The Diary of a Hooker

Part 1

Some stereotypes of sadness , are the kinds which hide their demons behind a veil of gruffness,

or violence. You would expect hookers to exhibit some remnants of this sentiment. Alas, it is not

so!!

Not all hookers are abject symbols of exploitation, or symbols of misery. There are indeed a lot

of layers to the proverbial grease some predictable............ some surprising......... and some........

rather astonishing.

I spent a night with a surprise. Hold your horses as they undertake their flights of imagination.

This is not Chandani Bar or Chameli rehashed. It however is definitely, wild., unplanned and of

course pleasurable. (Definite pun intended!)

This happened last Sunday when I was with a third party acquaintance stretching the term friend

by a wide margin. I did not like the guy, and he had not planned in joining us for dinner, but it

just so happened that we three were together.

Now a little about this guy, he is very recently married in fact he had just returned from his

honeymoon, and he was the types who are victims of quantitative metrics, bigger, finer,

expensive. Case in point, for sake of conversation all he could talk was about his honeymoon

suite and how costly and exclusive it was.

“Lets go to MG road, you know at this time and day we can find a lot of birds, if you know what

I mean”, in a rather I know and you don’t know manner.

Woho he wasn’t quite doing justice to the ideal husband part. Although his other half was not

here, the activity he was suggesting did not quite fall within the ambit of ethical.

I am a horny techie, there is not much I don’t know or haven’t seen. But this guy was definitely

one exotic specimen.

“ Sure “ , I said at once, I wanted to hang out a little bit more with this guy and see what type he

actually was and of course also curious to visit a red light area after a long time.

The first time was in New Delhi, and it was a very sorry affair, or in real terms I did a bunk.

Anyways, this guy also had a new car (ostensibly to steer his wife, if only she knew!), and

surprisingly the drive to MG road was traffic free too. We went in there and pretty very pretty

birds’ line greeted us. They went on to the extent of throwing themselves on the car, yakketing

and chattering in alternate measures.

I had suddenly spotted a very different specimen. I can’t put a finger down and say what

attracted me to her but I just had to be near her to find out. Our eyes were locked for quite some

time and then she did a curt disengagement.

“Stop the car, I wish to get down”, I said.

My tone had an edge of hyper in addition to authority. So there was a screech of brakes.

The guy who I had intended to meet was, concerned and turned back, only to find me staring at

the fast vanishing specimen.

I made to unlock the door, and he intervened and said, “Are you mad, we are here only to see (he

said indicating the gaggle of girls), if they get you once you can’t escape. Don’t play around here

it is dangerous. And you look like a newbie too.”(Clean shaven alas!!)

"I am not a kid, and I can handle it don’t worry", for posterity sake I handed all my cards, purse,

sans cash and other identifiers, including my beads, and threads to him, before brushing him

aside and getting down.

“I am Srikant “, I said extending my hand to her. There were guffaws and cat calls from all

around including the driver I had come with. She however extended her hand and shook mine.

Handshakes are often revealing. However hers, wasn’t soft, nor firm neither authoritative nor

submissive, it was ……….seductive to say the least.

“Can we take a walk “? , I asked with a smile .......

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The Diary of a Hooker

Part 2

“It will cost you “she said in a melancholic manner. I had withdrawn quite some money for my

rent, and had enough cash.

“This do for a 10 minute walk...?” I said drawing a couple of notes.

She did not count or examine, she just took it and pocketed it.

Scary…………weird ……….and definitely something amiss.

She did not seem to treat me like a customer, rather as a connoisseur out to samples some wine

or an art lover out to display her works.

“This way”she said leading, I waved to my companions and mouthed you guys leave I will find

my way back.

We walked into a crack in the wall kind of lane. It was the kind of lane which silhouettes people,

giving plenty of scope for hanky panky. She seemed to be floating rather than walking .We

weren’t holding hands .......rather just fingers............... not even holding rather we were

............just touching tips.

There was no perfume, or spray on her but................. she was having a nice smelling sweat.

Let’s try the brute force method of debugging, or rather the potshot theory, I thought. Sometimes

when you talk to people, particularly in sales, you tend to spot tenor changes in voice if you keep

giving them options to choose from. Chadda once told me this, after a meeting with UPPCL,for

the veteran the right tenors can then be identified, to be built into a symphony. My boss is a

veteran Zubin Mehta , and I have seen him in action, once.

"Where do you study? " , I asked.

“I don’t “, no change in tenor, so probably true, no skeletons.

“So what do you do other than this? I find it hard to believe that this is your only vocation” ….

