Story no. 1

We all are made of our experiences and people around us always have deep impression on our lives. Apart from people whom we live with and frequently interact like our spouse, parents, kids and friends, some times we meet people for a very short time. These short visits leave long lasting impact. It has happened to me a few times and I am sure this would have happened to you as well.

Two strangers meet and spend very short time together. This meeting might leave a long lasting impact on both of them perhaps life long. In this meeting there are only these two people, there is no third person involved and same things happen to them or same things they do together. Yet it would be interesting to see how differently they view this meeting, how dissimilar their perceptions are and how different the impact is on them.

One of the possible reasons may be the diversity of their backgrounds. These two people belong to different countries, professions, educational backgrounds and even gender.

Yet this is not a simple “Boy meet girl” story but, will they live happily ever after (together or not together), well lets watch out.

My night out

I am a techie or at least, that’s how people call us in Bangalore. I am a project manager working for large software company. I am happily married and have two kids. My job takes me to various countries for short and some times long periods.

I was in Philippines on one such visit and was working against tough deadlines, demanding client requirements and with only 24 hours available in the day.

It was a Monday, as usual, beginning of a new week with plans ahead for the week, open action items from last week and key milestones to be achieved for that week. There was just one small difference that it was a holiday in United Kingdom.

It was actually a working holiday for me.

If you are a government employee excited about sixth pay commission, working in a bank, a shop owner, a home maker, retired person or an unemployed , who have managed to escape the earlier dot com boom (and burst) or even have not been impacted by the latest BPO boom, let me tell you that you are part of the 99.5 million Indians for whom life has not changed much in last 30 years apart from Color TVs being cheaper, each week launch of a new 100 / 125 / 150 CC bike, scooters changing face from Bajaj Chetak to Honta Activa, “Saas Bahu” serials now guiding the code of conduct in your families.

However, if you are part of half a million Indians accustomed to working on global projects or part of multi national companies who are in the upper bracket of tax payers contributing every third rupee earned for building roads, bridges that never get built or would be built in your life time, would already know, what I am talking about.

For the benefit of the larger Indian population, who may or may never read this, let me explain that my client is in UK and no matter where I am borne or where I am working, my holidays are governed by my client country (Customer is the King. Hurrah.)

I was still working till 9.00 PM in office, as I had no family in Manila with whom otherwise, I am expected to spend the “Quality Time” on such important days.

At that time, Clio called me and asked, if I wanted to join him for a drink. Clio is my counterpart in Philippines and also a local lad borne and brought up in Manila. We all weigh the importance of person by the quantum of impact one can make in our projects and finally careers. At this equation, Clio was an important person to me and ideally I should be “very glad” to join him and that’s what I told him.

“See you in 10 minutes in the basement parking, Man” Clio replied and hung up.

He was at the drivers seat with both his hands on the steering wheel and a bright shine in his eyes as I was equally important to him on the other side of equation and he too was “Very pleased” at the moment.

“Where do you wanna go ?” Clio asked me as I sat in his car parked in the basement.

“I do not know, this is my first time in this country. I would leave that to you Clio” I said in while keeping my laptop in the back seat of his car.

He was expecting this answer and said, “Okay, I have place in mind, where they play live music and serve good food.”

“Are you a vegetarian or …….” He asked me.

“I eat anything that moves on this earth” I told him.

He was surprised. This is unlikely reply, he would get from an Indian, who would generally be a strict vegetarian or at least fussy about eating cow’s meat.

“Do you eat beef and ham ?” I nodded my head up and down indicating affirmative answer.

It must have been the umpteenth time, I was having this conversation with any one, I was going out with on any such occasion and all of this would be done with absolute precision by the subconscious mind, without any need for the conscious brain for thinking.

Interesting part starts from here and I must pay attention to this now.

“Good, you might like the pork legs. Its their specialty.” It took him 10 minutes of driving to take us to the place.

Dark lane with few cars parked on both sides of road, a stray dog, a motor cycle with side car and the only sound of faint crackling generated by neon sign board of the pub shining in red color reading “Red Light”

It didn’t take me long to realize where we were. We entered through thick wooden door like the ones they use in every bar to avoid loud music coming out on the street. Both the muscular men standing at the gate in their black T shirts and black trousers, nodded and slightly bowed as we crossed them.

It was filled with dim light falling only on the tables and the chairs remaining in the dark to provide anonymity to the occupant. The place only had 4 – 5 customers as this was a usual Monday for rest of Philippines, who do not get a holiday, when United Kingdom is observing a holiday.

There was a small stage set up at one end of the hall and there were 8 girls dressed in black hot pants and black tank tops dancing in synchronization on some local music being belched out by huge speakers.

10 – 12 girls in similar dress but in red color were pretending to be busy serving those 4 – 5 tables. However it clearly showed that we were there on off peak time or the “happy hours” as they call it.

We had a San Miguel beer each and spent some time enjoying the music and the deep fried pork legs. I must admit that Manila has an atmosphere of its own, when it comes to hospitality and warmth. The girls tried best to entertain us, tease us without crossing their limit, coaxed us, joked with us and pretended to enjoy our company to help us make feel better.

All my professional colleagues can take a cue from these girls upon customer delight and we must learn to smile from them, whenever we are fed up with “demanding customers” in our respective professions like software, BPO etc.

After spending around one h our in that place, Clio asked me, if I would like to do pub hopping and I nodded my head to express my concurrence.

We came out and started driving again on the well it roads of Manila. “how did you like it ?”, Clio asked.

I have already explained to you above that Clio was “important person” for my project and had potentially significant impact on its outcome.

You guessed it right.

“Great Place”, pat came my reply.

“Did you like any one of those” he asked me referring to 8 girls dressed in black, dancing on the floor and to the 10 girls dressed in red, serving the beer.

Not to let my guard off and not show my “animal instinct” , I just pretended to think for a while and then replied, “Well……. Not really”

“Hmmmm……What kind of place you would like to go now?” Clio asked.

My answer seemed to have challenged Clio’s confidence in hosting his foreigner friends in Manila.

Knowing very well, where he is coming from, I replied, “I have seen your choice and my confidence in you has now increased. We will go to any place you recommend. Hotter the better”

“Hotter the better” he repeated to confirm, that he picked up the clue.

“They have almost three hundred girls, I am sure, you would like at least one of them” He winked at me.

