I hope she would have never done this..

Gumraah - End of Innocence. This is a show which tells about teenagers
taking the action which they should not have taken.
So the episode that made me cry.
There was a happy family One elder son,
One younger sister the best sister,
One papa, One good mummy and
one bad grandmother.
Grandmother here is the mother of the father.
The father always wanted that his son should be a sports man.
Well it was because his father wanted to be a sportsman.
So it was like father making his dream come true through his son.
Like if father couldn't be a sportsman so his son would become.
And the child kept complaining about the pain in his lower abdomen,
like in the stomach.
But parents kept ignoring it like if there is no problem.
But one day when he was playing a tennis match in the tournament
and that was it he felt unconscious and he felt down in the court.
He was then taken to the hospital where it was like a very shocking
news for the parents. His one kidney had become dysfunctional and
other was like very critical or very severly damaged.
I'm Sorry I didn't remember the exact medical terms.
But he was on dylasis, and it was horrible that you
could not do anything.
So you can imagine the conditon??
The family felt broken.
But the ugly part was his sister was ignored continuously.
She was so kind so much beautiful.
She was very small like 10 or 12 years old.
She was constantly ignored at home.
Her grandmother always scolds at her.
She was held responsible by her grandmother, for her brothers health.
I mean how could she be responsible for his health.
What she had done??
Whats her mistake in life?
Do you know she was selected as a prefect in school.
She told her brother.
Her brother was her best friend.
She shared all her happiness with him.
They were best friends na.
But she was constantly ignored, in her own home by her own family members except her brother.
She felt less important.
Her self esteem was getting low. She felt that no one cared about her.
And eventually at the hospital her sweet brother was fghting between death and life.
His father also said to doctor to take out his kidney and give it to his son.
But see the fate he can't because his father is having high blood pressure So you know...
And they were really having shortage of money.
They were cutting everything.
That mature young girl said she would stop going to tuition classes.
Her mother resisted but they didn't have money so ummm... she stopped going there.
No one had ever felt whats going in her mind.
What was happening to her.
She had developed a kind of defence mechanism for herself.
Like she had a friend in a school, they were good friends, they had lunch together,
so her friend told her that her mother told her that her brother is ill too much.
She said No. He'll be alright.
Her friend said her mother doesn't lies.
That nice girl the best sister she said I've got a better idea.
Let's not talk to each other.
So then she kept to herself only.
She was so much killing herself inside.
She had that feeling that because of her only her brother is in hospital.
I don't know from where she had grown such thoughts.
And one night her father kept weeping and came to home.
All the money had vanished everything is empty.
they don't have money left.
So....
The sweet little sister heard everything.
She was sitting there on the staires.
And she became so upset.
Like she really want to help her parents.
She does something which should not have been done at that time.
She drank the bottle of poison and ended her life.
She felt that she is not at all important.
You can imagine the condition of the family. The parents.
She didn't realize she was so much important for the family.
She was also the part of the family.
After two months of her death her mother found the suicide note.
Written by her "Mummy - Papa please give my kidney to my brother and bring him back home.
I'm sure one day my brother will become good sportsman."

Parents should treat their children equally.
Children are sensitive.
They leave signs before commiting suicide.
Please Please see it.
They keep to themselves.
They build a kind of defence mechanism like to protect their ego.
And you will never know it.
I know how it feels like.
No one cares for you and you cannot trust anyone.
Pleasen listen to them.
Don't ever ever ignore them.
They are precious.
Suicide is not the solution..

Why can't people understand??

I live in a world today where no one cares about others.
I also feel like that no one cares what I feel.
What I think is to myself only.
Eveyone wants to earn money and save it..
Enjoy the luxuries of life.
It's just my intitutions and feelings that when a person
earns a lot of money and you know he is not a good person so I
think that the person spends his earned money on sex.
High class escort services and prostitutes.
I really don't understand why people do such kind of things.
You know this so called rich people are actually rich menace.
Are their feelings dead??
Or they don't feel anything just because their feelings are dead.
This episode on crime patrol and yep I cried like everytime I do.
I cry on regular basis.
I really cry while taking the shower, it's the best thing to cry like this.
No one can see me crying.
I cry so much by watching this show.
Ummmmm...
So in this episode a girl, she was 15 years old and she was missing.
If she had been missing all life it would be better but that's cruel life.
Her father had a shop of vegetables.
A small shop and he used to sell vegetables.
And he had son also, I don't know his age.
Her daughter used to live with her grandmother from the age of three and she was really happy there.
Her grandmother was nice to her.
They were living in a small village.
She was happy there and she also used to go to school there.
So her father took her away from her grandmother when she was thirteen.
She didn't want to go with her father.
She resisted but her father took her away.
Took her away from her grandmother.
What he said her was that it was for her betterment, her well being, better education.
So ummmm this was terrible.
That was actually the part of plan.
She was a nice girl but her father had different plans for her.
Her father brought her here so that he could sell her to make money.
He and his friend sold that girl to old men so that they could have sex with her and ummmm.
She used to vomit after sex.
After this incidence she was being sold to brothel.
Where you know... So she was in the bus and she somehow escaped from there.
When she was found the policemen asked her why she didn't tell her mother and what she said was really cruel things.
She said that when she said to her mother that she didn't like this she feels like vomitting.
So her mother said that if you have done it then what's the matter in doing it again.
She was such a cruel thing.
She said that money is necessary for family as brother is studying.
See no one cares about her and what she feels like.
Now the girl is in rehabiliton centre ummm called as CWC.
I think they will take nice care of her.
She would be happy there.
She would get rehabilated and soon she she will be between nice people.
I just cry... nothing else.
Tears are waste.
I do cry  very much.
Ummm if you remember the day when I wrote the message that I cannot trust anyone.
This was it...

An hour with a lady.. (Copied one)

It took me a lot of time to decide whether or not to write about this incident in my life. As a guy who has been born and brought up in a relatively conservative and God-fearing family, my values are mostly that of a "middle-class" man. Sex is still taboo for this class. However, the fact that I have written openly about it is a verity, and I have no regrets because I don"t feel any guilt for writing what I think is right.

It happened a few weeks ago when I was in Goa. Goa is today, among the world"s foremost tourist destinations. People of all colours and creeds are found here. Their purpose for coming here-to "enjoy"! Prostitution too, is very much a part of this. I wasn"t aware of this fact until I was at Margao beach.

I was alone, walking parallel to the waves. Walking steadily, I was recalling all the momentous incidents in my life. The first woman I fell in love with, the person who gave me so much without any expectations; my parents, away from whom I was to start a new life; and also, my friends and admirers who have been a source of not just perpetual happiness but also inspiration.

