At last, the autumn is
here. That time of the year when the ground is positively gleaming and there
are golden dried leaves to kick about. The evening breeze has a chill to it and she hugs
herself tighter with a bagel-stuffed face. She tosses a penny at the
guitarist’s laid out hat at the tube station with an innocent smile. Her
friend, Bianca is never punctual and it gives her enough time to gaze at the
pretty hoardings and posters of the upcoming Broadway shows and motion
pictures. The Kensal Garden tube station is like her second home. She spends
hours out here just looking at these beautiful pictures and observing these
people with their robotic faces going about their day. Not one shares a smile
with the fellow commuter and it is assured that not one will help a person in
need in this alluring city. It is in
this station that most days, she retraces her steps back in London. Innumerable
people come to London from different parts of the world and more than half of
the Roma population from Romania comes here to make a living. She is one of
them and her name is Ana.
It was not too long ago
that Ana was shipped to London from Romania with her two sisters. They were
told that they would be given bread and cheese to eat every single day. Cheese!
She could not believe her ears. Cheese! Every single day! Was London a magical
island… thought the 16-year-old Ana. She did not even remember her mother
buying cheese in the past few years. It was a luxury item, after all. London
seemed like the answer to all of their problems then. It was the time for the
monsoons to come pouring down and father was sure that their shanty could not
survive it this year. So, when he was given the option to send his daughters to
London in search of a living, he leapt at the idea. Did he think of what kinds
of job will his offspring be offered in the big city? I think not! But, who
would when stuck in bottomless poverty, hunger and despair?
Ana met Bianca the very
first day she moved to London. Bianca sat at a nearby Starbucks’ smoking
section. She did not look Romanian at all. Her tight black top and her denim
hot pants were nothing like any Romanian girl would wear. For Ana she resembled
a movie star. The luscious, long, brown hair framed her oval face well. Her
skin looked like a mixture of milk and honey and her red lips parted stylishly
as she smoked her cigarette with poise. She was the quintessential bohemian
beauty. Ana certainly looked plain in front of her. Her long black skirt
covered her ankles and her mountain jacket camouflaged her shapeless body well.
Ana thanked herself to have worn the headscarf on that day so that her springy
hair was hidden from this Goddess. She walked up to Bianca like a little mouse.
“I will never forget the look of pity in Bianca’s eyes as she first laid her
eyes on me,” reminisces Ana.
Bianca groomed her to be
what she is today. She looked after her like an elder sister. She taught her the
ways of London and most importantly she enlightened her about ways to make men
pay more and come back for more every single night. Today, Ana is one of the
most sought after Romanian prostitutes and she can afford to ship cheese to
Romania every single day if she wishes. She makes money, a lot of it. So much
money that she could not make after begging for months on Oxford Street and
Edgware Road, she now makes in one night. She rents out her own apartment in
Kensal Garden and ensures that her younger sisters, Flori and Gabi attend
school.
A loud thud perturbs Ana’s
thoughts about her sisters as she sees Bianca seated besides her with a
tear-stained face. “Anton beat me up again. He needs more money and I don’t
know what to do,” she cries. Anton is Bianca’s husband and their agent— their
pimp in layman’s language. Anton got them high-profile clients and gave them a
good cut but since a past few months, his demands have been incessant. Ana holds
her hand with compassion, picks up the threads of their daily life filled with
murk and boards the train to Elephant and Castle.
***
The heavy black door of
the nightclub opens with a thump as a wave of thrashing music escapes it with
almost a physical force. Friday nights are usually packed with a drunken
debauchery which means hookers make a lot of money these nights. Middle-aged
bankers with their loosened ties scouting for washed up ex-models to make their
weekend a little spicier, is a common sight. Bankers have a huge fascination
for the term ‘model’ and Ana learnt early on in business to introduce herself as
an ‘aspiring model who is in between jobs right now’. “You drop a few fancy
names of painters and writers, hint at the knowledge you have for the latest
runway trends and order a swanky drink while flaunting a bit of your cleavage
in the classy way and the rich man is sure to be a putty in your hands.”
Bianca’s tips and tricks resonate in Ana’s mind every time she enters a club.
Ana walks in further with
her usual gusto while adjusting the strap of her purple peplum dress. Her suede
pumps gave the right swing to her derrière and her new bob hairdo complemented
her sexy yet elusive look. Bianca too flaunted her movie star looks and smoothed her golden sequined dress. They settle in their usual corner booth
as Gina the bar maid comes over to greet them.
“There is a new group of hags tonight. They
seem loaded,” she informs while laughing at her own usage of intended pun.
They look over at the
table with a smile and a toxic cocktail of tequila, heroin and crystal meth
washes out that remainder of night.
***
“Flori and Gabi, always
remember to text me the address of your business venue for the night and to
take the pepper spray,” calls out a disfigured face to two teenaged girls,
swathed with garish make up and nylon dresses. “Sure, Ana. You take care of
yourself,” responds the younger one.
It was just three months
ago that I had read about the acid attacks on two young Romanian prostitutes.
Yet today I see two more albeit younger versions of the ones attacked, boarding
the same train from Kensal Garden to Elephant and Castle.
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