She sits across from me, speaking Bangla, describing her past.
A young girl from the village, knowing only the business her father works and the chores her mother teaches her. East and West Pakistan, fighting, leading the family to flee to neighboring India. A refugee camp. A lie from a trusted friend, leading her to Sonagachi. 13 years old. Unknowing what the woman and men before her are discussing. Unknowing why so many girls put on so much makeup and stand in the streets outside her door. Overwhelmed by the sounds, the smells of the huge new city outside the door. She is treated sweetly, dressed in pretty new clothes. In a room with a strange man, she is offered a drink she has only heard of, but has never tasted. Coca-Cola. Something is slipped into her drink, and soon, she is out.
A new life begins for her. A life of constant beatings, constant raping. A life of “standing in line” on the streets of the red light district, seeking to attract as many of the daily 20,000 male customers as she is able, just to make a few rupees and avoid more beatings. A life of hiding from the police, and being raped down at the station when the police pick her up after a raid. Knowing no other skills, knowing not where her family is now. She is trapped.
Meena tells me her story now as a supervisor at a warehouse that employs women, just like her, making bags and shirts. Women with similar stories, similar memories, similar wounds. She now knows how to write her own name, how to count and save money, how to sew and cut. Her business now is not one of shame. Her business now is one of freedom. For herself, and for the hundreds of other girls she works alongside. Her dream: to bring this freedom to the 10,000 others that live and work in the one square mile area of Kolkata’s red light district.
10,000 women. Girls as young as 9. Married off or sold and trafficked. Prostituted as long as possible, until they are no longer profitable. Trapped, just like Meena once was. Stolen. Lied to. Beaten. Selling their bodies. Not given a choice. Not regarded as human.
They are now given an opportunity. A choice. They are businesswomen. They make a decent wage. They choose their own future.
Many still suffer from their past. AIDS, addiction, fear, shame. Many still live in their own slavery, although they have physical freedom. But they are learning. As they gain simple skills and confidence in their work, they gain more and more of their freedom. And so many have a joy that radiates, bringing light into the darkness of the red light district.
By buying these products, you are getting involved in the stories of so many women, helping even more to be free from a life of slavery and prostitution. 10,000 women…will…be…
FREE!