After walking a few paces, I decided to sit on one of the benches. Suddenly, I noticed a young lady, somewhere in her mid-20s, sitting at a distance from me. She was beautiful and charming; but there was something unrealistic about her. I could not for the life of me, figure out why a lady would be on the beach in the evening, all made up-a lot of make-up on.

As I always do, I gave her a smile which she reciprocated. I felt like talking to her. Being a person who has made so many friends, I truly don"t believe in the concept of "strangers". A person is stranger to you as long as you don"t know him or her. And once you know that person he or she is no longer a stranger. That"s my philosophy.

Surprisingly, she herself came over and offered a handshake saying, "Hi! I"m Natasha." And I replied, "Hi, nice to see you, Natasha. I"m Mahesh." "Can I sit next to you"? she asked, a bit artificially. "Sure, please do!" I assented.

For a while we didn"t talk. I am not very comfortable with women. Yes, I have interacted with them, but not so well. I am not a "ladies man". I am good-looking, but still I haven"t been lucky with women.

"So what"s your plan tonight"? she asked. "Well. I"m not sure. my lady", I said. "Would you like to take me with you"? she asked. I was dumbfounded! "Is she a prostitute"? I asked myself. I didn"t have to wait long for the answer. "I will take just 500 bucks", she said. "Oh, damn"! I thought, "this isn"t happening. Or is it"?

I felt like running but I stayed put-for no reason. Most of the things I do in life haven"t had any "reasons". I asked her why she was in this profession. She wasn"t honest when she answered, "I love it"!

She spoke good English, but her accent was artificial. "Well my friend, I am not interested in sleeping with you," I said adding "I haven"t been with a prostitute in my life. You are the first one. So I would like to know something about you."

She was a bit hesitant. And she told me stories I didn"t want to believe. Mostly because they were the kind you find in movies. I told her very frankly, "Look lady, I am not able to believe you because your eyes aren"t honest. I am a man who appreciates people in all hues and colours. I have a knack with people and can tell in a few minutes whether or not, they are lying to me. You are lying."

She smiled a while, scratched her head with her index finger, and looked away for a while. Perhaps she was not prepared to share her story with me. "What are you anyways" she asked. I laughed, before I countered, "What do you think I am"? She was completely unprepared for this kind of a situation. "I don"t know. You are an enigma to me", she said, adding "but yes, you do look like a good-hearted person".

"Thank you so much. But how can you say that"? I enquired, rather enthusiastically. "That"s because if you were someone who was too orthodox, you would have run away from me and if you were a sex maniac, you would not have wasted any time in getting me into bed. You are a strange person, but you look good. I hope you aren"t a psycho", she said.

I couldn"t resist it and erupted in laughter. "Sorry, but I haven"t met any psychiatrist who could confirm or deny it" I conveyed.

I went on to have a great conversation with her. She was a very experienced woman; perhaps older than I had initially thought her to be. But all that matters is that she was a great companion. Finally, after listening to several anecdotes from me, she felt more comfortable. Her artificiality began to fade. She was a different, but more honest-looking person to me now.

"What is your background, Natasha"? I asked, again. "Well, Natasha is my business name. I was called Mujassim and come from Bengal. Our home is close to Bangladesh. It"s replete with poverty. People don"t have enough money to buy a loaf of bread a day. So I came here to earn a living."

"Who is in your family"? I enquired.

"Just my husband, his parents, and two younger siblings", was her reply.

"Did you say "husband""? I queried.

"Yes, that"s right".

"What does he do? Does he know you do this?"

"Well, actually he was a farmer. A few years ago, he had a major accident which left him partially handicapped. He was the only bread earner of the family; his parents are ill all the time and younger siblings are still studying. and yes, he does know what I do here." She looked down as she said this.

"Can"t you do something else"?

"Like what"? she asked.

"You speak good English, perhaps you could get placement in a call centre in Bangalore or some place", I suggested.

"Well, someone did tell me about that, but that is not sufficient. My husband"s siblings are studying and we want them to get a good education. Also, I learnt English very recently. There is a person who runs such classes and charges a nominal fee," she said.

Suddenly, I was in introspection mode.
"What are you thinking of"?

"Well Mujassim, I was just wondering why a person like you would get into this? It"s such a filthy affair. And that too hailing from a community where women are ever veiled, I find your story so saddening," I told her.

"But what would you say of those women who even after marrying and having kids go after other men? What about those who, despite hailing from distinguished families continue to sleep with men whom they are never going to marry? Why only us?" she retorted, this time strongly.

"If you go back in history, even the Islamic civilization had sex trade. Because it was the only mechanism by which "virtuous women" could be protected from rape and other sexual abuse. We still do that job," she said.

"We might take some money. so what? It"s our business. We are doing it for the sake of a livelihood. If someone could offer me a few lakhs of rupees, enough to sustain my family, I would happily go back. I don"t like doing this-to be VERY HONEST! But I am helpless. I may lose my conscience, sir, but my family survives. And what faith am I to follow on an empty stomach?"

Her words were truly thought-provoking. We continued our conversation for a while, before parting ways. I offered her 500 bucks, but she declined to accept. "It"s for your time. So, have it", I told her when she refused the money. "No, sir, that"s fine. You are a nice man. For years I didn"t find a person who could talk to an attractive lady like a good friend. I feel much better after talking to you. Please don"t mock my sentiments by giving me money," she said, further adding, "You have a fatherly image".

She brought a few tears to my eyes. I saw no flaw in her, she was absolutely fine. She was in the wrong job, but her intentions weren"t wrong. I just prayed to God to give her a righteous job. I hope her sacrifice will not be forgotten by those who are benefiting from it her in-laws.

Prostitutes are looked at with shame and indignity by our society. True, they sell their body in exchange for money but what about those women, and, of course, men, who get into sexual relationships with every other person? Aren"t they worse than those prostitutes? I"m sure they are!

Prostitution in Goa..

