Claws Club

Like Mother, Like Daughter

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How did it escape? It should have been discussed. The pain. First.

Now it, the question, creeps up. On the way to the hotel. But It was all fixed in a hurry. That’s why.

Yes. First time is painful. Not just physically, emotionally too. As if a delicate drawstring bag of hidden secrets is ripped open and strewn on the streets for all to see

And mock,

mock and handle,

take and use,

use and throw.

Oh! the sickeningly sweet smell of Zarda and sweat, the acrid taste, red as blood, no no, maroon, yes, maroon like congealed blood. Teeth stained with the juices. A sly grin, a repulsive mixture of lust and guilt. Funny, no face to the grin. Too close, the face was.

Revolting, disgusting…breath reeking of Zarda

Stomach stirs. Sickening. Nausea.  Don’t throw up. Not now.

Was scared. Very very scared. Cried throughout. Not that it mattered. My tears my cries my plea my scream.

Slap right across the face. Just whimper. Now whimper. Now the light faded.faded.. and fainted………………

After a few times, It won’t hurt, not if the attention is shifted to happy things or at least the money at the end of it. Yes, Shift it to the end. Money.

Dirty money.

Money for three square meals, a roof above, Money sweet money, dirty yet sweet.

But then it pains. The first time, the second time. All the time. unless it is done with love and that won’t happen often.

Yes, It pains. But it pays.

Pain pays.

Love come and go.

Pain pays and stays.

Oh, the weight of a stranger, the uninvited touch and smell. the unfamiliar hands Invading. Grabbing, squeezing, paining, hurting.

Cringe and wince. But where to go? Repulsion rages

But the pain demands presence and reigns, the body meekly submits. The first time, it pains.

Then the Body adapts, the mind adapts. Acts better, play better.

A sliver of guilt? Milk it.

A glimpse of arrogance? Cower and satisfy.

Satisfy and make feel special, pretend happiness with the company.

That’s is where the money is.

Play well and get out. Fast. That’s the trick.

Look at you!  Fragile and distant, so young and porcelain.

Sorry. What a mother!.

Another way out of it?

But at 45, hard to find new work. And something always gives away. The dress? The makeup? Don’t know.

But more the body is covered, the more it reveals.

Perverse looks, suggestive talks. Then it’s back to business as usual.

Someone always sniffs the truth

A client? The client’s friend?

Maybe. Hard to tell. Sometimes there are more than one.

It is hazy, the memory, the light in the room, the whole world.

Tired, trying to change. Tired of trying to escape. Pulled back in, every time into the vortex of fate, every time!

What a year!

Dwindling cash. Eviction. Piling interest. Finally shrinking meals.

Sorry! I love you. Which mother does not?

But hunger and pain do many unimaginable things.

Cold? Dupatta? There! Warm and snuggly?

Heater in the room will be nice. Ooty get awfully cold at night. It should be there. Big hotels always have it. The auto is too open. Should have taken a taxi. Still shivering?

The hotel.

Wow Its Bright

Is this the right one?

It is? Should step in or wait here? Wait would be better.  

Quizzical looks. So Embarrassing. Even for me. Cheeks hot. Ears hot.

Looks bore into the body and mock the soul. They know!

My profession and why a girl of sixteen accompanies.

Sorry for putting through this. It won’t be long. Promise.

Couple of years, maybe. Until money and all is sorted. Then, probably school again. Only a temporary halt now. No worries, then

Mother said the same. 30 years ago.

Cheating, breaking the trust, manipulating and conniving.

To make the life inconsequential, small, used, invisible.


Like the room.

Red light, permeating the skin, bouncing of the walls.


But worse when switched off.

Clients do abhorable things when invisible. A meek light, even if red is good.

And Kiss. Never ever kiss. Shows emotion.

Do the job. Well. And get out.

If you let it, then emotions play. Make you believe in better things. Makes you dream of love. Then reality hit like a brick on the head.  

No. Don’t kiss.

Never. Once bitten twice shy.

What’s the thing with young girls? Clients insist? A delusion of power? An imagination of purity? Younger they demand, perverse they are.

How twisted they are?

Can a child of 16 take it? Can their sister take it? Their mother? Their daughter?

Why then? Why us? Why does it not matter? Why does the pain inflicted causes so much pleasure for you?

Think about your daughter next time, will you? while you are at it.

Daughters who are safe at home, eating warm food,  

Luxurious life, car, dress, no cares and responsibilities, Some are lucky.

My daughter, not so. The stinging eyes makes the head hammer.




Louder  Louder Louder

Calm down calm down

Breath deep Breath deep

Uneasy waiting in the lobby.

What furtive looks!

What are you looking at. Nothing new to look at. What your mother has. What your sister has. What your daughter has. same body, same pain. Yes,  Nothings new here.

Poor thing, shivers, like tender leaves. on a windy day.


They only demand a virgin?

My daughter! poor poor one.

Here he comes.

Fair and tall.

But perverse. Perverse and ugly. As ugly as the pan stained mouth that had a grin. As ugly as the first touch.  

A choke in the throat. The sight dim, Chest pumps. Clammy palms. Sweat run down. in this Ooty December night.

Breath deep. Breath deep.

A nod

An agreement.

All happens in a flash


Turn and walk

Turn and walk

Don’t look.


The heater! should have asked! Wait wait.

Don’t drag Don’t drag.

A child.

Just 16.

First time.

First touch.

First pain.


Gone her.

My daughter, oh! a prostitute.

……….God! Pimp now, like my mother.

Behind the Silence


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