“This…... “, a rather mischievous tone I her voice.

Tenor change !!

Suddenly, with no warning I grabbed the back of her head, yanked a chunk of her hair and then

pushed her against the wall heavily.

“Don’t force me darling,” I tried to mimic the schizophrenic lady beater image.

There was no response; none.

It was blank, no smile........ no rage........... no offence...........no defenses and no ........peace

“Time perhaps , could make her react “, I thought. I pushed more against her, feeling the warmth

of her body, getting aware of the curves and the senses.

There was a response, a definite physical response.

She then replied,” My name is Sudha and I …….do not like you”

The simplicity ............and the finality.............. of that statement made me smile....... not smile

laugh.

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The Diary of a Hooker

Part 3

The simplicity and the finality of that statement made me smile, not smile laugh.

I released her and asked, “Do you always like your customers?”

“Mostly, but they don’t meet me in the middle of the night in the middle of the road. But your

case I made an exception”, she replied in a matter of fact tone.

“Because you did not like me right”, I said curving my eyebrows towards her.

“That’s correct" , came along with a flash of gleaming white teeth.

“Well if you did not like me, then why did you want to meet me? That was pretty evident from

the “look” you gave me”.

“We have been reading a lots of Mills & Boon, and watching friends rerun have we”, said she in

a flow, giving away her convent education.

“Sudha, don’t play around ……..tell me……. Why?”

“Why……… what?” , a maddening open ended retort by her.

“Why are we here?”, a soft plea from me.

“It is because I don’t like you, but I ….lust you”, came an equally soft but firm reply.

She was speaking like me, she was resonating my frequency. That perhaps explained her dislike

for me. Nobody likes a duplicate version of himself, particularly if he loves his/herself too much.

It is self hate that makes you go against the world, snarling and growling at everyone. However it

is a modicum of self love that makes you distrustful of a person having the same emotion.

“So what are we going to do about it?” , I asked.

“Fuck mostly”, the matter of fact tone returned.

“And …what apart from the mostly part of it? “ , I asked.

"Kiss perhaps" , a flash of gleaming white teeth , again.

This is it, I thought. Goodbye the last vestige of pubescence, the last remnant of the stretch marks

on my arms. This it seems is the way it is going to end.

A hooker………in the middle of Banglooru …………a nondescript hotel and….. 11 minutes.

I will not go into further sordid details. I don’t want to do a mast ram, or a desi M&B here, but

yes the hotel wasn’t nondescript.

When you have a lot in your mind, and when you have gone through a lot of unexpected, or

experienced a high degree of non–conformance, within a short span of time, it manifests

somewhere. Astronauts who experience the bone jarring takeoff get some fluid accumulation in

their legs. I however am simpler, I just can’t sleep.

And, neither could she.

A formal goodbye later…I realized.

After blowing my half months pay, on a spur, for a mere 11 minutes, I did not really fell

burdened. I just felt …happy!!

Reaching home, but first to my friends place. One look at my face told him to keep shut. We

both acted that it was just another night, I took my stuff, we lunched and I came and finally

crashed into his room itself.

Later when I woke up, I went on to this (winword) and put this down. On a spur, I hit Google for

Sudha. Some names and hits popped up. “Sudha Bangalore”, was not forthcoming either. Finally

I hit on images. I scanned each image, till the last page. (Now how many times have you gone

beyond the second page, what follows next is a lesson that Google is not all that mighty)

I hit pay dirt on the last “o” of Google. There was a giggling snap of her, among a gaggle of

friends. None of whom seemed familiar from the night drive before. I searched for the source,

but “oops the link is broken”, appeared. It was a nonsensical link indicative of nothing; it was

like an internet pensive, a ghost of information that perhaps escaped slaughter (just guessing this

part)

Do I wish to see her again, not really? Do I lust her, no not much. Do I disrespect her for

her profession... no …

Then probably I do respect her….. Not for her candidness, nor her brazenness or defiance.

It is for the power she knew she had over people, and her willingness to use it ruthlessly for

herself.

I bid goodbye to my friend, and then I made it down the staircase, to the open door. The poly

bag, fluttering on his door was a common sight, it was for the milk. But it was having something

inside of it and it said “Sudha”.

Darn she followed me here!

I opened it and found some wads of money. A note, written in cursive said” I lusted not

you!!(It ended with two apostrophes also, which I most often do)”.

So here is the diary of a hooker!!

PS – I got a lot of dings on Google uncle, asking me if this is true. You are free to believe what

you want to …………..I am neither going to deny nor confirm it.

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The End!!