Prostitution is the act or practice of providing sexual services to another person in return for payment. People who execute such activities are called Prostitutes. Goa has become a main target for prostitution in the recent years. The history of prostitution in Goa dates back to the late 16th and 17th centuries when Goa was a Portuguese colony. There was a community of Japanese slaves, who were usually young Japanese women and girls brought or captured as sexual slaves by Portuguese traders and their South Asian crewmembers from Japan.
REASONS FOR WOMEN GETTING INTO PROSTITUTION

• A woman is molested in the past and this is become acceptable in her life.
• Receiving less love and attention from families.
• Woman who earns poor income feel that prostitution is an easier and quicker way to get money for a better standard of living.
• Some women among the backward masses are forced into prostitution by peer groups, families, husbands and kidnapping is also a cause.
• For a feeling of pleasure and satisfaction.
• Failure in marriage and abandoned family life.
• Having acquaintances with a pimp or brothel, or women living as guest houses, hostels easily get carried away in this trade.
• No proper sex education
• The rise in number of child prostitution is because girls are given false promises of marriage, jobs and are sold to other states. Also as children want to adopt newer ways of luxurious life and their pocket money doesn’t permit them to do so. They choose prostitution as a means.

Prostitution in Goa began came to rise due to the prostitution racket in Baina, Vasco. The women here were mainly from Karnataka, West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Delhi, Maharashtra, Kerala and many more states of India. The place was divided into slums or “gallis” known as Andhra galli, Karnataka galli, Kerala galli and so on. After tearing down of Baina’s red light area in 2004 prostitutes were promised rehabilitation but the Government failed to keep up to their promise. It is like “old wine in a new bottle”. The business is the same but the girls are now better educated and pimps are using latest technology to operate and attract high paying clients. From then, prostitutes spread all over the state of Goa. They are almost in all the cities in the North and South of Goa carrying out the trade on a full swing in Lodges, Hotels, Massage Parlours, Cyber Cafe’s, Call Centres, Fishing Trawlers, Shacks, Highways, Slums, Residential Areas, Interior Hidden Places, Clubs, Beaches, Hostels, Paying Guest Homes and many more places. Taxi drivers, Motorcycle Pilots, Waiters, Chai boys, Beach Hawkers are contact points.
WHY GOA AS A TARGET FOR PROSTITUTION?

• Increasing number of events and festivals.
• Tourism on the rise
• Easy to bribe cops.
• No strict laws and regulations
• Politicians support for votes
• Increase in need for migrant labour as means for employment.

TYPES OF PROSTITUTION PHENOMENON IN GOA

• Brothel based prostitution: Baina & Margao
• Street based prostitution: Vasco, Margao, Colva, Panjim, Calangute, Anjuna
• Hotel based prostitution: All over Goa
• Vehicle based prostitution: North & South Goa- Tourist belt and crowded market areas

Traffickers are the people involved to get sex workers in Goa and the trafficked people are the victims.

• Brothel keepers previously operating in Baina
• Few pilots (Two wheeler taxi) and taxi owners
• Few hotels and lodges in the tourist areas and on the highways – Karwar, Mollem & Sawantwadi.

Mostly in Goa the target of action is not the traffickers but the trafficked victims. Most of the offences booked are against trafficked victims and not against the traffickers. Trafficked victims are arrested but no customer, pimp, transport agent, lodge owner; hotel owner, taxi owner, etc are arrested, though the law is very clear that those who commercialize prostitution and those who benefit from the earning from prostitution are committing an offence.
SOUTH GOA PROSTITUTION REGISTERED CASES
The police have registered a few cases. But a majority escaped from the hands of the police. Prostitution in South Goa is mainly in Margao, Vasco, Canacona, Curchorem, Curtorim, Colva, Benaulim, Sanguem, Ponda and the coastal belt. There are many prostitutes loitering around in search for bait. The police identify them through the obscene hand gestures, vulgar body acts and facial expressions made by them. The prostitute women caught were mostly from districts of Rajmandhi and Vishakapatanam in Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Kerala and sadly a few from Goa as well. They mainly are from the age group of 35-50. But child and teen prostitutes are preferred due to their virginity and less risk of transmition of AIDS and Sexually transmitted diseases. The customers are men from other states who migrate to Goa as migrant labourers and other backward men. They are from the age group of 20-60. Goans are also involved in as customers but mainly act as traffickers or brothels for earning by means of sex trade. Goan women get into prostitution mainly due to poor standard of living.
The female prostitutes including Goans earning higher incomes are usually found in massage parlours, beach side shacks, cyber cafe’s, beauty parlours, hotels in Goa. They use cars as means of obtaining customers and shelter in luxury hotels for their business. These are less caught by the police. Tourist prostitutes are also found in the same category and are found mostly on beach areas, shacks, hotels situated on the coastal belt.
Some of the examples of traffickers in the coastal belt:

• Brothel in Benaulim carrying out sex trade and customers are mostly locals of South Goa. Almost 7-8 dogs are kept outside as means of protection.
• Almost all the shacks and shops on the Colva Beach are major traffickers and agents for sex trade. Even the taxi drivers and motorcycle pilots are involved in this racket. 49’ers is a major prostitution spot in Colva.

2008: 8 cases

1. Navelim case happened in a closed house in Fradilem
2. Old market- 3 cases
3. Gandhi market- 4 cases

19 people were arrested in this year among the registered cases of which 6 were male customers and 13 were females involved in the case.
2009: 10 cases

1. Hotel Goa Land, near the flyover, Margao- 3cases
2. Hotel Tandoor, Margao- 2 cases
3. Near flyover over Bridge, Margao
4. Near Hari Mandir, Margao
5. Karishma Hotel, Margao- 2 cases

18 accused were arrested in this year among the registered cases of which 6 were male customers and 12 were females involved. 4 females were rescued by the police and sent to the NGO named Positive People.
2010: 11 cases

