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ional Highway called
Basai Mohalla. There is a billboard at its entry which says: 'Enter the Red Light Area at
your own risk. Always remember to use a condom. Prevent AIDSSave Lives.' I do not
understand the reference to red light on the billboard. There are no red lights on any of
the housesas far as I can see. There are at least a dozen trucks parked along the road.
Some barefoot children loiter in the streets – there is no sign of their mothers. The faint
sound of music and dancers' ankle bells floats into the night air. In the distanceI can see
the dome and minarets of the Taj Mahal shimmering under the golden moonlight. The
halo of the moon and the sight of the marble monument imbue even this dusty and dirty
enclave of single- and double-storey shacks with a bit of gold dust.
The college students alight from their vehicle and move towards a cluster of small
buildings. I hesitatebut they pull me along. I now see that the area is bustling with
people. Vile-looking men in kurta pyjamas loaf in front of the houseschewing betel leaf.
I see girls of various ages sitting on the steps wearing just petticoats and blouseswith
heavy make-up and jewellery. Some of them give us come-hither looks and make
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'WhyMadam