I was doing a Research on the lives of the Commercial
Sex Workers and their children in the GB Road.
Found this link from a google search...
orginal link http://www.worldsexguide.org/new-delhi.txt.html
Date: Tue, 17 Jun 1998
Subject: Shardanand Marg (G.B.Road), Delhi
Driven by my inner hunger that refuses to go away, I went to
Shardanand Marg, also called by its old British name G.B. Road
(actually it used to be "Gun Baction Road" in the old days) - Delhi's
most notorious prostitution street. It starts at Ajmeri Gate,
two-three kilometers from Connaught Place, right east of New Delhi
Railway Station.
Prostitution here is not easily spotted to the foreigner's eye. You
can walk through this street and never notice anything but shops for
electrical machinery and motors. This apparently is one of the least
interesting streets in Delhi. But do step out from the semi-roofed
pavement, walk out in the road beyond the clutter of parked cars,
carts, battered scooters and waiting bicycle rickshaws - and look up!
From first floor level and upwards the buildings have the appearance a
slum of wooden sheds and corrugated iron. On balconies and in windows
groups of women wearing brightly colored saris and dramatic ornaments
and crimson lipstick gesticulate and beckon you to come up to them. It
is difficult to see their faces due to the distance. Their shouts are
barely discernible through the noice of the mad traffic.
In fact you have a better view at them from the other side of the
street. Here a considerable number of Indian men stand transfixed with
their faces turned towards the women on the balconies, consumed in a
silent and passive staring at them.
The greatest number of women are in the part of Shardanand Road which
is closest to Ajmeri Gate, a historical ruin. But you will find them
at intervals all the way down to the high water tower, very visible at
the far end of the road.
The male who decides to give in to the siren's song from above moves
across the street whenever the stream of dusty, worn-down vehicles
permits. He finds the entrance leading up to the group of whores he
wants to visit. The stairway is old style Indian: narrow, steep, and
with high steps marked by the wear of thousands of feet. It is soothy
and grimy and dark as the falling night.
Many levels in the house seem occupied by shouting women grabbing for
his arms and clothes. At the top floor the screaming voices rise to a
hysterical crescendo because two brothels, one on each side, are
competing for his attention. The voices make an infernal howling
concert, the groping hands become almost violent.
The darkness up here makes it difficult to see the woman you would
like to be with. I took one the closest, the one I immediately found
most attractive. She took me with an iron grip by the wrist and lead
me in an overly eager way out on the very balcony where I had seen the
women a few minutes before. I did not feel at ease by becoming visible
to the glaring men down there.
She made way through the group of colleagues and opened two doors to
closet-like room, just big enough for a double size bed. At the moment
I first saw it it was without any mattress or linen, just bare, smooth
planks. A very young Indian guy stood on it, buttoning his
pants. Wooden walls, a fan in the ceiling, no light. "My" woman
resolutely started spreading a quilt on the bed, smacking it with
brown, bangled hands so dust came off in big clouds. Then she covered
it with a worn bed sheet. Then she arranged a dirty pillow at one end
of the bed.
As soon as my shoes had come off and I was settled in this love nest
an old hag appeared, demanding 250 rupees for half an hour and 500
for one. I paid 500, and the doors were closed and darkness fell on
the woman and me.
She started by cuddling in a half loving, half over-active way. Long,
intensely pleasant moments passed. Then she started what I soon found
out was "second round" of the payment: demanding baksheesh. At first I
refused to give her anything at all before after, but her stubborn
insisting persuaded me into finding from my bag the 400 ekstra rupees
she kept demanding. Immediately her demands rose to 500. She got them.
The next 20-25 minutes were spent with her repeated attempts at
extracting 400 MORE rupees from me. I refused categorically and
actually began to prepare myself to leave without having got what I
had come for. But she changed her attitude, exchanged words with a
colleague on the other side of the wall - part of a board was missing
and let in a sharp ray of light every time a bulb was lit in the
staircase. Condoms were handed in by a girl's hand.
She began masturbating me with movements that were a little too groce
and hard. She kept most of her clothes on. But she nevertheless hit a
note of music in my nerve system, and my prick started growing inside
the condom. Seemingly she took for granted that we were going to do it
in the missionary position, me on top of her - something I find
difficult under any circumstances. After all that talk of money and
the repeated interruptions I wasn't in the mood anyways and ended up
masturbating myself with my own hand on the rubber. She was quite
loyal in holding me with firm, friendly arms until I had an
orgasm. She made a merry giggle while the electricity crackled in my
nerve fibers.
It seemed to be a point of importance to her that no seed was spilled
on the linen, but neither cloth nor kleenex was available. After all
that: silence, peaceful (or almost peaceful) resting in each other's
arms, until time was up.
At the very end of it all she became eager for me to stay the night
for an extra 1000 rupees. Men I declined.
General impressions: If this woman is very unhappy for being were she
is, she certainly does not show it. She gave me the impression of
being a lively, rude girl, a high energy hustler for baksheesh. - The
name of the game with her (and the brothel) was rip off. She was not
generous with caresses. But you can get along with her. I went away
happier than I came, releaved by a strong orgasm and her touch. -
Language problems are used as a tool to confuse the customer. A stream
of Hindi words are aimed at un-balancing you while you struggle to
understand what she is saying to you in the darkness.
One good advice: Go there around five in the afternoon, see the women
and where they are in the last light of day. Then return after dark
when the electrical lights are on inside the staircase, giving you a
clear view of whom to choose.
More to tell? The woman's name was Shanti and she was from Puttaparthi
in Andra Pradesh, and she was an adherent of famed guru Sathya Sai
Baba. I actually liked her even if she went out of her way to get my
money.