1. Shezer Hotel, Khareband, Margao- 6 cases
2. Hotel Goa Land, Near flyover, Margao- 4 cases
3. Hotel Karishma, Margao

2011: 3 cases till date

1. Shezer Hotel, Khareband, Margao

LAW

Section 3- The Suppression of Prostitution Act
Section 4- “Prostitution” means sexual intercourse, or any other act, or the commission of any other act in order to gratify the sexual desire of another person in a promiscuous manner in return for earning or any other benefit, irrespective of whether the person who accepts the act and the person who commits the act are of the same sex or not.
Section 5- Any person who, for the purpose of prostitution, solicits, induces, introduces herself or himself to, follows or importunes a person in a street, public place or any other place, which is committed openly and shamelessly or causes nuisance to the public, shall be liable to a fine not exceeding one thousand.
Section 6- Any person who associates with another person in a prostitution establishment for the purpose of prostitution of oneself or another person shall be liable to imprisonment for a term not exceeding one month or to a fine not exceeding one thousand or to both. If the offence under paragraph one is committed on account of compulsion or under an influence which cannot be avoided or resisted, the offender is not guilty.
Section 7- Any person who advertises or agrees to advertise, induces or introduces by means of documents or printed matters, or by any means makes known to the public in a manner apparently indicative of importunity or solicitation for the prostitution of oneself or another person shall be liable to imprisonment for a term of six months to two years or to a fine of ten thousand to forty thousand or to both.
Section 8- Any person who, in order to gratify the sexual desire of oneself or another person, has sexual intercourse with or acts otherwise against a person over fifteen but not over eighteen years of age in a prostitution establishment, with or without his or her consent, shall be liable to imprisonment for a term of one to three years and to a fine of twenty thousand to sixty thousand. If the offence under paragraph one is committed against a child not over fifteen years of age, the offender shall be liable to imprisonment for a term of two to six years and to a fine of forty thousand to one hundred twenty thousand. If the act under paragraph one is committed against one’s own spouse, and not to gratify the sexual desire of another person, the offender is not guilty.
POLICE ACTION
The Goa Police doesn’t take any strict action against prostitution in Goa. Incase of the women/victim they are just warned and asked to pay some fines. And if they are found on continuous basis, they are sent to the NGO i.e. Positive people for rehabilitation. In case of male customers they are arrested. A chargesheet is filed against them and they are kept in the lock up. And if they are found on continuous basis they are put in the Aguada Jail. And if he is found with a minor, the punishment exceeds even upto life imprisonment.
If any brothel or hotel still continues even after warnings they are closed down and their license is cancelled. 2 hotels in Margao are closed down.
They conduct frequent raids mostly in Gandhi Market area and near the flyover.
PROCEDURE FOR CONDUCTING RAIDS
The police have spies known as Peer Educators who act as prostitutes for them. They are given responsibility of certain areas. If they find any  suspicious behaviour or if they come across any prostitution case happening they inform the police. These spies even give details such as location or brothel in which the business is carried out. These prostitutes then come to the victims along with the police in civil clothes to the areas and raids are conducted. Initially, the lower level in the Police department had n o authority to conduct raids. But now they are allowed to do so.
NGO IN ACTION
Positive People is an NGO which presently functions in collaboration with the Margao Police. It started operations in the year 1992 as a media to pass on awareness about HIV AIDS and conduct counselling to the public. Since 2005, the Goa State Aids Control Society has given them the responsibility to conduct awareness programmes among the prostitutes and counsel them to lead a better life. They are expected to take care of certain areas in South Goa.
They mainly provide awareness about HIV AIDS and STD’s to the prostitutes and supply condoms as a means for protection. They do this in a manner of field trips, i.e. they visit all the areas take them for ELISA test to Hospicio Hospital and educated them. They get help from the police and Peer Educators to find the victims. If required, they get the victim to the NGO to counsel them. They cannot stop prostitution as it is an individual choice. But they help to make it safer preventing the risk of Aids. Presently they have 21 Aids patients.
Taluka wise distribution of HIV cases detected in Goa since the Baina incident are as follows:

Taluka	2004	2005	2006	2007	2008	2009	2010
Tiswadi	166	161	111	113	122	104	68
Bardez	150	127	133	149	133	140	117
Pernem	20	12	33	24	16	14	10
Bicholim	26	29	35	35	25	30	17
Satari	7	17	9	12	12	19	16
Ponda	48	62	55	48	55	41	34
Salcete	195	198	175	183	172	154	106
Mormugao	182	192	183	148	154	149	153
Sanguem	12	36	15	26	12	30	23
Quepem	23	23	14	39	21	22	23
Canacona	17	20	22	29	23	11	27
Non Goans	110	152	155	223	209	187	175
Total	956	1029	940	1029	954	901	769

Some victims choose to lead a better life but as they are already known as prostitutes they are pin pointed wherever they go. So, they get back to their business. Some victims choose a better life and approach them for help. They are now working elsewhere and are quite happy about it.
The main areas focussed by the NGO

• Canacona- Palolem Beach, Chaudi Market, Market Area, Bus Stand
• Curchorem- Garden Area, Bus Stand, Market Area
• Quepem- Tilamol
• Margao- Gandhi Market, Flyover, KTC, Municipal Garden, Colva Circle, New Market, Railway Station.

Activities carried out by Positive People:

• They have regular meetings known as Support Group Meetings in which victims express their problems and are helped by the NGO.
• They have DIC (Drop In Centre) wherein the NGO organises a programme for them at the NGO wherein they have various competitions like Dance, singing, mehendi, celebrate birthdays etc..
• Organising HealthCamps
• Celebrating World AIDS day & Women’s day

SOME OF THE POLITICIANS INVOLVEMENT IN PROSTITUTION
Dayanand Narvekar 
As far back as in 1989, a young woman claimed that Dayanand Narvekar had attempted to molest her in his chamber in the Adil Shah Palace when he was speaker. Though a police case was filed and Dayanand Narvekar was forced to resign his position as speaker of the then Legislative Assembly, the case never was charge-sheeted. Narvekar did not have as much luck with the charge of molesting and looting cricket fans during the one day match held in the Fatorda stadium in 2001. The case is still pending in the courts and Narvekar was dropped from the cabinet on the claim that since the case had been charge-sheeted, his continuance as finance minister in the cabinet of Digamber Kamat would not be ethical.
Babush Monserrate
Education Minister Babush Monserrate is said to be running a call girl racket from a building opposite Dhempe College of Arts and Science in Miramar, using a cybercafé as a contact point. The rumours were that the call girl racket was being operated by Babush Monserrate and that several other politicians had been patronising the prostitution den. Presumably, because very important people or their sons were involved and the political compulsions of running a coalition government, the police were instructed not to follow up the case. There have always been rumours about the voracious sexual appetite in Taleigao. There were persistent rumours that the flats in the Kamat complex opposite the Dhempe college which were supposed to be the scene of the Miramar sex scandal, were owned by Babush Monserrate. The Hallmark franchise shop is owned by Babush Monserrate, where several women were pointed to be Babush’s passions of the moment and his son Rohit was also involved.

I think everyone should read it.. It's important to know the truth.

Barfi..

It's a movie I watched yesterday.
It made me cry and sad.
It gave me a definition to love.
What love is really?
For that girl love is when you take care of each other.
Live with each other.
You are happy with each other.
And then you spend rest of the life each other.
And then die one day, in each others arms.
I don't know that thing.
Maybe I'm not that mature to understand such things.
Do you know if I'm staring a girl.
She could easily recognize that the staring is not out of lust.
It's something else.
I really don't know the answer as well.