I winked back at him and said, “Alright, lets go”

We were there within 5 minutes of drive and this was a place not so different from outside than the previous place.

The only difference was in parking space. Couple of paces away from our destination, the place which was oddly named as “Miss Universal”, there was an empty plot area. This open space was used by garbage vendors and Jeepney * drivers to park their vehicles.

* Jeepneys are specially designed vehicles using old American Jeeps from world war 2. Take the chasis of jeep, put two long benches in the back and fix the metal walls and roof either in chrome or with as many colors as possible and stuff 15 people on those benches, a few hanging on sides and a few sitting on top of the vehicle, that is Jeepney from Manila for you, the “public transport” of common people.

He parked his bright shining car alongside those Jeepneys and we walked out. He did not need to explain to me that he can not park his car on the main road outside this place. He obviously can’t afford the risk of being identified by his car number parked in that area. It was clear to me.

There were around 8 – 10 children begging from passers by and there were two shops on the pavement selling cigarettes of local brand. We were frisked and enquired for not carrying any camera or camera phone before entering a big hall through a small, narrow and brightly lit corridor.

The hall was dark with a big stage surrounded by tables and chairs arranged in a restaurant manner. There were tables with 6 chairs for large groups, tables with 4 chairs for small groups and very small table with 2 chairs for singles.

Immediately on the left hand side of the entrance to the hall, there were few matured women sat in parrot green color coats and pants. These were the “managers” and asked, if this was our first time in the place.

My experience friend asked for Mr. Pol, the chief of the managers and Mr. Pol appeared from dark and greeted while slightly bowing in very typical philippino style.

He was a main in his late fiftes, approx 5 ft 2 inches tall with his hair oiled and neatly combed back straight. It was clear that he had not been to a salon in last one year. His face bore as many wrinkles as the number of chairs in the big hall. He was wearing black worn out two piece suite with black bow on the white shirt. His whole appearance bore the signature of the place, not affluent, not filthy, but a perfect “Strip Bar”.

True to the place, a young, petite philipino girl was on the stage grooving to the loud music with not a single piece of cloth on her body.

Mr. Pol guided us thru the maze of tables filled with all kind of people drinking and smoking. He placed us right next to the stage, where few chairs were lying around a table.

“The trick is to know the manager to find the right place.” Clio spoke with a shine in his eyes and a sense of achievement by occupying a seat very next to the stage, while people already sitting there were few feet far from the stage.

I had no choice, but to nod my head in appreciation upon his big accomplishment. My expressions showed that I was impressed.

Mr. Pol sat next to us, as we settled into the chairs and he took out small note pad and a pen and scribbled the table number, cover charge and the time on a thin paper with carbon beneath it. He tore the original and gave it to Clio for signature. Mr. Pol smiled and bowed before leaving.

“You are Charles and I am Jun” Clio whispered in my left ear suggesting that we should not be disclosing our original identities here.

A steward in white dress came and sat next to Clio as he took orders from Clio and nodded. Within no time, two beers appeared from dark and were served before us.

The song was changed on the stage and now there were 5 girls dancing with few clothes, that these girls will be removing while dancing in next few minutes.

“They got all sizes and shapes. Man” Clio crooned.

“Déjà vu, if you have seen one, you have seen them all” I was telling myself while still smiling at Clio to express my agreement with his enthusiasm.

It was time for my education around the “system” in Philippines. Each Girl was wearing a bikini with a circular plate hung on the left side of her waist. Different numbers were written on those circular plates. One out of five girls did not bear the circular plate.
“You just need to remember the number, if you like the girl. You can call that girl to sit besides you and drink. You can talk to the girl, touch her and if you like, ask her mobile number, if she would like to meet you in private.” Clio guided me while keenly looking at the numbers and the girls.

This worked in very simple manner. On the rear side of the hall, was a “Show Room” with two rooms. Both rooms had very bright light inside and were covered with wall from three sides and the side, which opened towards hall was covered with a black glass with a strip in the middle for customers to peep inside and select the girl, they want. Since the “Show Room was brightly lit and the hall was very dark, it is easy for customer to see the girls but the girls can not see the customers.

Of the two rooms, the right hand side room had 20 - 25 girls sitting and waiting for their turn for going on stage and performing their strip tease dance. On the left hand side there was another room, where 5 – 6 girls were sitting. If you did not like any one from the number shown on the stage, you can go to the show room and select any girl like you would go to the grocery store with different variety of food items neatly stacked and you pick whatever you like.

Perfect commoditization of women, wow what a progress, mankind has made in 21st Century.

After spending some time watching the girls on stage coming, removing their clothes and then performing their dance we saw many girls being called down by their number to go and sit besides the customer and “entertain” him. Customer was allowed to touch, squeeze, kiss and make any type of conversation he or she wants.

Each table was supervised by a manager, like Mr. Pol managed our table. Whenever a customer wanted a girl, he needs to inform the manager. The Manager would come with torch in his hand and will indicate the required girl to come behind the stage. Both customer and manager would go to the stage and manager would handover the girl to the customer. Every time, the customer held hand of the girl and walked, the girl walked a step behind holding customer’s hand. This scene reminded me of farmers in rural India holding the rope tied to their cows with farmer walking at his leisurely pace and cow silently following him.

“Did you like any one ?” Clio was determined to play a perfect host in Manila.

I replied, “I already have two numbers in mind, but I will call a girl, if you also call one.”

If your conscious does not allow you to do something, the easiest way out is to find a partner in crime. “Why can’t I do it, if my partner can do it.” This is the best way, I have found so far to cheat on my own conscious.

“Offcourse, I will !!!”, Clio beamed after seeing my progress. “Lets go and get girls”, he said.

Mr. Pol silently appeared from dark, as soon as we got up. He smiled and led us to “Show Room”.

People don’t need to be taught to read body language in the primitive professions. Especially in the world’s oldest profession, like the one Mr. Pol had. It had been only 20 minutes, since we arrived. Our beer glasses were more than half filled and our cigarettes were lit and kept on the ash tray. These were enough signs for Mr. Pol to understand that we were not going back home. If we got up, it simply means that we would like to go to the “show room” and like to pick the girls of our choice, the way we all pick vegetables from vegetable vendors in our daily lives.

Clio made an instant choice as he had the numbers in mind and just took few seconds to figure out, who he wanted to call.

