We spent the heaviest monsoon month of this new place in training. In our village, when the rains stopped, we gathered and rejoiced, letting the sun back into our days, its warmth touching our faces for the new season of dance, flowers, and food. Here we did not see the sun. I only knew the rain had stopped because water no longer trickled in through the cracks in the roof.
Janaki ran training. I wondered how she had acquired such power until I overheard Madame admitting that she liked her the best.
On the first day of training, Sajana told us that Madame’s real name was Mina, and she and her brother were orphans. They were left in a field to die as babies, but two fugitive men, gundas, found them and took them in. A member of the men’s family was one of the most powerful dons in Mumbai. He ran an underground passport scheme.
Madame’s brother wanted to start a business, and the family helped him build their first brothel. He protected Madame and then offered her a position overseeing a new branch in the city so she would never have to entertain men, just find other girls to do it. Madame had found Janaki herself when she and her brother were on vacation in Ahmadabad. They exited a cinema and saw her outside on the street, looking for food in a box of vegetable peels beside a small tiffin cafe.
Madame asked her where her parents were. Janaki didn’t know Hindi but said Madame approached and looked into her eyes as Madame’s brother spoke to her in the Gujarati he knew, and Janaki told them how she had run away from an orphanage. Madame told Janaki that she understood Janaki would never have anywhere to go, no family that waited for her or who could possibly love her again, and that she related to that.
Janaki said she chose to go with Madame; she was never taken. “I was an orphan for most of my life. I was twelve years old when I ran away because the orphanage owner said I would never get adopted and he would have to send me away anyway. Madame told me she was saving me and giving me purpose.”
We listened to the rain as we sat on the ground in the small hallway between the rooms of mattresses. There was no leak there, and the light came in from a high, tiny window that looked like a gateway to the sky. I wished I could just fly out of that opening. After finishing her story about Madame, Janaki told us the house rules and about the things the men were allowed and not allowed to do to us.
If the men did not want to wear a rubber, we could not force them. She showed us how to put a rubber on a banana, and Amla and I laughed nervously, but my stomach felt like turning upside down at the thought of holding a man’s penis.
Janaki also gave us new names. “You no longer have your old names when you work.”
I asked her if Janaki was her real name, and she said yes but that her name with customers was Kiki. Sajana was Lola.
“From now on you will be Pinki and Minki to your men. If you slip with your name or even one of our names, then Madame will burn you down there.”
Janaki showed us how to get ready. “You have to wear a lot of makeup,” she said as she rubbed the rouge all over my cheeks and handed me the kohl tin for my inner eyelids. When I looked in the mirror, I felt pretty. Though I would never admit such thoughts to Amla, I liked the way the kohl made my eyes so bold and the rouge made me feel older.
Janaki was always inserting Gujarati into her Hindi, which I had started to get used to.
“Where are we, Janaki, if not in Mumbai?” I asked as she cleaned the makeup brush. Of course I knew we had been on the train for days, but the concept of another city was hard for me to comprehend. All I had known was our village and Mumbai.
“You don’t know? We are in India’s capital. Kolkata.”
I remembered my history lessons, learning of the British and the way they had opened clubs in Kolkata. I remembered the beautiful railway station when we arrived, the red, castle-like towers.
“Kolkata.” I whispered it, imagining the poem I would write about the city.
But before I could form the words, Janaki said, “Chulo, we are ready. Customers are coming. You are ready to go downstairs.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and longed to be transported back to our village with its familiar sounds and faces, away from what awaited me downstairs. My body ached from the pain that I would feel again. My stomach dropped as I squeezed Amla’s hand. It was our first night on the job. We were a long way from home in more ways than one.