Do you know every time you make compromise in your life.
You love someone else, you marry someone else.
You both love each other.
And because of this society.
You marry someone else.
You are actually making your future secure.
A girl's parents like her to be married to a guy who is rich.
I mean you really make wrong decisions in life.
People marry with whom the find their future secure.
I mean you are going to marry who has got a good salary, good job, good reputation.
And all the comforts.
But the main thing is love is missing.
You both speak but still there is silence.
There is a talk between you but it is just formal.
Love becomes show off.
You are lost somewhere, under your name of the husband.
You are worried about only the status of the society.
You don't care about love.
You care about what people will think.

If you are really searching for a husband with money, good reputation, a sophisticated person in this fake society.
It's the biggest you are ever going to make.
You are lost somewhere with your brain that you don't even realize to listen to what your heart says.
Just listen to it once.
Forget about this society.
Just live your life with love.
If you find love, Happiness will always follow you.
May be salary will be low.
You would not be able to travel in business class.
Maybe you would have a small moped.
Maybe you would not be able to go to five star restaurants.
But you'll love each other.
No matter how your lifestyle is you will be happy.

And the guys, who are important in shaping in this fake society.
I really do think that not some in fact most of the guys sees girls as a sex object.
I don't know why I have such feelings but that's true.
A guy is going to marry a girl I think for sex only.
I don't know may be I'm wrong.
But when it comes to feelings in guys I really hate that part.
Although guys are okay.
I don't know about the girls.
Maybe some of the girls are like that too.
Use the guy for money.
Then it's over.
 Maybe I'm wrong about the guys and girls.
But it's my perception.
So please don't mind.

But just find a true love.
I know it's really  difficult to find.
And It's rare actually.
But don't follow the norms which society or parents sets for you.
Live your life.
I know it will help you.
I bet on it.

 

A confession of past..

Today is 18 September 2012,
My old friend's birthday.
I was in college wished him through the the phone only.
I talked to him, it felt good. The past we talked about.
The future plans.
On that day I went for a movie with my college friends.
The name of the movie was "Barfi".
It was a emotional movie.
Made me upset.
I cried it reminded me of something.
I was so much traumatized. I was in deep pain.
I was not able to cry even.
I cannot cry in the class.
Not in front of my friends.
They know I'm sensitive.
There is a kid in my neighborhood.
He is autistic, He is special.
He comes to my home.
I remember, I hurt him once.
I was a menace.
I didn't care for his feelings.
I was not patient with him.
I hurt him.
I hurt him because he was not able to express.
I was there hurting him.
Crushing his hand.
I'm feeling guilty.
I know there is no way to repay it.
Today when I was sitting in the lecture classroom it came like a flash to my mind.
I was feeling so much guilty.
I could not explain.
I was feeling like that I was using my power on that little hands.
There was no mistake of him.
Why would he do any mistake?
I didn't enjoy hurting him.
But why would I hurt him?
I was a bad person at that moment.
I was a menace.
I'm asking God to forgive my sins.
I repent.
Please God forgive me.
Show me your path of light.
Show me the way to correct that mistake.

The baby I turned away

I was desperate to adopt a girl from India -- until I discovered she might have developmental problems. Will I ever stop thinking about the child I rejected?