I was confused as much as any first timer and a foreigner in Philippines would be. All the girls looked same to me. They all wore similar skimpy clothes and wore similar make up. All of them had prominent features, that girls of this country would have with high cheek bones, almost missing jaw line, thick lips, sharp and pointed chins with very small eyes and black, shining straight hair.

We all have animal instinct and human conscience in us. The animal and the human in me were constantly arguing as I took long time before I made my decision.

Animal was looking for big boobs and kinky looking girl. Animal had quickly calculated that he could not get “full service”, but only touch, speak, squeeze and perhaps kiss the girl at the most. Animal wanted to make most of given opportunity and definitely a “not so hot” girl would spoil the fun.

Human was surprised, curious to know why these girls agreed to do this kind of job, compassionate and perhaps instantly angst against the existing social structure, which commoditized the women.

I glanced thru the right hand side room with 20 – 25 girls and was now looking into the left hand side room, which housed six girls.

Mr. Pol was an experienced “Manager” and was not surprised at me taking long time deciding. He smiled and offered suggestions, “This one, that one, the tall one, the small one”

Clio was long gone back to his chair, holding hand of the girl and the girl walking one step behind him.




I met her


I finally reached the end of second room with my eyes now on the sixth (and the last available) girl. Unlike other girls, who were chit chatting, laughing, and some of them making obscene gestures at the customers looking from the glass wall, this one was sitting in the corner, silently gazing at a wall in front of her. She looked to be only physically present in the room with her thoughts drawn to some far place.

We all form an opinion about every body, we meet for the first time. Generally this process works like a digital camera, and can be divided into two parts eg. Capturing the image and then processing it. Both parts have their respective significance. Similarly in our first meetings, first part is capturing the visual and audio image with other senses like smell, temperature etc sending the combined data to brain for processing the image. The second part of process is performed by sub conscious brain, largely driven by our frame of mind, thought process, our education, upbringing, family values and our view towards every thing in life.

Without being aware of the impact of second part of the process, we all develop tremendous confidence in our ability to form the opinion and perception in our first meeting and strongly believe our opinions and perceptions to be correct.

Following the same rule, I also formed the first opinion about her. I could sense strange sadness in her empty eyes. She certainly did not belong there.

Mr. Pol winked at me and smiled, “You like them big, don’t you?” He said to convey his appreciation of my choice.

Its always the same. Whether we like it or not, but we all must appreciate the choice of customer in today’s global economy. Mr. Pol did it to me. The waiter / steward at any restaurant would do it to you, when you order food. I do it all the time to my customers.

In one of the most disliked manner, I held hand of “Sugar” and walked to my chair, as she walked one step behind me stretching her arm with her hand in my hand.

The steward appeared again asking “Sugar” for what drink would she like to have. Orange juice was her choice.

By that time, the drink was served, the song had changed and the girl on stage too. The DJ was playing “You are beautiful in my eyes” by Joshua, as I wondered the new definition of beauty, I was experiencing sitting here in a strip bar in Manila. “Is this beauty ?” I wondered. I just learnt a new meaning to this song.

Sugar sat on the chair besides me on my right hand side in a way that her whole body leaning over mine and I had no choice but to keep my right arm around her shoulders. She started caressing my right thigh which was crossed over the my left one and began the conversation, “What’s your name ?”

“Is this her call opening script ?” I thought.

If you have worked in a call center or have either made call to check your credit card balance, you must have experienced a Call Opening Script like, “Thanks you for calling xyz bank, This is abc, how can I help you sir ?”

“What’s your name ?” I would have answered to this question very honestly almost a million times. But the moment I was asked this time, I faked without any trouble.

“Charles” I replied.

Human body is an amazingly programmable device.

How tough is to design a computer that can itself navigate a car thru traffic, even if you put a camera, robotic arm, leg and program to drive the car in such a way that it avoids all the traffic and other obstacles while obeying all the traffic rules fed into its memory.

Now imagine designing such a device with ability to adapt to driving culture of US (where people stop their cars for pedestrians) and India (where only rule on the road is to follow no rule) at the same instance. It is very tough, if not impossible. But that is the magic of human body and brain, which gets programmed to any condition within no time.

“Where are you from ?” another scripted question.

“Why don’t you guess ?” I asked. Clio had not taught me an answer to this one and I wanted to play safe.

“Saudi ?” she guessed and I nodded my head up and down indicating affirmative answer.

It is funny, but true that many Indians with reasonably fair skin, good built and facial hair (moustache, beard etc.) are assumed to be Arabs.

There is a large Indian community in manila but mostly involved in money lending business if they are Sindhi or Gujarati. Then there are Sikhs who dominate the business of repairing motor cycles. The community is so strong that they have their own temples, gurudwaras and numerous Indian restaurants. Still they are not known to be professionals, educated and foremost frequenting the night clubs or strip bars. Hence I was mistaken to be an Arab.

I have lived in Gulf for few years and know both the resemblance and differences in appearance, accent, body structure, thought process of Arabs and Indians and I do not want to open another chapter, but want to share this with you, because you must understand what was going on in my mind, when sitting with “Sugar” I said that I am an Arab.

I grew in Rajasthan studying in a all boys school and all boys college with no siblings of my age and no girl friends. The only girl I met thru my parents is now my wife and I really had no idea to continue the conversation with a stranger of opposite gender, with very few clothes, cheap perfume, leaning all over me, so much that I could almost feel her breath on my neck.

“This is my first time to a place like this.” I opened up sounding foolish, cursing myself that Clio should have prepared me about all this.

She looked straight in my eyes and smiled in an expert manner. She found it really innovative way to open up a conversation because I am sure, no one would have started like this in the thousands of other customers, she would have entertained in past years.

Her eyes conveyed that you are lying and her smile conveyed a fake appreciation of my innocence. A perfect professional way of communicating non verbally, “I know you are lying, but I liked it.”

She thought, I am a Pro in this field and instantly felt challenged to test her prowess in this field.

Well, we all love innovations in our respective fields. I appreciate any of my colleagues finding out a newer and smarter way of doing things that we do every day. Our spouses find the change in our sexual routine very interesting.

While I was thinking that I was sheepish and sounded like novice, but the dart had instead hit the bull’s eye.

“Really ?” she exclaimed in an animated manner. “Ah ! yes.” I replied.

