I am a master in India

Chapter 400 Strong Demand

The largest red-light district in Mumbai is Kamathipura. The great Dalit poet Anand said, "If you have a discerning eye, the whole of Mumbai is Kamathipura."

It was filthy and chaotic, even worse than a slum, but he didn't mind at all.

He frequented this place; he would sit in a bar that was full of male customers and faced the street.

The area resembled an open-air public toilet, with an unpleasant stench of urine permeating the air.

An advertisement was posted on the shop window on the ground floor facing the street: "Motel, air-conditioned."

Men either walk alone or in twos and threes past the prostitutes standing under the dim streetlights.

Some of them would occasionally approach to chat, and would rudely scrutinize the streetwalker's age, facial features, and figure.

The older streetwalkers sat on nearby porches, their weariness becoming increasingly apparent as the night deepened.

Anand had barely sat down when a young man from Malayali approached. His name was Shezan Babu, and he was the know-it-all of the red-light district.

"Hey buddy, wanna go have some fun? You look like you're horny right now, ready to take on anyone."

“Too young.” Anand shook his head listlessly.

"What? You're not satisfied with what's outside? No problem, I can teach you how to find the best partner."

Babu continued talking, saying that he liked the girls to be gentle and charming, and that the Russian girls in Dubai cost a thousand for a night, but were very considerate.

Not long ago, the short, stocky pimp took him into a room with five or six prostitutes inside, and he chose the one from Andhra Pradesh.

They went to another room, and she asked if they wanted to take off all their clothes, but Babu said no.

He's afraid of getting sick, and those illnesses are one thing, but the word "love" is so frightening.

However, he stripped himself naked and lay down in the dark, letting the other person do as they pleased.

She gave Babu a small umbrella, and Babu asked her for a second one.

Anand was shocked. "You wear two at once? I hate those things, they're so uncomfortable to wear."

"It's best to be careful in Kamatipur," Babu said, valuing his life highly.

“That’s you. The partners I found are all from respectable families,” Anand said with a hint of pride.

How serious?

"Absolutely wonderful women. Just look how well they take care of their grandchildren, and you'll know."

"Huh?" Babu was stunned and didn't react.

"In short, this place isn't my cup of tea."

Babu was unconvinced. As Kamatipur's gossipmonger, he had seen all kinds of women.

He shamelessly claimed that he had participated in sex work with multiple women, and that these women not only did not refuse but would readily agree.

This is because it's more efficient; you can collect money from several people at once.

The usual price is 100 rupees per person, and a 20% discount is given for three people. Rooms and drinks are charged separately, as are marijuana.

When he went to relax earlier, the woman gave Babu a single hemp seed and charged him twenty rupees.

"After using that stuff, you won't get tired for a long time when you exercise," Babu said with deep experience.

"how long?"

"I went outside during halftime and called my mother. She talked for a long time before hanging up."

“I don’t need to smoke anything,” Anand said dismissively.

If you don't have some skills, how can you make those lazy, opportunistic partners truly submit to you?
They sat in the bar discussing the prostitutes under the streetlights, commenting on them.

In fact, the women in the red-light district are not significantly different from women in other parts of Mumbai, except that there are more East Asian faces here.

Most of them were Nepalese women, and the rest were dark-skinned women from Marathi and Andhra Pradesh.

They are often surrounded by children, and their clothing is not provocative; they wear flowers in their hair as if they are going out to see a movie or go to a restaurant.

If you make unreasonable demands, they will firmly refuse.

These streetwalkers adhere to ethical standards and demonstrate strong principles in how they handle customers.

As they were talking, a pimp walked up to the two prostitutes standing under the streetlight and took out a ledger to write something down.

The two women paid, he accepted the money, noted it down, and walked away without saying a word.

Look, this is Mumbai, where every line of business takes a cut.

The red-light district is thriving; even penniless scumbags linger on the streets, just to feast their eyes.

The hunger for that kind of thing is not limited to the lower classes; even in class-divided Mumbai, it is exceptionally obsessive.

In Chinese restaurants and at the Oberoi Hotel, groups of socialites openly discuss their lovers during lunch.

The white-collar workers on Vauxhall Road, watching the seductive, heavily made-up Western women in music videos, found themselves unable to enjoy the company of innocent girls in real life, and thus became increasingly addicted to adult films obtained through clandestine channels.

Whether on the street, in skyscrapers, five-star hotels, beer bars, or tenement buildings, women are held and controlled by men, while women in red-light districts are the sewers through which men vent their lust and emotions.

Anand didn't come here to indulge in sensual pleasures; he came to do serious business.

"Is that woman coming back? If she changes her mind, I'll pretend nothing happened."

“No, she’ll definitely come. She doesn’t mind group activities, so this is nothing to her.” With that, Babu got up to make a phone call.

Before he could even take a step, two people, a man and a woman, entered the bar.

One of them was the woman they were waiting for, and the other seemed to be her partner.

