I am Kamala: A story of perseverance

At twelve, Kamala* believed her dreams were just beginning. A man in Chennai had promised her a role in the movies, a ticket out of poverty, and into a world she had only seen on film posters. With a small bag and big hopes, she left home, unaware that her journey would not lead to fame, but captivity.

The agent took her to Goa, where she was sold into a brothel. “We were kept in a line, and the client would pick whom to be with,” she recalled. “All of us were young, twelve or thirteen. When we refused, they denied us food. We were taught to smoke, drink, and do everything. If we protested, they would burn us with cigarettes.”

Once, she tried to run away. “They took me to a bungalow, and there were four men instead of one. I tried to escape, but they caught me,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes distant.

Years later, Kamala somehow managed to return to Chennai, telling her handlers she wanted to visit her ill family. But freedom came with its own kind of prison. “No one would give me a job. People saw me as a sex worker, a tag that never leaves,” she said quietly. “Without education, family, or help, what was I supposed to do?”

With no options left, she went back to the streets. The lanes, bus stands, cinema halls, and beaches. “Some men wouldn’t even pay. Some hit us. Some came drunk. You can’t say no,” she said.

In 2000, a diagnosis changed everything. Kamala tested positive for a sexually transmitted disease. It was then that she met the Indian Community Welfare Organisation (ICWO), an NGO working with vulnerable women. “They told me about HIV, safe sex, and health awareness. I joined as a peer educator. That was the start of a new life,” she said.

Now 60, Kamala spends her days walking through the same streets, but for a different reason. As a field worker and educator with ICWO, she helps women who once stood where she did. “We meet women who are scared or ashamed to talk about their health. We explain that testing isn’t shameful, it’s a strength,” she said. “We’ve identified more than 150 HIV-positive women and helped them get treatment. At first, many wouldn’t come for counselling. Now, they come on their own.”

Her eyes light up when she speaks of her children, both educated in government institutions and now working. “ICWO helped me send them to school. Our children are what keep us going. Their future, away from this life, is what makes us happy,” she said, smiling.

“The police never helped us. They used to beat us, take our money, and threaten us with false cases. We were scared all the time,” she recalled. Hospitals, too, she said, treated them like they did not deserve care.

Through her work, Kamala now ensures others do not face the same silence. She trains women in sexual health awareness and livelihood skills, and runs small learning sessions in the community. “When we were young, no one told us what was right or wrong. Now, we try to guide the next generation,” she said.

Even after decades, the wounds of betrayal and abuse have not fully healed. “Whatever it is, my life is ruined,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. 

Then, after a pause, she added softly, almost to herself, “Something is missing in life. That is mohabbat (love).”

*name changed.