Her right hand had started moving over my very hairy left arm, with her left elbow firmly resting on my right thigh, which was crossed over my left leg. I was partly relieved that she had stopped caressing my right thigh. Although I was wearing a thick denim jeans, but her hand really had a sensation, which many might find desirable but was very uncomforting for me.

“So how do you like here ?” she asked. The game had started.

She found this conversation away from her routine, where people will try to behave like vultures trying to touch her private parts, squeeze her big boobs or kiss her cheeks or her lips painted with thick quote of colored wax called lipstick.

“Good !!!” I said, as any boss would reply after reviewing your presentation. It sounded out of place here.

“Do you like me ?” she asked in husky voice. “Uh, Oh, yes sure !!!” I replied.

“Will you take me to your place tonight ?” was the question that almost stumped me.

I looked like Sachin Tendulkar badly beaten and almost clean bowled on the very first delivery of match by Glen McGrath.

“Let me think about it ?” as I would reply to any question in office, that I do not want to answer.

This seems to have further challenged her because most of her previous customers would have either answered yes or no clearly.

Things are getting worse, I thought. With my natural competitive spirit, I realized that I can not lose this match. I have traveled across globe and have dealt with tough negotiations, board meetings, project plans and even encountered competition on the table tennis game. I can not lose to the person sitting next to me, with no education, no experience and obviously no repute.

I am going to take this head on, I decided. And naturally the body resonates your thinking in its own way called “Body Language”. I turned towards her, straightened by legs a little bit and crossed my left thigh over my right thigh now to point my left knee towards her and I looked straight in her eyes.

“You are beautiful ?” I said and I actually meant it. “Thank you” she said in her philipino accent.

This challenge had stopped the constant argument between the animal and human within me. The Human had taken over but in the sporting avatar, having decided to win the duo.

“How old are you ?” I had now started thinking and behaving like a bastard and a frequent club visitor. Human brain is the best programmable device, I told you.

“Twenty” she replied.

For how many years, would she be repeating the same answer, I wondered and quick came another question from me. “How long have you been working here ?”

“This is my first time too.” She mockingly said taking the conversation to my opening remark, where I said, it was my first time.

We both laughed and the hawk eye of manager sitting some where in the dark relaxed as he saw us behaving “naturally”. He might have sensed my discomfort earlier and was relieved to see me behaving the same way, his regular clients would behave.

He appeared and asked, if I needed any thing. I took out a cigarette from my pocket and indicated that I needed the lighter. He nodded, bowed and took out lighter from his pocket to light my cigarette.

“Sugar” took the lighter from manager and lit my cigarette. Manager was pleased with his employee putting all the training into action.

“Enjoy yourself sir.” He said and disappeared again in the dark.

“There are five girls on the stage, which of them you find most beautiful ?” I asked Sugar.

“Hmmm, the second from left. She replied after a brief mock thinking guesture.

This helps me understand her standards and base line of beauty, as they all looked same to me otherwise.

She had clearly understood that she was interacting with a really “different” customer this time, as no body would have asked this question also to her in her previous thousands of customers.

Human in me had taken full control and I had decided some objectives for this meeting and had determined that I will achieve them.

“Tell me something about yourself.” I asked

“What ?” She was genuinely surprised and smiled. First time, I saw her real expressions. She did not look like a whore, as she did with her artificial smile.

“Tell me about your family, friends, childhood etc. etc.” I Said.

“But Why ?” She almost protested in surprise

“Because I want to know you as a human being and not as a bar girl.” I said

“Well, my name is Sugar and ….” I interrupted, “That is your nick name. What is your real name ?” I asked

Ella she said and told me that she is from a province called General Santos. Her father died when she was 12 and her mother was a fish vendor and was ailing with heart disease and could not work any more. She had two elder brothers, but did not support her or her mother. They had no regular jobs and had their families to support too.

Philippines follows more or less a US mirrored education system with nursery, kindergarten, 7 years of elementary school and then 4 years of high school followed by 4 years of college.

She had dropped out after completing first year of college, as she could not afford education any more and had to work.

No one would give her any job without college education and hence had come from her province to work in Manila Metro to support herself and her mother.

Here the only job she would find was this one and worked here for last few months.

“How much do you earn in a month ?” I asked.

She smiled and tried laughing it away. She had a smart way of escaping this question by pretending not to understand it.

I kept insisting as I was smarter than her and have interacted across diverse cultures and languages in many countries. This was not new to me, I have seen people pretending not to understand the question, when they don’t want to answer.

I told her that I will call her manager and will ask the manager to translate the question to her in her native language, Tagalog.

“Some times 2000, some times 3000 a month.” She surrendered to my first degree interrogation and replied.

There was a shame on her face, a sense of helplessness for not being able to save her grace and vanity while answering this.

It was evident, that she had programmed herself to strip all her clothes on the stage, but still do not feel insulted. This question really made her look more vulnerable, hurt and exposed.

Don’t we all have different degrees of exposures ? Some make us uncomfortable and some really don’t. She was out of her comfort zone now.

“Why ?” I was equally shocked and almost thought this to be a lie. “She must be earning this in a night.” I thought.

“Look, I am not a dancer.” She replied. “ I do not go out on the stage and dance. Dancers have a budget. They get 650 pesos every night. I do not have a budget. I am only a model. If a customer selects me, I go sit besides him, talk, tease him, allow him to touch my body. The customer has to buy a drink for me. That allows him to have me for an hour besides him. You pay 400 pesos per drink for me and I get only 100 pesos out of that. If customer likes, he buys more drinks for me within an hour and if not, then I go back to the room after an hour. Some nights, I get 2 – 5 drinks and some nights I get none.”

“What if, some one takes you to his place ?” I asked in disbelief.

“I don’t go out. I am a shy girl.” She answered.

I found it really amusing a shy girl working in strip bar. It did not fit in my logical mind and I thought, this is another of the “Script” taught to her by her manager.

At the end of the day, its all in our minds. Any thing easily available will lose its value and will not command price. I was sure that managers must have taught them to behave instantly shy, when some one asked them out, because a customer asking a girl out would mean that he has already made his choice and now its time to negotiate the price.

Where was the shyness, when she started leaning all over me and caressing my thighs going very near to the “golden triangle” between my thighs but never really reaching there to keep the tease on. I thought it was perfect training to them.