By Jessica Berger Gross

My husband, Neil, and I had just sat down to lunch when we got the call. We’d spent the morning reading books about infertility and assisted reproductive technology, and we were drained, exhausted from months of waiting on a stalled international adoption list and overwhelmed by the question of whether to pursue infertility treatments.
“You won’t believe this,” said Neil. “We have a referral, if we want it.”
If we want it? Of course we wanted it. There was nothing we wanted more.
We’d started trying to get pregnant three years before. It took six months to conceive my first pregnancy, which I miscarried in the first trimester. I gave up my morning latte and the occasional glass of wine, took up acupuncture, practiced restorative yoga, went on vacation, charted my temperature and cervical mucous, peed on ovulation sticks and had lots of sex. Nothing worked.
I desperately wanted to be pregnant. I fantasized about breast-feeding, about walking around my neighborhood with our baby tucked into a cotton sling across my shoulder. So I kept trying, at least for a while: two rounds of the infertility drug Clomid (known for its unpleasant side effects) and artificial insemination. I hated every minute.
Adoption seemed the perfect alternative. I needed a baby, and there were babies out there who needed mothers. I didn’t think I could handle an open private adoption, entailing ongoing contact with my child’s birth mother. Domestic adoption, through the foster care system, usually involved older children with troubled pasts and ties to family. With international adoption, babies are relinquished by their birth parents and live their first months in orphanages, or in what our Boston social worker called “nurseries.” She handed us a list of possible countries: Guatemala, China, Russia, Ethiopia, India.
India.
We made the decision immediately. India fascinated us; it was a place that, truthfully, we’d already romanticized. I’d practiced yoga for a decade, and Neil and I were both interested in Eastern philosophy. Since marrying, we’d talked about spending a year in India. Now I imagined traveling there to meet our daughter. I traded in my daydreams about pregnancy and childbirth for a new fantasy: flying into Mumbai and taking an overnight train to the orphanage, dressed in an Indian blouse and worn leather sandals; the moment in the orphanage when my eyes would lock with my child’s and, together with Neil, we’d become a family.
As we waited for our referral (and as I watched my friends and acquaintances get pregnant, one by one), Neil and I told ourselves we were better people for having chosen adoption. I didn’t care about having a child who looked like me or shared my genes. We became enamored with the idea of adoption, talking ourselves out of more critical, complicated readings of the institution. Over winter break, we took a chunk of cash we’d been saving and traveled around India for a month so we could better know the country where our daughter would be born.
A full year after that trip, there was still no referral, no baby selected to be matched with us. What’s worse, we’d recently heard from our social worker that no referrals were likely in the near future. There had been an upswing in domestic adoption in India — a good thing — but the result, combined with bureaucratic inefficiencies, was that although millions of Indian children live in orphanages, the pipeline of young, healthy orphans going overseas had just about dried up. We might get a referral sometime in the next six months, but there were no guarantees. It could be years, or it might never happen. Faced now with the prospect that I might miss out on parenting altogether, I started to wonder whether I’d given up on infertility treatments too soon.
And then, we got the call.
“I’m looking at a picture of her right now,” said our social worker. “She’s gorgeous, a beautiful child. The biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Relief filled me: an objectively cute child. For months I’d worried — privately, and with deep shame — that we’d be matched with a child who wouldn’t strike me as adorable. A child I wouldn’t love fast or ferociously enough, who would feel like someone else’s daughter, one I’d want to give back. I worried that my heart might not be big enough to love any child placed before me. I didn’t need a child to look like me, but I did need a child who felt destined to be mine.
“And she’s healthy!” our social worker proclaimed. Undernourished, but healthy. Relinquished by her unwed mother at birth.
A healthy baby. I hardly registered that the girl was much older than we’d expected and agreed to — 21 months rather than 12 — and that she had speech delays.
Two years earlier, we’d spent all of 10 minutes discussing whether we might adopt an ill or special-needs child. The adoption form asked us to check off which health problems we could handle, and we checked “none of the above.” Like most parents, we wanted a healthy baby. Since we were adopting a child from an orphanage, we knew that “health” was relative, and we expected our daughter would need help catching up with nutrition and language acquisition. More than that we didn’t think we could handle. Of course, if we adopted a healthy child and she became ill, we would do anything for her. But with adoption come choices, boxes of illnesses to check or leave unchecked, and our preference was for a child with no serious health issues.
We were too excited to eat. Neil asked for the check and threw some cash down on the table. We had to get to the computer to see the photo of our little girl! I was high, euphoric. I was about to see my baby and, in a few months’ time, hold her in my arms.
Looking at the photo for the first time, we saw that she was undeniably beautiful.
Along with the photo were pages of handwritten documents with measurements — height and weight and head circumference — which, as first-time parents, didn’t mean much to us. Instead, we concentrated on the photo and the overall assessment: healthy. Neil and I had discussed the challenges of adoption at length, but we had focused on the emotional and cultural challenges, not developmental. How would we talk to our child about her birth mother? About having a different skin color and birth heritage? Could she feel both Indian and Jewish? Did those identity labels even matter? Health, we assumed, would come with good nutrition and medical care and our love and attention.
We celebrated the following night at a fancy Indian restaurant. We ordered the vegetarian tasting menu, and I tried not to think of the price of the meal. Or of the larger ethical issues surrounding international adoption: the extreme poverty that causes girls and women to give up their babies and the global inequalities that lead those babies to homes overseas. Although we couldn’t help being excited that our dream of having a child was about to come true, Neil and I knew we were going to benefit from an unwed mother’s impossible choice.
And yet, we celebrated. How could we not? We devoured strips of fried okra, the restaurant’s signature dish. We drank Kingfisher beer and held hands across the table, seated up on the balcony, surrounded by tables of wealthy Indians and Indian-American families. My baby, my baby, my baby, I saw in each of the children’s faces.
On the way home, I bought a parenting magazine. I sopped up the pages like the grease on the okra. The next morning we went shopping. I needed to connect to the baby, and buying her clothes was the closest I could come to touching her, bathing her, caring for her myself. After years of waiting, my daughter was coming. Touching the garments, folding them neatly in their plastic bags, I began to believe in the adoption, to believe this baby was mine. In what felt like pure formality, we sent the documents about the baby to a renowned New York pediatrician who specializes in international adoption.
And then we heard back.
“This is a special-needs referral,” the pediatrician explained. “She’s tiny. She’s not even on the chart. She’s suffering from malnutrition. And I’m very concerned about her head circumference. The brain develops from birth through age 2, and this child is already 21 months. And you won’t be bringing her home for five or six months. This child is going to be seriously delayed. I want you to know what you’re getting into.”
“I don’t understand,” I began. “Our social worker and the orphanage consider her a healthy child. And this is supposed to be the best orphanage in India. They feed the children on demand. How could she be suffering from malnutrition?”
“Well she’s not sick, so in that sense she’s healthy. But research has shown that some children do fine in an orphanage setting and others — no matter how good the care — can’t handle living in an institutional setting. They crave the intimacy of a parent-child relationship, and without that they start to go downhill, becoming depressed, withdrawn, like animals in a cage. This child was fine when she was born, on the chart for height and weight and head circumference. I consider this a case of failure to thrive.”
I wanted to turn her words around and make them change shape. I wanted to stuff the words back into her mouth.
The pediatrician told us our daughter would need speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy. She would need early intervention.
“Early intervention? What does that entail?” I asked.
“The state will send someone to your house several times a week. She may need ADHD medication, assistance with speech, language and fine-motor skills, and then special education services once she’s ready for school.”
“Isn’t this something we can do on our own?” I asked. “We’re willing to do anything. I’m going to be home with the baby. Neil’s taking a semester’s parental leave. Couldn’t we catch her up?”
“Oh you’re sweet,” said the pediatrician. “Sweet, and well-intentioned and naive. Listen, I’m sure she’s an adorable child. Perhaps you should get a second opinion.”
I didn’t want a second opinion; I wanted my perfect daughter back. Back home, Neil went online and looked up head circumference and height and weight charts for rural southern Indian girls. She wasn’t on that chart either.
I wished we were different people, the kind who would welcome this child, welcome the risks, with no questions asked. I wanted to help her, to make her OK. But what if I couldn’t? Could I love her anyway? To a parent, this question must be unthinkable. You love your child no matter what, accepting all limits and gifts. But we had a choice, and the magical thread that had spun us around this child for the previous two days was beginning to unwind and tangle. Until we signed the referral papers, until an Indian judge granted us legal guardianship, she was not ours. We had a choice.
Neil and I had each had our share of hardships. Neil’s mother died suddenly when he was in college, and his father died when Neil was in his 20s. My father had violent rages, and my mother stayed with him; I no longer speak to my parents. But such difficulties are mere speed bumps when compared with the poverty we saw in India. I couldn’t imagine what this little girl had already endured. Neil and I were, unquestionably, the lucky ones.
Are we bad, selfish people for wanting our luck to continue, for wanting a child with a normal IQ? How could we refuse a baby whose only “fault” was to be born to a mother too poor to keep her? And yet, we knew that if we said no, she’d likely be matched with another American couple, one more eager to welcome this child despite the risks.
Neil didn’t think we should accept the referral, and I couldn’t bear the responsibility of being the one who said we should. I wanted to be the person who would take on such a parenting challenge, who would prove the doctors wrong. I wanted to be the one who would convince Neil, and myself, that this child was ours. But already, in my mind, she’d become a burden. She was no longer adorable and perfect. Her needs frightened me.
Neil, a university professor, asked a colleague in the medical school who specializes in brain development issues to evaluate the referral. The colleague reported that there is a high correlation between a head circumference far below the mean and below-average intelligence. Mental retardation was a definite possibility. Another doctor, an expert in international adoption and the father of children adopted from India, told us she might be able to bounce back, but that she seemed different to him from a typical child in an Indian orphanage.
Our social worker read the reports, and reassured us that she wanted the best match for everyone, that if we didn’t feel right about this referral we shouldn’t take it. The baby would be matched with another family, and eventually we’d be matched with another child. But, she said, this baby might be fine.
It wasn’t the baby who was lacking something, but I. Although I understood the fears, my weaknesses and selfishness were still fanned out in front of me like playing cards. I was filled with sadness, but also with growing certainty about what choice we would make.
We turned down the referral.
Our social worker couldn’t predict when the next referral might come, and I wouldn’t wait patiently any longer. My hunger for a healthy child felt primal and all-consuming. We’d waited long enough; I wanted a doctor to fix me.
The next day Neil and I called an in vitro fertilization clinic in Denver. A week later, still adrenaline-fueled, we flew to Denver for a series of medical exams. We began to conjure up a new dream: a biological baby from the Denver clinic and an adopted baby from India. Whichever comes first, we told ourselves. Hopefully both. While remaining at the top of the waiting list for an adoption referral, we signed up for our first IVF cycle two months later, after I’d be finished with a writing residency in Tucson, Ariz.
In the desert, I thought about babies nonstop. The one we lost to miscarriage, the one we said no to and the ones we hope to have soon. I couldn’t get the photo of the baby in India out of my mind. The child I decided not to mother has made her mark on me. I am more aware of my limits and weaknesses, more in touch with my strengths.
In April, we found out that I was pregnant. I was shocked, elated. The years of waiting melted away. The morning of my first ultrasound I confided in our social worker about the nascent pregnancy, and she said the adoption would have to be put on hold for a couple of years. The baby inside of me, already mine, needed me now. That afternoon, we saw a heartbeat pulsating on the ultrasound screen. Still, I remain haunted by images of the little girl to whom I said no.

