Sonia Faleiro crafts a work of beauty
A review by Ben Antao
Beautiful Thing
By Sonia Faleiro
Publisher, Hamish Hamilton
Non-fiction, hardcover, pp 214, Rs 450
The beauty of this work of non-fiction is not the story as such, but the skill of the author who crafted it. The story of the barwali named Leela is not new for it’s been playing out for decades in India’s crowded cities and slums, and even in villages where fathers and mothers are forced to sell their children into prostitution out of desperation and destitution stemming from penury and hunger. What is dramatic about this story is that the journalist Sonia Faleiro, 33, has woven an artistic web to enthral the reader in the underbelly of Bombay’s dance bars, a squalid, sleazy slice of life made attractive and appealing through a prism of narrative realism that transcends mere reportage.
Based on extensive research into the bars and brothels of the city and interviews with sex workers, hijras, bar owners, madams, gangsters, policemen, and the characters documented in the story, this investigative adventure titled Beautiful Thing, Inside the Secret World of Bombay’s Dance Bars is brought to life by the author’s keen powers of observation and description, her talent for assimilating the peculiar lingo and Hindi slang spoken in such places into a narrative that crackles with energy and excitement.
Faleiro follows the life and struggles of her protagonist Leela who arrives in the big city as a teenager from her native village in Meerut and works as a dancer in the bar-restaurant called Night Lovers on Mira Road, owned by her lover Purshottam Shetty, a married man with two children. Bootiful Leela considers herself to be a kalass above the other prostitutes working the streets of Bombay. For her the “kustomer is cunt.”
“And so, Leela, seeing no similarities between the bar and the brothel, convinced herself that she had earned the right to sneer at such women, and she did, with primness and pride, even though every one of them, like her, had been hurt and exploited, and often, if not always, she sold sex because she had to,” writes Faleiro.
As for her boss Shetty, his chokris are high maintenance. “Some are quite fair-skinned,” he says, “not fair like a heroine. But more fair than kustomers. And they have to be kept happy. If I don’t treat them well, they will run off. And if I lose my best girls, I’ll lose my biggest collections. So any time one of them does nautanki, I throw notes at her. No worries then. Why no worries then? Because money is music. Yes or no? Yes! One note, two note, three note, four note … and they dance like it’s a sone ki barsaat! A shower of gold.”
Shetty also deals with the police and the local bureaucracy. He pays hafta, runs favours, writes off tabs, even offers women if the women consent, which they always do because it is expected of them. “It’s police-log ka politics,” he says, “bureaucrocy ka politics.”
A bar dancer like Leela is attracted to gangsters for she believes that “men are all gangsters anyway. So why shouldn’t I throw in my lot with a successful one? Gangsters have money. They’re smart-looking. They have tashan, style. What’s not to like? And they’re straight talkers. Fuck me, they say, straight off.”
As far as the customers are concerned, they are like a Ramzan goat, destined for slaughter. “And she must wield the knife,” Leela tells the author, “that would slit his throat, cut his head off and hang his carcass to drip, drip, drip. Never forget, a bar dancer’s game is lootna, kustomer ko bewakuf banana, to rob, to fool a customer.”
As Leela becomes successful and sends money to her parents, her mother Apsara (celestial nymph) joins her in Bombay. She calls her mother fat and very, very simple. Then she finds a friend in another dancer named Priya, who works in another bar Rassbery, also on Mira Road, where Priya meets her ‘husband’ Raj.
The author explores the red light district of Kamatipura, a warren of brothels for men, women and hijras. At the Gazala brothel she attends a birthday party with Leela and Priya, in honour of Gazala, the madam of the hijra brothel. Faleiro describes this party with consummate skill and empathy. Here’s a sample.
“As we sat on the floor eating cake with bendy spoons and sharing bottles of beer, I felt like I was among old friends. Of course, even my oldest friends have never displayed the transfixing curiosity hijras are known for. When they are comfortable with a woman, they sit real close and stroke her hair. They peek into her blouse to inspect the foreignness inside. In any other circumstance I would have left. That night, the pinching and prodding by Maya (hijra) and her friends made me feel on the in. In time, I came also to recognize this communal trait as a compliment. Hijras may call themselves the ‘third sex’ but they want nothing more than to be womanly. Their curiosity about the female form is an example of this naked urge and expressed most unabashedly with people they like, and wish to be like.”
In the Bombay suburb of Kalyan is HajI Malang, the shrine of HajI Abdul Rehman Shah Malang, believed to be a 12th century mystic and dervish from Yemen. Each year pilgrims celebrate his Urs, or death anniversary, for ten days. Bombay’s hijras make the annual pilgrimage to the shrine as it has a particular importance to them.
Leela and the author go on this pilgrimage. “Procuring sex, in fact, appeared as important a goal here as the attainment of spirituality,” writes Faleiro. “Or perhaps they amounted to the same thing, for as the night deepened, as the aroma of hash swirled in the air and spirits raised voices, confidence and desire, groups splintered into couples, couples who had hours previously been strangers, and they felt each other up in corners. Pushing aside the goats tethered there, they arched their backs against the walls of the communal toilets. All around the shrine, up and down the hill, the chill breeze gossiped of copulation.”
In September 2005 Leela loses her job because the Maharashtra government decided to ban the dance bars in establishments rated three stars or less, which included Night Lovers and Rassbery. However, bar dancing was permitted in high-end luxury hotels. The city had a population of 18 million then, of which 50% lived in the slums, a third had no clean drinking water and two million had no toilet facilities. After a period of wandering the slums in search of work, Leela decides to travel to Dubai to peddle her charms, such as they are.
Sonia, born in Goa, the daughter of Eduardo Faleiro, Goa’s NRI commissioner, lives in San Francisco with her American husband Ulrik McKnight. She has accumulated a huge material researching this book, material that she can transform into fiction in the future. A fictionalised story of bar dancers would allow for the creation of deep conflicts among the characters and for enduring human interest.
(Ben Antao is a veteran journalist and novelist who lives in Toronto. He has published five novels and several short fiction. His email: ben.antao@rogers.com )
Word count: 1200