I was determined to find out the truth and reminded her, that she asked me in the beginning of conversation that if I wanted to take her to my place.

“Its expensive. You will have to pay 5000 pesos.” Thinking that high price would deter me from doing that and will help her avoid that situation.

“How much do you get out of the 5000 pesos, that I will give to the manager ?” I asked

“2000 Pesos only.” She said, “But I don’t go out.” Her voice was firm and clear.

“What if I call you directly without involving your manager ? Would you go out to my place ? How much will you charge ?” I asked

“Its up to you.” She replied

I was now confused. I was expecting a denial, a negotiation, false excuses etc. “You will come, if I give you 2000 Pesos ?” I asked

“Its up to you.” Her reply was same.

“But I do not want “Full Service”, you understand ? I just want to talk to you.” I had started setting right expectation.

“Its up to you.” Looked like these were the only words, she knew.

“Okay !!!” I didn’t know how else to respond. I really was not serious about calling her to my room. I am not the kind of guy, who will even dream of buying a one night sex, forget about having any relationship outside marriage.

“But how do I meet you ?” She asked.

I responded with counter question, “What time your shift ends ?”

“At 4.00 in the morning.”
“Okay, come to my room after your shift.” I couldn’t believe myself, that I was telling this to her.

“Where do you stay ?” she asked. “Hotel Shangri-La” I replied to her.

Here we are two people, stranger to each other, one a first time visitor and other a non regular employee, sitting in a strip bar under cautious eyes of managers, striking a deal against the rules of bar. I have never done this kind of adventure in my life before.

I wanted to check validity of her proposal while retaining the one way communication path through which I could reach her, if I wanted to. But she could not until I allowed it. Smart, huh !!

I needed a way to contact her without sharing my contact details. I needed her mobile number, if she had one. My quick mind calculated the options. She can not write her mobile number on a paper, because the only paper we had was tissues lying on the table in a dingy tissue holder and I didn’t have a pen either. Besides, it would be too risky for her to write. This would be an obvious enough gesture to get her fired from the only job she had.

One of us usually gives a missed call to other one, when we have to exchange mobile numbers in a normal condition. But this wasn’t normal one. Her mobile must be in some locker or in her purse lying in the show room, where she would usually wait for a customer to pick her up. I did not want to risk myself by taking out my mobile to dial / feed her number.

“Just tell me your phone number” I said in low tone. “I will memorize it.”

“917-765-0765” she said with a clear disbelief in her eyes.

“917-765-0765” I repeated and her eyes widened in surprise. She hit my right biceps with her soft fist, the way girls do it to their men to express their appreciation.

I thanked Clio on my way back to hotel for showing me around Night out at Manila, but did not share any of the details about my conversation with Sugar apart from just “She was hot ! Man.”

I sent a Text Message thru my mobile to her mobile number stating my room number and hotel name. This was my way of giving her confidence about me by sharing my mobile number with her. She responded that she will be there by 4.30 AM and she indeed arrived.

Soon followed another message, “I don’t have money for taxi, will you pay the taxi driver, when I arrive ?”

“Yes” I replied.


In my room


I was not sure, if hotel would allow me to invite a guest, that too a female in her twenties to my room at 4.30 AM. I was waiting in the valet area of the hotel smoking nervously, when she indeed arrived in a yellow and green cab.

I paid 100 pesos to the taxi driver escaping his eyes, knowing that it was his daily routine to deliver bar girls to such hotels and he knew every thing. I still preferred to behave like a pigeon, which closes its eyes upon seeing the cat, as if cat is also not seeing him any more.

I turned my head to the other side, and saw the valet employee of hotel looking at me. I felt like a girl standing on the stage with my clothes stripped down.

I knew that every one knew, what I was doing. What I did not know, was that it was daily routine for them to see this almost 20 times in a night and it really didn’t matter to them at all.

Ella walked two paces behind me with her head bent down right from the valet point to the lobby, from the lobby to the lift. The same manner in which the cow walks behind the farmer in rural India.

Once in lift, I mad eye contact with her and she smiled. It took few seconds for lift to travel from Lobby to 24th floor.

Alone in lift with a girl at my disposal, I thought of physical advance and touching her or putting my arm around her waist. I thought of giving her a beer hug and kissing on her lips. I thought of gently holding her hand and asking her to come near me.

All the while, she was smiling and her fingers constantly playing with her hand bag.

My chain of thoughts was broken with the cling sound, that the lift makes upon its arrival at destination floor.

I have worked in high rise buildings and have been in an elevator with a stranger of opposite gender. Never in past, have been stormed by such thoughts earlier. This short journey against the gravity was different for sure.

The doors of lift softly opened and the female voice of lift announced the twenty fourth floor.

I slipped out of the lift and gestured with my left hand for the lady to come out, like a gentleman would do to any known lady.

This was too much for her and she was enjoying every moment of her company with a gentleman all the while fully convinced that this gentleman will soon turn into an animal hungry for sex. She must have been through this few times in her professional career earlier.

I escorted her into my room. Room was clean. Dim lights appeared on the wall from concealed lamps, as soon as I slid the card key into the socket. The room was a standard five star hotel room with small corridor with cupboard on left and bathroom on the right side, There was a bed with Navy Blue bed cover, a peacock blue sofa with a coffee table on the right hand side and a TV, a reading table, small refrigerator on the left hand side. In front, there was a wall of complete glass from floor to ceiling covered with white linen lining and indigo blue curtains in contrast to the deep blue carpet with floral design.

Ella went and stood near the curtains. I pulled the curtains apart and there was magnificent view of Makati city of Manila with bright lights. It was dark at 4.30 AM and as she later told me, she felt like starry sky at her foot steps. She had been to such a place for the first time.

I asked, “Would you like to have a coffee”

“I am hungry. Do you have something to eat”, she replied.

The only thing, I had were few apples and bananas in the complementary fruit basket from hotel and I offered an apple to her.

“Let’s have coffee”, she announced. Apple or Banana after a night long shift at strip bar was not her idea of filling the stomach.

I switched on the electric cattle and poured coffee, sugar and dairy whitener into two mugs while waiting for water to boil. True to its name, Nestle instant coffee was ready in a minute


“Can I use our bathroom”, she asked and entered into bathroom without waiting for my answer.