The woman glanced quickly at the bar, then swiftly walked towards them. She was beautiful, considered top-tier among streetwalkers. Her fair skin, in particular, was highly valued by Indian men.

For Indian men, a woman's beauty is not judged by her face, but by the color of her skin.

Most of the Bollywood actresses who are popular with audiences have lighter skin tones.

"Do you keep your word?" the woman asked directly.

“Of course, we’re a legitimate company, the kind that signs contracts,” Anand assured.

"We need to pay a deposit first." Clearly, she wasn't so easily convinced.

"No problem, but this place isn't suitable, we need to find another place."

The woman nodded; she knew the bar was crowded and dangerous. She whispered a few words to the man next to her, then gestured for Anand and the others to lead the way.

Babu was very enthusiastic and went out of the bar first. Their destination wasn't far, it was nearby.

That's Mumbai's largest brothel—the "Parliament House," named after the Congress Party headquarters across the street.

The 86-year-old gatekeeper will proudly tell you: Mahatma Gandhi sat right here during his sit-in demonstration for independence.

The greatest battle in the life of this self-disciplined and righteous Mahatma was not against the British Empire, but against his own desires.

Whether he succeeded or not is a matter of debate. But there is no doubt that he holds a special place in the hearts of Indians.

However, if he knew this in the afterlife, he probably wouldn't be happy about the current situation in India after independence.

Because the building across the street that bears the name "Music Academy" is actually the headquarters of prostitutes, bar girls, and their drunken customers.

A man dressed in high-end clothing and handmade leather shoes stood there, flirting with a woman who was cooking, while blowing tobacco leaves into the dirtiest corner of the city.

Everywhere there were open sewage pipes, and the ground was slippery with piles of rotting food.

During Hou Lijie's time, the women in the Capitol went berserk. They got drunk and grabbed whoever they could, dragging them into the sewer pipes or slapping them with bloody sanitary products soaked in the sludge of the sewer pipes.

Anand and his companions were surrounded by open doors and windows, where all sorts of women were washing clothes, bathing, cooking, and doing housework.

This is their residence. Regular customers come here to pick them up and take them to hotels or motels to "do business."

Anand carefully walked around the trash can, but Babu didn't seem to mind at all: "The scenery is beautiful everywhere, trash is nothing to worry about."

He surveyed the garden with approval, a riot of colors and varieties, the price for philandering ranging from fifty rupees (the going rate in nearby bars) to one thousand rupees (Baboo's preferred price) and even fifty thousand rupees (accompanied by a Bollywood starlet).

The woman following behind did not appear flustered, clearly indicating that they had informed each other of the location for the "business" before the meeting.

Moreover, she lives in the nearby Pilar Courtyard, just across the street from the "Capitol Building".

Anand has a regular studio in the "Reichstag," which is actually more accurately described as a basement.

Unfortunately, this kind of work is still too advanced for India; it's best to be careful.

The person who opened the door was a cheerful young man wearing glasses named Sriniva.

He was one of the few amateur computer enthusiasts, spending his days with routers and screens. He was also a fanatic about adult films.

He grew up in Kamatipura, where boys in their teens would pool their allowance from their parents to watch sex shows with prostitutes.

Sriniva later joined the new federation, not for fighting; he was a technical talent.

“The filming crew is all set and just waiting for the lead actors to appear.” He craned his neck to look behind Anand.

His eyes lit up when he saw the woman.

"Wow, she has the makings of a Bollywood star."

"Stop talking nonsense and don't forget the rules here." Anand smacked him on the back of the head.

“Yes, yes, we are a legitimate company and we don’t do business by forcing people to buy or sell,” Sriniva muttered.

Anand ignored him and led his men directly into the basement.

It's a large place, divided into several rooms. There are various styles of shooting locations: luxurious, dilapidated, ancient, and representing different religions.
There were even lounges and doctors; it was more professional than a Bollywood film crew.

“Madam, here is the contract. Please take a look.” Anand pushed a contract in front of her.

The woman was illiterate, so she handed the contract to the man beside her. He glanced at it, somewhat surprised, and then quickly whispered a few words in her ear.

"Fifty thousand rupees for a one-time appearance?" She was so surprised that her voice became somewhat shrill.

"Yes, you can refuse, but the appearance fee is only 20,000."

“Lu!” The woman quickly pressed her handprint.

She's Nepalese, and after this heist, she'll have saved enough money. She'll go back to her hometown and leave this country.

This was nothing to her; she received far too many people to count them all.

Anand shook his head, and his men readily paid.

In another room, the film crew was already checking the equipment.

An hour or two later, the film will be sent to Sriniva for post-production.

In another seven or eight days, a brand new Indian-style film will be born.

The master tapes are sent to a workshop two streets away, where they are quickly pressed into countless discs and sold throughout India.

Yes, Anand partnered with the New Federation to start a film company.

This film company focuses on gender issues, providing immense relief for repressed Indian men.

(End of this chapter)