I Witnessed The Life-Changing Power Of Kindness In The Brothels Of India
She sits down under a harsh fluorescent light, folds her hands over her white kurta, long dark hair slowly falling out of a low bun. It’s full daylight outside, but none of it reaches in here. The walls are bright blue and pink as if to make up for the sunlight they keep out.
I watch the girl’s movements – the way she saunters a bit in her walk, the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder, the way she quietly reaches for the knee of the woman next to her. I hear hurt in the rise and fall of her voice as she shares pieces of her story, even though I wait for translation to understand. Her mannerisms and attitude remind me of a teenager. I wonder how old she is and decide she must be 19 or 20. She lays her head on the woman’s shoulder, like a child. Later I learn that she is 27, the same age as me.