The light spread from the translucent glass door of bathroom, as she switched on the light after closing the door. I could hear tap running in bathroom, followed by some jingling sound. I was thinking of next steps.

Suddenly the realization of being with a stranger in a room all alone struck me.

“How much, do I know her. What experience do I have in such situations ? What if, she is a cheat and tries to extort money from me ? Is she carrying a gun or a weapon to handle stupid people like me?”

It’s a natural exercise for a project manager to perform “Risk and Mitigation” before starting any new project.

“Something has to be done quickly”, I thought and suddenly glanced upon her hand bag lying near the coffee mugs.

Without wasting a second, I sprung from sofa and opened her handbag to check the belongings. There was a hair brush, a perfume, a moisturizer, a lip balm, a small hand towel, a lipstick, some cotton and her mobile.

I was relieved to find no weapon or any objectionable material in her hand bag.

She certainly is not a regular for private visits to customers, as the regular ones must be carrying condoms with them for their own safety, Animal suggests.

She was telling truth an hour ago, that she had no money to pay to the taxi driver, as I found no money in her bag. In fact, she had no money to go back to her home too and she still smiles more than me. Human reminds me.

The room was filled with darkness again, as Ella switched off the bathroom light and opened the door and stepped out. Inspired from Bollywood movies, my imagination suggested that she would step out with some tempting clothes on her or perhaps with no clothes.

Unlike my silly imagination, she was in her full clothes, washed and clean face without makeup and not even a hint of a fake expression on her face or invitation / temptation in her eyes, that she bore at her work place, or the mask of lusty smile, any such girl would wear for her customer.

She smiled at me and picked up her coffee and courteously said thanks to me. We both started sipping our coffee. I was still in my thoughts

I certainly was not keen on having sex with her or for that matter with any one outside my marriage. Why, the hell have I invited her to my room.

“To talk to her and know her. To understand, why would some one indulge into sex for money”, the human in me reminded me.

“Come on, you liar. You are enjoying the thrill of your manhood by inviting a young woman into your room.” The animal taunted back at the human in me.

“In your whole life, you have never dated a woman. You always thought of yourself too incompetent of flattering, coaxing or seducing a woman. With your kind of plain looks, dull personality and no knowledge of how women think, you have been reasonably confident of your incapability in this game.

This whole episode is turning out to be a mind game, an adventure, giving a false imagination to you of achieving all those successes with women. “

The human in me was playing the role of devil’s advocate.

“So what, don’t we all play the video games driving cars at crazy speeds, banging into each other, doing those crazy stunts. What is wrong in a little bit of thrill ?”

Animal in me is in no mood to give up.

“So, You wanted to talk to me”, She said and chain of my thoughts broke again.

“Yes”, I replied.

“So talk”, she said with subtle professional reminder in her voice, conveying that she was ready and it was time for me to do what I want to do.

Those two words, were enough to tell me that she would play it by the ear. She would immediately fake the arousal, if I made any physical move and will happily wait and perform philosophical discussion, if that is what I wanted to do.

I wondered, how she can be so calm and emotionless with some one about to have sex with her. But that is professionalism for you.

The difference lies between a surgeon using a knife to cut stomach of patient and an enraged killer using a knife to cut stomach of his enemy. The difference lies between a five star chef using well researched, award winning recipe to dish out a great looking but tasteless creation and a loving mother cooking simple meal for her kids.

The surgeon and the chef are professionals whereas the killer or the mother have power of emotion.

The very thought of detaching sex from love had put me off. This is the feeling, that has kept me loyal to my wife not only after marriage, but much before, I married to her, or even knew her.

That’s correct. Right from child hood, Indian society stresses on abstinence before marriage and celebrates loyalty after marriage.

“Is this, how you talk” she asked animating my silence with her finger on her lips, as she snuggled in sofa with me, allowing her body to contact me. This might be her way to remind, that she is there in her entirety, ready to bare, ready to get laid and later paid.

Perhaps it was not her first encounter with customers like me, whose intellectual juices will start overflowing in such situations and who will not mind paying her for listening to her scripted stories romanticizing the struggle, sorrow and pains of being a prostitute. Such customers will tell her that they understood her grief, they will express sympathy to her and move on with a promise to see each other again.

A promise, both the customer and the girl would know upfront to be false, both will not believe for sure and will still make that promise to each other.

That is the precise definition of “Business Protocol”.

“Have you ever come across a person like me, who will call you into his room for a private visit and sit like a log without doing any thing or even talking”, I asked her.

“I don’t know. I do not go out. I am a shy girl. I only do it for money. You see, I am not a dancer, I only entertain the visitors at club.”

“So, how come you are here with me” I asked.

“You seemed a nice guy, you were different from others who behave like vultures in the club. They are clearly hungry and they hurt. You did not even touch me. After I gave you my number and I went inside, I told this to my friend Angela.”

“Angela is an expert dancer and she frequently goes for private visits to customers. She immediately told me that its perfectly ok for me to meet you and go to your room. She knew that its unlikely that you will ask me for sexual favor. She laughed at you and told me that she and all her friends will die with hunger if all men were like you.”

“Hmmm” I couldn’t respond, so I just hummed.

She continued, “But you know, I think, Angela and all her friends would be loved, cared and respected as wives and mothers, if all the men were like you”

This was straight from the heart of two girls into prostitution. Angela was blunt, plain and as candid as experience would make her whereas Ella was touched, optimistic, and still believed in life.

It was 6.00 AM and now she was sure that Angela was right and she would get paid by spending rest of morning, talking to me rather than faking an orgasm for a few currency notes.

“Okay, tell me something about yourself.” She said.

“Both of my parents were small kids, when they moved from Karachi to India during partition. They would have lived in different refugee camps and would have received different facilities by the very generous Indian government. It was their destiny that after 12 years of settling down in India, they met and married thru their respective families. It was my destiny that after 10 years of their marriage, I was borne in that family.

My father was a government servant, who in 1970 was a proud owner of a Hercules Bicycle and owned a small house in a small town in western India named Jaipur.

Yes, that is when and where I was born. Next 20 years of my life were very uneventful and I do not remember any thing special apart from my summer holidays at my maternal grand father’s place.

I studied in a school ran under a tree and learnt writing alphabets using wet charcoal on a wooden plate.

