Taboo! Read online

  TABOO!

  The Hidden Culture of a Red Light Area

  Fouzia Saeed

  Foreward by I.A. Rehman

  Thank you for buying this eBook,

  published by Made for Success Publishing

  To learn more about Made for Success Publishing you can visit us at:

  www.MadeforSuccessPublishing.com

  Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Distributed by Made for Success Publishing

  Cover Design and eBook Conversion by DeeDee Heathman

  For ordering information, please contact Made for Success +14256570300

  Saeed, Fouzia

  Taboo! The Hidden Culture of a Red Light Area

  ISBN: 978-1-61339-8-470

  1. Social Science / Women’s Studies

  2. Social Science / Gender Studies

  3. Political Science / Women in Politics

  Table of Contents

  1 Shifting The Focus

  2 Shahi Mohalla During The Day... And Night

  3 A Ph.D. Girl In The Red Light Area

  4 My First Contact In The Mohalla

  5 An Alternate Road Into The Shahi Mohalla: The Musicians

  6 The Stories Begin

  7 The Unbreakable Link Of Oil and Water

  8 Meeting The Greatest Pimp Of Our Times

  9 New Year's Eve

  10 Choices

  11 Three Dancers

  12 Pami's Family

  13 In The Baithak

  14 The Academy Of Performing Arts

  15 A Visit To The Film Studios

  16 Entangled Relationships

  17 Meeting Laila's Father

  18 Laila's Real Mother

  19 More About Men

  20 Kotha and Kothi Khana

  21 Laila's Marriage

  22 Nargis Is Better Off Not Marrying

  23 Shattered Dreams

  24 Moving Into The Mohalla

  25 Miti Khanian

  26 A Visit To Pami's House

  27 Rat Jaga

  28 Razia and Soni

  29 Down Memory Lane

  30 On Her Way To Becoming A Naika

  31 The Only Option For Survivial

  32 Searching For Clues

  33 The Real Reasons: Conversation With Chanda and Faiz

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to acknowledge and thank some important people without whom it would have been difficult for me to complete this book. Words seem too limited to express my gratitude to them.

  First I must acknowledge the people of Shahi Mohalla, who opened their homes and lives to me and vested their trust in me. It was only their generosity that made it possible for me to open up their world to others. Due to confidentiality I cannot mention their names individually but would, however, mention ustad Mohammad Sadiq and Mehmood Kanjar Sahib, who specifically allowed me to use their real names in the book, for their help and generosity.

  My parents, Saeed Ahmad and Farhat Saeed, allowed me to work on such a tabooed topic, and supported and encouraged me throughout the many years of my research. I am fortunate to have parents who are liberal, and for whom their children's learning and happiness is a high priority. My brother, Dr. Kamran Ahmad and niece Sadaf Ahmad supported and encouraged me to finish my manuscript, and for gave me substantive comments. My sister Maliha, actively supported and prayed for my safety.

  Paul Lundberg, my husband and best friend, made his biggest contribution to this book by encouraging me to switch my style from a purely academic one to a more informal one, one that was geared towards a broad based readership. He was a friend and partner throughout the writing process, a sounding board to my idea. He lifted my spirits, and offered me bowls of chocolate ice cream whenever I was too tired to go on.

  Many professionals in the field of culture and other friends gave me feedback and comments on the manuscript. Friends such as Yasser Noman, not only gave me his expert views on the musical aspects, but also supported me actively through all stages of the book.

  Mr. I.A. Rehman, believed in my capability to do this research study and continuously pushed me to complete this project over the last several years. He has been important in this process for me from the very beginning. He has been familiar with all the hardships I faced, and was always there to give me advice whenever I would face a dead end.

  My friend, John Krignen, from SWISS INTERCORPORATION, arranged travel funds at the last stage of my research, when my personal resources had totally depleted.

  Sajid Munir, caught the essence of the Mohalla through his photographs allowing me to concentrate on the unseen details in their social system.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all those who are struggling to keep the Eastern music alive!

  1

  SHIFTING THE FOCUS

  I had just finished fourteen months of fieldwork, logging thousands of kilometres on my old Toyota in the process. During that time, I met unnumbered inhabitants of Shahi Mohalla in Lahore, taped many hours of conversations, engaged in some confrontations with the police, and ended up with four slashed tires; yet I was still full of questions. I was desperate to talk to someone who could help me understand how this traditional system of prostitution in Lahore relates to our society. Fortunately, on returning to Islamabad I had a message to call Amjad Shah.

  Amjad Shah is a senior police officer in Islamabad and a personal friend. He invited me to his house to discuss where my study had reached and what I was finding. He was also more than a little worried about me and wanted to know if I was okay.

  Despite our friendship, I had rarely seen him out of uniform, but here he was wearing a shalwar kamiz (traditional Pakistani clothes). His living room was decorated tastefully in a contemporary style. I exchanged greetings with him and his wife. Sadiqa was a shadow-being, bringing tea and delicious snacks for guests, persuading them to eat more, then quietly exiting before the discussions began.

  As we sat down in the living room, Amjad said, "I understand that the police have been quite resistant to your research."

