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A sly smile appeared on the faces of people as I asked them the direction to GB Road. When finally, I reached there, for once, the place made me forget the lush Lutyens Delhi that exists beyond the crumbling walls of Shahjahanabad. The dilapidated three storied buildings were squashed together on either side of the road of the city’s most famous red-light district. By day, this area is home to several hardware stores, by night over 90 brothels ply their trade.Shutters of hardware shops present on the ground floor were being raised as I walked the length of the road. Painted on the walls were cautionary signs-- Beware of pickpockets and pimps, and rightly so, for no sooner had I crossed the first shop that a man tapped my shoulder.“300 rupees mein badhiya ladki milegi sir (I can get you an excellent girl for 300). Come with me,” he said casually, matching my pace.Pretending that I hadn’t heard him, I kept treading ahead. I’d been warned to expect this. Heeding to the advice from people who had been here before, I had nothing on me other than a metro card and 50 rupees, return fare.“Think about it sir,” he persisted. “I will show you the best. Nepali, desi whichever you like.”
“I am not looking for a girl,” I said. “I am here on an assignment?”
“Aisa bolo na. Why are you wasting my time?” The pimp shook his head and scurried away.Going as far as the Mughal period when tawaifs or the courtesans were held in high regard, there were several kothas in the walled city of Delhi. But as the British began to take over the subcontinent, this culture faded away until eventually, after the uprising of 1857 all the red light areas were shut down except one; Garstin Bastion Road. As I Mohan states in Delhi: Development and Change, “The commercial use [of buildings at GB Road] started just before independence when the prostitution dens from the ground floors got shifted to 1st floor.” GB road was changed to Swami Shradhanand Marg in 1966 but the old name and reputation lives on.But given the stigma around sex work, I wondered if anyone could escape the reputation of GB road.The Shopkeeper
Ramesh Tyagi* owns a sanitary fitting store. He had just finished lighting the lamp in a tiny wooden temple above a counter when I spoke to him. “My father had bought this shop in 1972 and not much has changed here because no matter how good your shop is, customers always shy away from shopping here because,” he pauses and points the index finger of his right hand towards the first floor. “The machinery market here works mostly as a distribution center. We often have orders in bulk or from small industrial companies. I remember once my son had to fill a school form in which there was a column, ‘Father’s Office Address’. I had written a fake address.”“In the old days, out of shame, people used to come only after sunset but now you see it happening all the time. It is not safe here. Every day there are attacks on people who get robbed by these pimps or smackiyas (addicts).”I ask if he’d ever had trouble here. He laughs and says, “It’s live and let live here. When we don’t bother them in their work, why would they bother us?”The Refreshment Seller
Shakeel Malik sells bread near the Mother Dairy at Ansari Road. But when he is done with his work for the day; he comes to GB Road on his old TVS XL 100 to sell chips and cold drinks. Bandhe gue grahakor, fixed customers as he refers to the sex workers. “It’s easier for customers to buy chips and cold drinks while waiting. They do not have to come down. Besides, most of the shops downstairs are closed anyway at that time.”I asked him what sells the most. “Cola sells throughout the year. Even in winters. But sometimes a [sex worker] asks me to bring some special item she wants to eat, so I get that for them. They are also humans after all but not everyone thinks like that.”The Pimp
“No one has come here on against their own will,” the man who had tapped on my shoulder says. I was halfway through the road when he came across me again. I smiled and asked if he was willing to talk. He refused to tell me his name, “There is a reason why everyone is here. I used to work as a daily wage laborer in my village but it was not a permanent job. One of my friend told me that he will get me work in Dilli and there will be girls too. He brought me here and introduced me to the malkin, owner of the brothel. She told me there is no fixed salary. It will depend on the number of grahak I bring. I agreed and within a month I had earned 6000 rupees. It is not hard to convince customers unless they are journalists like you,” he winks and continues. “All I need to do is look at their face or their pant.”I ask if anyone in his family knew about his job or if he sent money home. “No, this is haram ki kamai, not a respectable source. I haven’t sent any money home. They do not know I work here.”I was at the other end of GB Road but I had not seen a single sex worker from the windows of the grilled windows of the upper floors. Most of the shops had opened by then, for the owners of ground floor woke up when the inhabitants of the upper floors fell asleep. The two worlds intersected but only briefly.* Name changed on request
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“I am not looking for a girl,” I said. “I am here on an assignment?”
“Aisa bolo na. Why are you wasting my time?” The pimp shook his head and scurried away.Going as far as the Mughal period when tawaifs or the courtesans were held in high regard, there were several kothas in the walled city of Delhi. But as the British began to take over the subcontinent, this culture faded away until eventually, after the uprising of 1857 all the red light areas were shut down except one; Garstin Bastion Road. As I Mohan states in Delhi: Development and Change, “The commercial use [of buildings at GB Road] started just before independence when the prostitution dens from the ground floors got shifted to 1st floor.” GB road was changed to Swami Shradhanand Marg in 1966 but the old name and reputation lives on.
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Ramesh Tyagi* owns a sanitary fitting store. He had just finished lighting the lamp in a tiny wooden temple above a counter when I spoke to him. “My father had bought this shop in 1972 and not much has changed here because no matter how good your shop is, customers always shy away from shopping here because,” he pauses and points the index finger of his right hand towards the first floor. “The machinery market here works mostly as a distribution center. We often have orders in bulk or from small industrial companies. I remember once my son had to fill a school form in which there was a column, ‘Father’s Office Address’. I had written a fake address.”“In the old days, out of shame, people used to come only after sunset but now you see it happening all the time. It is not safe here. Every day there are attacks on people who get robbed by these pimps or smackiyas (addicts).”I ask if he’d ever had trouble here. He laughs and says, “It’s live and let live here. When we don’t bother them in their work, why would they bother us?”The Refreshment Seller
Shakeel Malik sells bread near the Mother Dairy at Ansari Road. But when he is done with his work for the day; he comes to GB Road on his old TVS XL 100 to sell chips and cold drinks. Bandhe gue grahakor, fixed customers as he refers to the sex workers. “It’s easier for customers to buy chips and cold drinks while waiting. They do not have to come down. Besides, most of the shops downstairs are closed anyway at that time.”
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“No one has come here on against their own will,” the man who had tapped on my shoulder says. I was halfway through the road when he came across me again. I smiled and asked if he was willing to talk. He refused to tell me his name, “There is a reason why everyone is here. I used to work as a daily wage laborer in my village but it was not a permanent job. One of my friend told me that he will get me work in Dilli and there will be girls too. He brought me here and introduced me to the malkin, owner of the brothel. She told me there is no fixed salary. It will depend on the number of grahak I bring. I agreed and within a month I had earned 6000 rupees. It is not hard to convince customers unless they are journalists like you,” he winks and continues. “All I need to do is look at their face or their pant.”I ask if anyone in his family knew about his job or if he sent money home. “No, this is haram ki kamai, not a respectable source. I haven’t sent any money home. They do not know I work here.”I was at the other end of GB Road but I had not seen a single sex worker from the windows of the grilled windows of the upper floors. Most of the shops had opened by then, for the owners of ground floor woke up when the inhabitants of the upper floors fell asleep. The two worlds intersected but only briefly.* Name changed on request