The temperatures ranged from minimum 2 degrees Celsius to maximum 15 degrees in winters. In summers it would be between 16 to 46 degrees. My mother would encourage me to take bath early morning every day in all seasons. Along with an old shirt, my mother would give me only shorts to wear in all seasons. She always told me that braving the weather would make my muscles strong and resilient to adversities and will develop strength in me to face any difficulty in life.

The reality was that my parents could never afford to buy me trousers, because due to increasing height at that age, would mean that trousers will need to be replaced sooner than shorts. Generally new shorts were knee long and would last for two years before they stop fitting me. Trousers could not be worn for so long. Besides, trousers would require more cloth for stitching than shorts and where would that extra money come from.

“And what about early morning bath” Ella spoke for the first time, since I started my story.

“Oh, its because the water supply was only available for 30 minutes of early morning every day and we could not afford to buy too many buckets for storing water, forget about thinking of having an electric geyser for heating the water during winters. The only option, we had was to take bath with running tap instead of stored water”

“Your mother was right. You are a strong person” Ella said. I was comforted to see that unlike her friend Angela, she did not ridicule my inability to indulge into mindless sex, She rather saw this as strength of my character.

I continued, “Twenty years back, when I was in my college, my father retired. My Father continued to work after his retirement from Government job as he supported the family. I started working as an accountant at a cloth merchant’s shop during my college days and started earning my pocket money as my pay at the cloth shop was not decent enough for me to support my family.”

My father was a very content man, who derived happiness from smaller things in life like first rain of the season, smell of fresh bread and playing flute in free time rather than chasing money. He believed in spending less and saving more for better life. This always ensured that we lived with limited means and wore shorts instead of trousers.

My mother always wanted me to study sincerely and become a doctor or engineer or at least do some higher studies to be able to earn decent living. She never expected this to improve her own lifestyle, but it was rather a struggle of freedom from the content nature of my father.

This whole situation somehow created a desire in me to study, earn respectable living and more than any thing, inculcated value for quality of life in me.”

In the course of reaching my desired position, I did conduct trials and errors, learned from my mistakes and moved on.

After my college, instead of pursuing advanced studies, I decided to pursue money and left for United Arab Emirates.

That was around 18 years ago and it took me an year to realize that I had selected a wrong direction.

“Why, what happened in that one year” Ella asked

I continued, “Upon my landing on airport, I was received by the chief accountant of the company that was owned by an individual. I was deployed in the warehouse as a porter. In humid and hot conditions, I used to work under tin shade at two shifts. Morning shift from 8 – 12 was for emptying the containers from port. There was incoming goods in form of cartons of readymade garments and shoes.

Evening shift of 4 – 8 was for taking orders from wholesale department, sort the garments according to size, color, pattern and price as per sales order, pack them in cartons, mark the cartons for delivery address and load them onto the outgoing trucks.

“What happened between 12 and 4 in the afternoon” Ella asked

It was so hot, that no body worked in those times. Every body used to come back home, have dinner and sleep for three hours.

After working for few months, I was shifted to assist the marketing team where I used to carry two suitcases full of samples with the chief salesmen. While they showed the samples and booked orders with prospective customers, I learnt the skills of selling. During those times, I realized that I did not belong there.

As soon as my contract for one year was over, I came back started working in a local company at India and resumed my studies. I completed my MBA and started my professional career.

I got married to my beautiful wife, blessed with two healthy sons and progressed my career with various multinational companies. Now I have reached a stage where cost of one day of room rent at this hotel is more than what you earn in one whole month.”

“Really”, Ella’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How much room rent you pay for this room” she asked

“Ten Thousand Pesos per night” I replied.

“Wow” she exclaimed without a slightest hint of anguish or despair.

However, it forced me to think about the magic of mankind. Where some one spends more money in a night than another can earn in whole month.

“Don’t you ever feel anguished at this fact that people like me lead such a good life and spend so much money while you are forced to do a job like this” I asked Ella

The plain and pure smile was still on her lips.

“You are a strong man. The way you have come up in your life is incredible and you must get to lead good life. I think it is okay. You struggled a lot, studied hard, worked hard, so you must get good money.” She replied

“So, why you called me here, Charles” She asked.

“My name is not Charles” I replied. Now that some trust was built, I decided to be honest rather than playing dirty tricks of flesh trade.

“I know that” She quipped.

“I am not asking your real name. I am asking you, why did you call me here” She was as plain and sober as she could be.
“I was feeling lonely and my friend took me to that place, where I met you” I replied.

“Yes, but why did you call me to your room” She repeated her question without any frustration, impatience or aroused curiosity.

“I don’t know” I let my guard off and told her the truth and finally smiled for the first time in the whole evening, since I met her for the first time

“You look so sad. Why are you so sad” She asked

“I am not sad, may be my face is like this” I told her.

“In our corporate world, every one wears an artificial smile. So do I, while in office or in business meetings. But we really struggle to find a reason to smile in our lives”.

She smiled back without a single word spoken. She yawned and said, “I am feeling sleepy. Its 9.00 AM. Can I sleep here, would you mind, if I sleep here”

I was not comfortable at the thought of hotel room service guy coming to clean the room normally at 10.00 AM on Sunday and find a girl sleeping in my bed.

I told her that I was expecting a friend at 10.00 AM and would not want to be seen with her to avoid any confusion.

“How much should I pay you” I asked.

“Its upto you” the reply came in almost instant.

I handed her a 500 pesos note and a hundred pesos note.

“This hundred is for your taxi back to home and this five hundred is for spending few hours with me. Thanks for coming here. I think, I made a good friend. Thanks for listening to me with so much patience. I really feel light and this has given me a new perspective to the life.”

She kept the money in her back and started getting ready to leave.

This is not what I expected. I was expecting a little negotiation, as by now she was aware of my financial status and she knew that I could afford to shell out a few more hundred pesos, if she argued. It was logical for me to expect a little more argument to squeeze a little extra juice out of me.

But, there was no such glimpse from her response.

“Bye” she said, while opening the door of the room.

“One more thing” My project manager’s brain was still at work, after loss of sleep and after so much happened during the night.

She stopped at the door and looked back at me.

“Please do not recognize me, if you find me anywhere in future, in a mall, in a restaurant or at any other place.”

I felt extremely guilty at my own hypocritical statement. All along my life, I have enjoyed reputation of being Mr. clean. Never involved in any scandals, any relationship, any controversy and I certainly did not want to invite any trouble.