  I answered that I had experienced resistance not only from the police, but also from the Ministry of Culture, whose attitude toward my studying the red light district of Lahore was very negative. I mentioned as well another, less direct, kind of resistance -- the subtle social disapproval of a middle class woman getting involved with such topics. Hardly anyone encouraged me to continue my research, so strong was the taboo associated with the area and the profession. On the other hand, there was also a scandalous anticipation, as if hoping I might come up with some juicy stories.

  I asked him what he thought of the secrecy surrounding the Mohalla, and why it was so difficult to find out anything about that place. I tried several public offices and had tried to contact the police, but apparently no one wanted to have anything to do with research that could uncover any facts about the area.

  "Why this mystery, creating such a romantic, yet frightening and repulsive image?" I asked.

  "You are stepping on many people's toes", he replied. “I told you that before."

  "No… It’s more than that. The reaction is almost instinctive.”

  "Instinctive?" he sounded surprised. "Do you mean that people hate prostitution biologically?"

  "No, by 'almost instinctive' I mean that when something is so deeply socialized, generation after generation, one forgets that it is a socialized value and not natural behaviour. It becomes part of the psyche on a very deep level, acted on without thinking. Most of our gender roles are like that," I tried to explain.

  He became serious and said, "The place is taboo, so what do you expect? Sure, people are socialized to fear it."

  "Not everyone! It’s just the general impression that is maintained. After all, many people from this society like the Mohalla enough to visit it regularly as clients. My point is that society tries its best to hold on to certain myths it has created about the Shahi Mohalla. Through these myths we maintain the mystery, keeping a desirable distance from the Mohalla ourselves whilewe keep the focus on “those bad people” in the business and, most importantly, protect those whom the prostitutes serve.

  Amjad Shah picked up a pipe from a table next to him and lighted it. He sank back in his chair and asked, "What myths?"

  "Let me use rape as an example", I said. “This is just an example. I’m not saying that prostitution is rape. Do we agree that society totally condemns rape?”

  Amjad nodded, "Yes, of course!"

  "At the same time, however, we often instinctively defend the rapist, by evoking certain myths: It is always the woman’s fault. She must have dressed wrong. She must have given the wrong signals. We create myths about the rapists, too. Only crazy people commit rape; they can’t be normal. We call it a crime of passion, caused by sexual suppression and frustration.

  "Really, it’s now well established that rape has little to do with sex, but is a crime of power. After the act, another set of myths comes into play: Nobody can marry the victim. She becomes daghi, stained. Even the term used for rape means losing respect, and it is the woman who
suffers and not the rapist. His respect remains fully intact.

  “All these myths allow society to keep the woman in the limelight and the abuser in the background, letting him get away with it. We often excuse the rapist in this country. It is part of our heritage to think, "So what? After all, he's young!" We excuse the man while the woman is shamed. She is stigmatized. Even when big political leaders show sympathy and intend to deal with the crime, the woman’s head is covered and she is the one on the television news before the whole country, not the rapist."

  "Okay,” Amjad said. “You’re arguing that by focusing on the victim, we are lenient on the abuser. But now make your connection with prostitution. How is the prostitute a victim in the same way as a woman who has been raped?"

  "Society uses a similar process. Myths are created about Shahi Mohalla and red light districts in general, and demystification is totally resisted. The focus is on ‘those bad people': the prostitutes and their managers. Stories constantly reinforce the idea that they are bad. Another myth is that women who are alone or 'without a man' are easy prey for these evil influences and will end up in red light districts. Once there, they can never escape. The larger society will never accept a prostitute in any other role. You’ve heard all this,” I said. "It’s part of the cultural wisdom we inherit, reinforced in movies, literature and in many other ways, over and over."

  Taking a long deep breath, Amjad answered, "What if I say that this distance is important. I don’t want my daughter to learn too much about that area. This fear at least keeps her away."

  "But what about your son?" I asked. “Doesn’t he need to be scared even more? That’s my point. We totally ignore that the people working in prostitution are only part of the phenomenon. The clientele, who are really more important, are not considered. Society protects them. We have to shift the focus onto them now. They are all around us and we don't know them. At the Mohalla, the police protect the customers and harass the prostitutes. I don’t mean just the customers who visit between 11- 1 at night. I mean the real customers, those who keep prostitution alive. I’ll tell you scores of myths about the prostitutes if you tell me just three good ones about the customers!"

  Amjad Shah smiled and I started in again, "We have well known the saying that a woman has four potential roles: mother, wife, sister or prostitute. A prostitute who dreams of taking any of the other roles gets nothing but pain. In our culture, being a prostitute has become a completely separate category of existence."

  “There has to be some truth in it," he replied hesitantly. ”I don't say they can’t be absorbed in the society, but…"

  "Do they grow on trees?" I interrupted. “Aren't they also mothers, daughters, sisters?”

