasure others mechanically and for the money.  The book is going to be a revelation of the real Mumbai that has never been exposed, and it may make even Danny Boyle’s (the director of ‘Slumdog Millionaire’) jaws drop.  After listening and compiling all these case studies I was contemplating about compiling a work of non-fiction—they say truth is stranger than fiction, and that is the reality.  However how many people are interested in ‘the Slumdog, or underdog’ kind of material? An Amitabh Bachchan who lives in his tinted glass house criticizes anyone—Foreigner, or Indian—who chooses to depict the harsh reality of India, be it Mumbai, Pune, Goa, Delhi, Calcutta, Chennai or Bangalore.  Forget about South Asia, every country in the world—believe it or not is subject to child prostitution, human trafficking and the vilest kinds of human degradation and bestiality.  Back to square one, I decided to disguise my book in a fictional format.

Can anyone remember the days spent in school, in moral studies where we were always asked “Who made you?” and our answer would be “God made me!”  The second question was “Who lives in you?” and our unanimous answer would be “God lives in me!”  That is the absolute truth—our soul, or ‘atma’ (the Sanskrit word) is of God.  Our bodies will pass away, but our soul will live on.  God is the Savior of our souls, and He wants us to live in His eternal kingdom where even the streets are paved in gold.  Every religion on earth believes in the supernatural phenomena—God, his arch enemy; the devil, the reality of heaven, and hell.  However our journey begins here where we take responsibility for our actions.  Or else there could be consequences.

Let me explain in brief some of the real stories I encountered in Mumbai.  They are indeed shocking, but I am not writing this to make you point fingers at anyone and determine how wonderful your life is in comparison.  It is to make a point that our body is a temple of God, and our lives should reflect that.  In what comes out of our mouth, or our minds, or our hearts—what we see, and what we do—we have to be aware that God is in charge, and He sees everything.  So here goes; Ananda (not her real name), she has at least 20 different names depending on the customers she meets, and she began prostituting herself at 13—a runaway from home.  When I met her, she was 17 but looked 28.  She has a pimp in charge of her life—who looks after her in terms of salon appointments, hair and make up and wardrobe—there is an 80-20 profit sharing between the two of them; 80% goes back to the pimp, 20% to Ananda.  She has lost the count of men she has had sex with, in order to blot out a life that seems to be an endless black hole, she is hooked on drugs.  No prizes for guessing what she does with 20% of her earnings.  It’s not surprising how much information people can give you—especially if you are a stranger, and a journalist.  They recount things to you that would probably end up being a secret they would’ve carried to their graves.  By the time I was done with our successive meetings I wasn’t able to keep it strictly journalistic, and made sure that she was approached a Charity Organization in Mumbai who vision and mission is to reestablish sex workers, and help them get ahead in life without resorting to the world’s oldest profession.

My second story is that of Mohsin, a homosexual whose first sexual experience was at 7 when he was molested by a paternal uncle who lived in their chawl (a squatter’s colony).  Mohsin (his real name) told me to call him ‘Mohsina’, or ‘Haseena’ (beautiful in Hindi).  He is 22 and wears make-up (foundation, and mascara) even during the day.  He admits that he is a sex addict, and needs at least 5-8 sexual escapades every day—in urinals, the crowded Mumbai trains, parks, behind closed doors, and in cinemas that show soft porn.  I ask him how long he has been sexually promiscuous and he mentions 12 years.  A rough estimate for 10 years, even with 2 men per day (and he says that there are days when he’s even had 8-10) is enough to make me worry about his health.  Two days later I make sure he is introduced to a counselor dealing mainly in sex addiction—it the least I can do before I move on.

There are thousands of hurting lives in our very own city, the fact remains, how much have you or I invested in the lives of others.  As for me I am fed up of preaching, let’s go out and do some soul-saving.  Please get in touch, my email address is sulekhatoronto@gmail.com