I Imagined myself having dinner in a restaurant with a crucial client and suddenly a lady walking up to me and asking me how am I or where have I been.

People around me can immediately differentiate a prostitute from a potential colleague of mine. So different is the way we carry ourselves in our public lives.

“Sure, I can understand it. Don’t worry……Charles” Ella replied with a smile, before I could explain my above thoughts to her.

“By the way, I generally give parting gift to all my customers, but I don’t think you need it so I will not give it to you. I hope you don’t mind it” She said with a meaningful smile on her lips.

I re-assured her. “That’s fine Ella. You have anyway been very nice to come here and spend time with me. You have given me fresh perspective. That it the best gift you could give me. Thank you for this.”

“Okay”, She chirped and left.

Perspective - His

Within few minutes of Ella’s departure, the room bell rang and I looked thru the key hole. I was the room service guy waiting for me to open the door, so that he could clean the room.

I had stayed for 10 days in the same room by then and had seen the same guy atleast 3 – 4 times in those 10 days.

But never was scared to meet his eyes. He looked at me and smiled to say good morning. It was the same smile as any other day, but I was feeling like a thief caught red handed.

“Had a good time sir” seemed the hidden message in his smile to me. May be the smile was the same as any of the past meetings. It was my own guilty conscience, that was reading too much in between the lines.

“I am sorry, I am tired and need to catch some sleep” I told him escaping from responding to his smile and he courteously left.
I hung the paper sign reading “Do Not Disturb” outside the door knob and closed the door from inside.

I had been up whole night and even almost half of the day. I was empty stomach and feeling tired. I hopped onto my clean, serene and soft bed. I could feel the smell of fresh and crisp bed sheet. I tucked two soft pillows under my neck and closed my eyes. The room was little bit cooler than I wanted so I adjusted the temperature on the Air conditioning panel and slid myself into the heavenly warmth of blanket.

All this time, I could not stop wondering that how a person, who is forced to sell her body can remain so content and satisfied with her life. How can a person not have any complaints to her parents for not supporting her, to her brothers who estranged here, to government for not doing any thing for unemployed youth of Manila and finally to god for giving her a prostitute’s life that meant making her earning her bread by forcing her to have sex with strangers.

How could she have power of trust on me, that she did not have a single penny in her handbag, when she hired a taxi to take her from strip bar to my hotel at 4.00 AM and why did she not ensure immediately upon entering the room to ask for her charges. How did she believe that after spending time with me, she will get enough money from me to not only go home but also to manage her meals for next day.

At the time, when insurance companies work tirelessly to sell unit linked insurance policies to us to ensure that after 35 years, when we will get old and when we will retire, we will be able to maintain the same standard of living, that we do today. Financial wizards have devised endowment plans to ensure that I would be able to pay for my sons college education after 15 years from now without burning a hole in my pocket then.

Here I met a girl, who did not know if she would have enough money to buy her next meal and she still was smiling, content, happy and ready to trust a stranger like me, who calls her to his hotel room for “Private meeting”

I have a good wife, nice family, big house and an expensive car apart from a cushy job. But I immediately lose temper, when some one acts funny on road in traffic. My rage hits the roof, the moment I do not get service for few minutes at the hotel reception. I express anger because of delayed promotion or a salary rise below our expectation. I bitch and whine about non co operative colleagues and demanding customers all the time. I often blame my family members for not understanding me. I bang my fist when my laptop takes few more seconds to boot up. A small well drafted arrogant email can leave me infuriated and spoil my day very easily.

Here she was, with not enough money to go back to her home after having worked for whole night in an ugly place like MU (Miss Universal). How could she smile so much. I never even felt faintest hint of despair, anger or complaint in her about her work, money or any aspect of her life.


After a little bit of tossing between the sheets, I finally surrendered to fatigue.


Perspective - Her


This was just another day at office for her. She was not unfamiliar to the feeling of hunger and fatigue in morning hours.

She thought, “All men are bastards”.

Whenever I go to such visit, I always go to bathroom to wash my face, I always leave my handbag outside with its tiny steel chain tucked inside the zipper.

I pretend to spend a little more time in bathroom and most of the customers check my handbag and I find out because my bag is never found the same way, as I kept it with its tiny chain tucked inside the zipper.

They always fail to find out my secret weapons. My perfume spray bottle is indeed condensed chloroform in disguise. My money and my NBI* is always tucked in the secret cavity in the sole of my shoes.

* NBI is photo ID issued by National Bureau of Investigation. It’s a police clearance certificate applicable in Philippines, mandatory for all prostitutes

There are Bad Bastards who attack at the moment I enter their room. Like hungry wolves trying to dig their teeth into dead animal, these people are desperate to offload their manhood into me. Such bastards are matter of 15 minutes. They fall asleep after their hunger is satisfied and I clean up their wallets without any hesitation

Then there are bastards, who play it nice and slow. They are the difficult ones and take their time in opening up and are the ones, I hate most. They would behave like connoisseurs, who insist on having three course meal ie. Foreplay, intercourse and then
afterplay. Some of them would even insist, that I sleep in their arms, as if I am their wife. These are the people, who need my magic perfume spray. In addition to wallet, such men lose their watches, bracelets and most importantly their wedding rings.

Then there are bastards, who insist on me telling my story to them and they expect me to sob and express my wish to seek their help in pulling me out of this flesh trade. These people will shed crocodile tears, and will touch my shoulders or arms to express sympathy. They will cajole me, caress me and finally get down to the same business. These are people, who can not have sex without emotion. So, if they do not get intimacy and arousal as emotion, they can manage with my faked sorrow also. Its like eating the bread with salt and pepper, when you don’t get butter and Jam to apply on your sandwich. Such bastards anyway pay high value.

But, this one was a different bastard. For once, somebody thought of me as human being. Instead of giving me false sympathy, he instead seemed more engrossed in correcting his own perspective towards life.

He was a good bastard. He was at least loyal to his wife and valued his family.

I decided not to use any of my tricks with him. I could have sent him to sleep, applied my perfume or used my knife, anything on him. His wallet was thick and inviting. But he did not even touch me.

So I pardoned him. I did not touch his wallet. I did not even look at his expensive watch or ring.

Most importantly, I did not give him my parting gift, which I, Ella Lopez, give to all my other beloved bastard customers.

AIDS !!!