  "Oh yes, I suppose they are, among themselves,” he said, "but…"

  "We try to portray them as strange beings. But you know better than me how many bright young women from Lahore’s educated circles are prostitutes in their spare time? This call- girl phenomenon is spreading and no one knows how widespread it has become. There are no airtight groups. It’s a big grey area. I’m studying only traditional prostitution in the Mohalla. Even so, some of the girls who live in Gulberg come to the Mohalla regularly in their cars, unlock their shops, do their traditional dance performance, the mujra, for two hours between eleven to one at night and drive home.

  Amjad kept smoking his pipe and staring in the air.

  I continued, "What about the myth that if a woman goes to the Mohalla, the residents would force her into prostitution? Do people know that many women who live in this bazaar have nothing to do with prostitution? Many shopkeepers' families live there. The wives are not prostitutes. Even within the Kanjar biradri (the primary lineage of traditional prostitutes in Lahore), daughters-in-law never work, and some daughters of the Kanjar household also choose not to go into prostitution."

  "Okay, so if we dispel these myths… then what?” he asked.

  "I was going into the reality behind the myths just to prove that they are only myths. My point is that we must recognize that by generating and maintaining the myths and resisting anyone from uncovering the truth, we keep the focus only on the community that provides the prostitution services. We have to include the other side to get a full picture of the issue,” I said.

  Raising one eyebrow, Amjad looked at me and asked, "Which is…?"

  "The rest of the society! The focus should be on us! Who do the prostitutes serve? Who has a stake in their activities? What function has society entrusted to them? Do we really want to deal with it? Do we want to know about it? Do we want to start an open debate on it? Do we want to analyze it? Or do we want to continue in denial, blaming those other, mysterious people out there in the Mohalla for being so ‘bad’ and corrupting our men?”

  "I’m not sure I buy your argument." He looked sideways out the window.

  "Well, why this secrecy and resistance? Why this fear of the topic? Might we uncover our own contradictions and hypocrisy? Don't tell me that you also think we should continue pretending that prostitution doesn’t exist in this country."

  "I’ll have to think more about it", he said.

  I raised my voice. "You tell me. If we are really against prostitution what is the harm in finding out the truth about the business dynamics? Who gets recruited? Who is forced into the profession? Who makes the money? Who provides the protection? Anyone wanting to get rid of this so-called ‘nasur’ of our society better start learning more about it. Understanding is a first step in demystifying the prostitutes. Once people find out they are just like us — powerful, helpless, happy, sad, surviving in these hard times, making the best of what they have, loving, manipulating, laughing, praying, honest, competitive, caring, the same as anyone else, then maybe we can begin looking at ourselves, at the larger society."

  Sadiqa, Amjad’s wife, intervened, "Let's go out in the lawn. I’ve put tea there."

  "You really believe we created them?" he asked as I was walking outside with his wife.

  I turned around and said, "We can’t ignore that historically they fulfilled a specified function in the larger society. There is so much evidence. The Kanjar are a large, clan-like occupational 'caste'. Do you know what that means, Amjad? It means that for generations most women working as traditional prostitutes in places like Shahi Mohalla have been born into it. From birth they have been socialized to be prostitutes. It is not that they were immoral young women who wanted to do this work or impoverished little girls sold off by their parents."

  His wife took my arm and pulled me towards her. We walked out and sat around the tea table. I began again, "Like any other occupational group, Kanjar by birth were given the occupation of prostitution, the same as nayee (barbers), kasayee (butchers), chamar (leather workers) and lohar (ironsmiths). The old feudal system defined the social hierarchy to ensure that people were available to perform all necessary functions and that those in control could rely on them to provide the services and maintain the status quo. In India, there are many studies that identify castes or ethnic groups who were taught only the family profession: prostitution.

  “People were born into it and they had their own standing in the community like the other specialized groups. How can we fail to look at them in the larger perspective?"

  Sadiqa, tired of our conversation, interrupted, "Stop it, please! Have tea and snacks now and talk about something pleasant." I smiled and started talking to her about her family. For the rest of the evening Amjad Shah remained quiet; playing with his moustache and staring in the air.

  2

  SHAHI MOHALLA DURING THE DAY … AND NIGHT

  I first visited the Shahi Mohalla about eight months before I formally started my research. That trip inspired my study. My boss, Uxi Mufti, the Executive Director of Lok Virsa (The Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage) in Islamabad invited me to accompany him and two of his friends: a heart specialist from Islamabad and a businessman from Rawalpindi. All three were serious photographers. My visit to Lahore was primarily for the annual Basant (kite flying festival), to purchase kites for the Lok Virsa museum. The men wanted to photograph the old city of Lahore, where the festival is held.

  Going from one area to another looking for elaborate kites, I was told at one point that we were in the famous Shahi Mohalla. Surprised, I looked around, but felt the same as if I was in any of old Lahore’s other bazaars. The narrow streets, the architecture, crowds of pedestrians and children running around among three-wheeled rikshaws, bicycles and tongas (horse carts) seemed no different from the other bazaars. Nor did the attitude of the men in the bazaar towards me differ from anywhere else. I did notice that every time we stopped in the street to ask for an address or any other information, a crowd of tamashbin (spectators) gathered around us within seconds, but this might also have been true in the other bazaars. In general, as a woman, it was as comfortable to walk around these streets as elsewhere in the old city.