The sex industry is repulsive, but it cannot be wished away

~This one is copied~

Brooke Magnanti looks at porn and prostitution with the eyes of an advocate. Yet she still has some truths to tell

Two stories about prostitution landed this week and, despite the giggles and the pouting, a solution feels remote. The first was the dancing nuns who wriggled, inevitably, in front of Silvio Berlusconi for, if they were particularly hot nuns in that raddled old sex addict's eyes, piles of euros. The punchline is – guess what? They weren't nuns. The second was about Barack Obama's secret service agents who, on a trip to Colombia, visited prostitutes and are now in disgrace. One agent apparently refused to pay and, of all the apologies the House Homeland Security Committee has made, there has been none to the prostitute. Upstanding Officers Waylaid By Evil Foreign Sluts is already the emerging narrative, although Vote Democrat for a World Full of Hookers is obviously on its way.
Beyond repeating Berlusconi's joke – "When asked if they would like to have sex with me, 30% of women said 'Yes', while the other 70% replied, 'What, again?'" – what to say about prostitution in the age of third-wave feminism? What, in this case, constitutes freedom?
The problem, as Dr Brooke Magnanti, formerly the escort Belle de Jour, points out in her book The Sex Myth, is accurate data. Without it we are simply screaming at each other. Prostitution is notoriously difficult to sample because so much of the truth is underground; the rest is junk from those excitable sisters, prurience and fantasy, which the TV series of Magnanti's memoirs, Secret Diary of a Call Girl, did so much to fuel.
Some studies claim that drug addiction, sexual and physical abuse and early death are the prostitute's inevitable pension. The 2003 report Prostitution and Trafficking in Nine Countries: An Update on Violence and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, states that between 70% and 95% of the interviewees were physically assaulted while working as prostitutes; 60% to 75% were raped while working as prostitutes; and 65% to 95% were sexually abused as children before becoming prostitutes.
Other reports insist these studies are polluted by the over-sampling of street prostitutes, and that there are many happy experiences of prostitution. Magnanti conjures a world in which prostitutes are well-paid and independent, fearing mostly censure and criminalisation.
In her mind it is an alliance of feminists and religious conservatives who threaten the safety of prostitutes more than pimps, punters or psychopaths. The study Beyond Gender: An Examination of Exploitation in Sex Work turns, she says, "almost everything we think we know about sex work on its head", even if you have visited PunterNet, the online directory of prostitutes, and gagged at the story that tells. More than half of those interviewed for the study said "commercial sexual transactions are relationships of equality"; 77% "felt their clients treated them respectfully", and only 3% planned to stop within three years, contradicting the 2003 report which said 89% wanted to get out.
It seems the data on prostitution changes depending on who, how and where you ask, which again leaves second- and third-wave feminists beating each other with sticks. Who is the real abuser of prostitutes – the rescuer, who would have them disappear, or the enabler, who would have them multiply?
It would be easy to dismiss Magnanti as a sex addict seeking to validate her choices, but the passages where she says her status as a former prostitute devalues her testimony in some eyes are painful to read, even if sometimes her objectivity seems cracked. In the chapter on pornography, she says the absence of the missionary position in pornographic movies proves they are dedicated to female pleasure, when I suspect it is simply because there is little to see. She insists the focus on women in these films bespeaks respect when, because they are made largely for men, they would always be the focus. She also cites a few rich female pornographers as an indication the industry is not inherently exploitative.
Magnanti looks on the sex industry with the warm eyes of an advocate. She seems fixated on the financial benefits of prostitution rather than the emotional cost, and believes that the right to sell your body should stand alongside other rights, even as she acknowledges that as a middle-class woman in a progressive democracy she could make this choice. But with The Sex Myth out, it seems we know less than we did before; studies from countries experimenting with decriminalisation again have conflicting conclusions.
So, what to do? The truth that prostitution may be the best economic choice for some women is repulsive, but it cannot be wished away. In this, Magnanti emerges as a realist, while her critics, well-meaning or not, condemn women to poverty or criminality. There is a case here for the policies that she finds so dull – an end to the pay gap, to gender segregation, to occupational segregation, all of which would make women richer, and more powerful and widen their choices beyond the greasy hell of PunterNet.
The miseries of street prostitutes are obviously a matter for social policy but, Magnanti insists, there will always be women who want to be prostitutes and men who want to use them. Do they deserve a rigorous criminal justice system devoted to their protection, or not? The answer, of course, is a bitter yes.

A Bitter Reality..

~This is copied post, which I liked~

As the dream of most parents I had acquired a degree in
Software Engineering and joined a company based in USA, the
land of braves and opportunity. When I arrived in the USA, it
was as if a dream had come true.


Here at last I was in the place where I want to be. I decided I
would be staying in this country for about Five years in which
time I would have earned enough money to settle down in India.

