There she was amid the fake twinkles of life; swaying her bare hands, tapping those skinny legs and occasionally shaking those voluptuous breasts. The first day when she entered that room she was 11 years old and she witnessed a whole new dirty world stretched upon her. As she grew, she was a hit. A pretty fair face with a curvaceous to-kill-for kind of a body! What else she needed to be a star amongst the dark patched sulky faces. An instant blockbuster indeed !!! But she didn’t feel it that way. Every day, every hour spent in that bar sucked her towards a whole worse life. She had no choice; after all she was a show piece sold at a hefty price . She felt ugly there, uglier than ever. Especially when money fell upon her touching her golden blouse, swiftly caressing her bare belly to find its native near her foot. That was the real reason why she was there. That was the reason why she was asked to hide her womanhood under a shining much revealing blouse and a low hung red lehenga and a partially visible dupatta. There she was feeling the void inside her soul, crying out loud only to hear the dikh-chik music playing aloud. She wasn’t proud being a bar dancer, but to say less, she had to survive.

Everyday sharp at 7 pm she entered this cheap world of smoke, alcohol, music and nudity. Her eyes witnessed police stations on some days and dingy looking hotel bedrooms on another. Yet, it was this smoke filled dim lighted bar she hated the most. She felt raped every second. Those prying eyes scrutinized every single detail whacking her femininity hard. She smiled, dying a million deaths inside. She smiled when they pulled her hand and offered their lap to sit. They touched her, pinched her, insulted her, and molested her. She only smiled.

One evening a man on the right corner table signaled her with a bundle of notes as she silently walked towards him. A stout man, his stomach largely popping out from the table and shining bald head glittered even more than the thick gold chain hung over his neck. Richness was savoring every bit of him.  Instantly, she knew –she had come across many of this kind – the man seeks nothing more but physical pleasure jaded with the same position with the same wife. The moment her hands reached for the bundle, he quickly shifted it inside his safari coat giving a come-get-it-baby laughter. Playfulness was pouring out of his alcohol stuffed body. She sat on his lap at his command served him drinks and gave him a ride through her beautiful giggles. When the bundle was out he reached for her blouse to insert them inside having his moment of fun. Next day, same right corner table felt his presence and so did her golden blouse and so many days afterwards. She had seen no customer being so prompt at the table and waiting only for her. She even wondered once or twice if he was in love with her, only to laugh at her tiny joke shoving her laughter.  But with each day he explored her body a bit more as if that bundle owned her. At last, bar manager asked her to accompany him to the room upstairs and there was an instant truth lying naked in front of her, no love was her destiny; it was all in the name of lust!
Once again the same smelly dark bedroom called out her name. Once again, she couldn’t meet the eyes of barely naked women in those half torn posters glued to the wall. Once again a new man stood right in front – striped. Once again, she felt she wouldn’t repeat this act again. Once again she saw herself being exposed, killing her morals, her innocence and her self-respect. When she felt his heavy body on her broken soul, she felt captive of this male dominated society who used her just for pleasure. Her identity was being razed, she kept silent. She was silent all these years unable to break free. But it was different that night. The voices grew louder and she couldn’t even close her ears. She shut her eyes tight, yet those violent noises made her nauseate. She saw him, heard him and felt him. She wanted to scream aloud – get off me you asshole. But she kept silent but for how long? The lava of anguish was ready to burst open and her soul begged for mercy and freedom.  All those years were rolling in front of her like a motion picture and she knew, she was more than a bar dancer. If nothing great, at least a human being! She couldn’t live this life forever. She couldn’t be a whore in the lap of a dancer. She couldn’t be that tied animal wagging tail on command. She had to be free. And she knew freedom was lying next to her satisfied.

Next day morning, when police arrived they saw her lay amid the pool of blood. His blood was scattered all around redefining an old saga of a woman’s revenge. And he rested motionless beside her. His paunch still popping out, his safari all torn and tormented while his severed body parts roared a brutal torture. Her frustration, anger, helplessness were marked on every brick of that room but more on his body. May be her vengeance was over and story too. But her real life began there.

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