Early in the day I return to New Light. The kids ring
around me, orchestrate me into their games, sit me down and stand me up. But today I’m not here for them, but for
their mothers. A car comes to retrieve
me and take me to a four day workshop co-facilitated by New Light and a wonder
fill woman who from now on I will call the
story teller dancer. As this is what
she does. She provides a venue for the
women to heal through their bodies, to dance through their story. She has dedicated her life to service work,
offering her skills in the most difficult situations. Committed to facilitating the movement of
Joy.
The beauty of the workshop is that it is composed of so many
different and holistic elements. Its
simplicity contains the key to its magic.
Good food, a safe place for the women to spend four days before they go
home for the evening shift. It consists
of movement as well as the wonderful contributions from a ceramic artist whose
studio is transformed into a haven. Here there is a forum to discuss key health issues
concerns – STDs, drug use, where they can obtain free condoms and the necessity
that they insist on their use. Fresh fruits, chai and a huge lunch is served
each day. All of this – the art, the
play, the conversation free from judgment, the shelter and food – are given staples
to myself and my community, yet here they are both a novelty and a luxury.
I walk in not sure what to expect, but I spy Urmi sitting on
the floor amidst the women and go and hug her.
She looks fantastic. Full
power. A wealthy and educated woman, from
the same city as the women she works with, and yet she was dealt a very
different set of cards. Yet like these
women, in order to survive the work that she has thrown her heart and soul
into, she knows the tricks of the street.
How to use her influence and connections to retrieve stolen children, to
provide opportunities for those who would otherwise never have any, to convince
those who would rather not know the details of what they would rather not see
and as a result spare a little of their affluence. For example, New Light recently opened a boys
home, and Urmi found the perfect sponsor - the singer and song writer, Ben
Harper. The first words she says to me:
“are you ready to teach?” I grin in
reply, and within minutes find myself in front of the sari clad women running
through basic asanas.
There are a thousand ways to communicate, a thousand ways to
connect. And right from the start my
eyes and my smile are my greatest assets.
I’m deeply aware of the dynamics – of me being a blonde white yoga
teacher, without direct experience of these women’s lives. Years ago I did work for Oxford University’s
Refugee Studies Centre on the impact of the conflict on the health of
children. One shocking but perhaps not
surprising result was that both trafficking soared as well as the number of
young girls and boys entering the sex trade. I was thrown into a situation
which I hadn’t bargained for – working with trafficked kids, many of whom hid
in fear, craved affection, were HIV positive.
It meant that when I arrived in Kolkata years ago it made sense that I
would find my self back in the red light district, learning and seeing more of
the horrors of this ancient trade – the trade of flesh. I’m
saying this because life may not be linear but it is cumulative: What we choose as our profession doesn’t necessarily
directly follow from our studies, but what we learn in both formal and informal
education definitely informs what we do.
I might not be a sex worker, Indian or even a professional social worker
but I know more than the majority of yoga teachers about the dynamics of the
sex industry. I’ve also intensely
studied the challenges of “Development” – including that of an outsider coming
in to share a project or workshop. The
importance of letting go of assumptions, of continuously adapting to what is
needed – and to really listen to what
is needed.
After yoga came massage.
It was simple, the women just had to take a partner and give a head
massage. Hair was untied and another layer
of kindness fell over the room. I found
a partner and remembered the gift studying massage had endowed to me – the
importance of a loving touch and the ability to immediately relief both
physical and emotional tension. The
woman in my hands melted. The time came
for receivers to give but the opportunity I had to share this moment was to
precious and with every inch of my being I continued the massage. Later in the afternoon my partner found me and
hugged my heart.
Another moment which stood out from the day was that of
applying herbal face-masks to one another.
A gentle touch, a powerful symbolism, that if these women have to
continue in selling their bodies, today at least they can have the opportunity
to be adored in a platonic and caring way.
Part of me wondered how wise this was.
That these women have to be tough to do what they do. There is no space for softness; vulnerability
could put their very lives at risk. Yet
after we simply looked into one another eyes.
A practice I do regularly in Acro Yoga classes. Today was so very different. Tears poured immediately. There were no masks here. Despite the strength these women endure life
with, they are still women – incredible women.
They feel, they cry, they want (like we all do) basic human rights and
under it all - a pure love.
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