My father was a government employee and after his retirement,
the only asset he could acquire was a decent one bedroom flat.


I wanted to do some thing more than him. I started feeling
homesick and lonely as the time passed. I used to call home and
speak to my parents every week using cheap international phone
cards. Two years passed, two years of Burgers at McDonald's and
pizzas and discos and 2 years watching the foreign exchange
rate getting happy whenever the Rupee value went down.

Finally I decided to get married. Told my parents that I have
only 10 days of holidays and everything must be done within
these 10 days. I got my ticket booked in the cheapest flight.
Was jubilant and was actually enjoying hopping for gifts for
all my friends back home. If I miss anyone then there will be
talks. After reaching home I spent home one week going through
all the photographs of girls and as the time was getting
shorter I was forced to select one candidate.


In-laws told me, to my surprise, that I would have to get
married in 2-3 days, as I will not get anymore holidays. After
the marriage, it was time to return to USA, after giving some
money to my parents and telling the neighbors to look after
them, we returned to USA.


My wife enjoyed this country for about two months and then she
started feeling lonely. The frequency of calling India
increased to twice in a week sometimes 3 times a week. Our
savings started diminishing.

After two more years we started to
have kids. Two lovely kids, a boy and a girl, were gifted to us
by the almighty. Every time I spoke to my parents, they asked
me to come to India so that they can see their grand-children.


Every year I decide to go to India… But part work part
monetary conditions prevented it. Years went by and visiting
India was a distant dream. Then suddenly one day I got a
message that my parents were seriously sick. I tried but I
couldn't get any holidays and thus could not go to India ... The
next message I got was my parents had passed away and as there
was no one to do the last rights the society members had done
whatever they could. I was depressed. My parents had passed
away without seeing their grand children.


After couple more years passed away, much to my children's
dislike and my wife's joy we returned to India to settle down.
I started to look for a suitable property, but to my dismay my
savings were short and the property prices had gone up during
all these years. I had to return to the USA...


My wife refused to come back with me and my children refused to
stay in India... My 2 children and I returned to USA after
promising my wife I would be back for good after two years.

Time passed by, my daughter decided to get married to an
American and my son was happy living in USA... I decided that
had enough and wound-up every thing and returned to India... I
had just enough money to buy a decent 02 bedroom flat in a
well-developed locality.


Now I am 60 years old and the only time I go out of the flat is
for the routine visit to the nearby temple. My faithful wife
has also left me and gone to the holy abode.

Sometimes

I wondered was it worth all this?

My father, even after staying in India,

Had a house to his name and I too have
the same nothing more.

I lost my parents and children for just ONE EXTRA BEDROOM.

Looking out from the window I see a lot of children dancing.
This damned cable TV has spoiled our new generation and these
children are losing their values and culture because of it. I
get occasional cards from my children asking I am alright. Well
at least they remember me.


Now perhaps after I die it will be the neighbors again who will
be performing my last rights, God Bless them.

But the question
still
remains 'was all this worth it?'

I am still searching for an answer.................!!!

START THINKING

IS IT JUST FOR ONE EXTRA BEDROOM???

LIFE IS BEYOND THIS ….., DON'T JUST LEAVE YOUR LIFE ……!!!!
START LIVING IT …….!!!
LIVE IT AS YOU WANT IT TO BE ……!!!
 

Gangrape in one of the most developed cities in India

23-year old girl gang-raped in Gurgaon

   Mar 12, 2012

A 23-year-old girl who worked at a pub at a Gurgaon mall near Delhi was allegedly gang-raped last night.

Media reports said the girl was inside a cab outside Sahara Mall when six men stopped the cab, dragged her out and forced her into their Maruti 800 car. She was abducted by the men at 2:30 am from the Mehrauli-Gurgaon road.

The victim told the police that after the pub closed at 2am, she had left for her house in Badarpur in South Delhi in a hired cab. Her 17-year-old brother was also with her. When their car reached near the Bristol Hotel, a car had overtaken the vehicle and forced it to stop.

Gurgaon’s Deputy Commissioner of Police (East) Maheshwar Dayal said, “We have registered a case of gangrape and abduction against unknown people.”

The taxi driver on being questioned by reporters said, “I was afraid of my life. They came and took her. I could not do anything. There were six men.”

The victim was later abandoned outside the Chhattarpur metro station.

Screengrab/ ibnlive

Based on the driver’s description of the attackers, the police is preparing sketches that will be released soon. The police will also scan CCTV footage from the mall and the pub.

This incident though, is not an isolated one.

On 17 February, a 17-year-old girl was gangraped by five of her neighbours in a moving car in Noida, near Delhi. In January this year, a 20-year-old girl from Manipur was raped in Dwarka by a man who offered her a lift.

Despite the initiatives taken by the Delhi Police to make the city safe for women, at least one rape took place every day in the city last year, as Firstpost reported earlier.

2011 witnessed 12.03 percent rise in rape cases as compared to previous year. As many as 568 rapes took place in Delhi in the year as compared to 507 cases in 2010.

In her statement to the police, the victim has blamed a co-worker for her rape. She says that after she fought with him, he persuaded a group of six men at the pub to assault her.

The police said the alleged victim was reportedly hired by the pub to engage with male customers, reported. 

Alleged gang rape victim from Gurgaon refuses medical test

Updated: March 12, 2012 17:49 IST

Gurgaon:  A 23-year-old girl who worked at a pub at a Gurgaon mall near Delhi says she was gang-raped last night. The police says the alleged victim was reportedly hired by the pub to engage with male customers.

However, the girl has refused to undergo medical test.

In her statement to the police, she has blamed a co-worker for her rape. She says that after she fought with him, he persuaded a group of six men at the pub to assault her.

She says she was with her brother and driver outside the Sahara Mall when six men overpowered her companions and forced her into their Maruti. She says she was taken to a flat nearby where she was raped. Then the men left her outside the Chhattarpur metro station.

Her brother and the driver are eye-witnesses to the alleged crime. Based on their description of the attackers, the police is preparing sketches that will be released soon. The police will also scan CCTV footage from the mall and the pub.

The cops have tracked down the car, but are still looking for the alleged kidnappers.

This incident though, is not an isolated one. On February 17, a 17-year-old girl was gangraped by five of her neighbours in a moving car in Noida, near Delhi. In January this year, a 20-year-old girl from Manipur was raped in Dwarka by a man who offered her a lift.

According to National Crime Records Bureau statistics, Delhi reported 414 rape cases in 2010 - numbers that make life in the National Capital Region very unsafe, especially for women.

Courtesy: NDTV