Beautiful Curse

They say write what you know. I did not do that at all. I look forward to any advice for my first foray into putting some writing forward and I apologize in advance for any stereotype/trope or misinformation. Also, sorry it takes so long to get to the sex!

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I had scarcely stepped off the screaming locomotive before I was overtaken by the lively din of the crowded city awaiting me.

It was my first time setting foot in a foreign land, let alone India; for I had stayed entirely aboard the train on the long line from Paris. Life in the chain of cabins suited me, for I was rather sedentary in my occupation as well as my recreation back home. This trip, and my boarding the train, was a departure from my old life, and I was optimistic to begin anew in the subcontinent of old.

Days of soft music and candid conversation had dampened my ears, the veritable explosion of sound awakened me and I felt the course of my new life flow through me.

I waded along with the crowd of the departing passengers and hailed a rickshaw to take me to my new position at the French consulate several busy streets away.

I spoke to him in English, which seemed to visibly irk him. I shrunk at his reaction and was hesitant to remain in his charge. He didn't say a word to me but carried me to my destination regardless, recognizing the name of the consulate I said to him. I sat back in the cart and tried to get past the terse exchange.

My relatives, beloved by the local government, had helped secure the position for me when I expressed my desire to travel and begin fresh.

Though I had lived in France my entire life, I was raised as pure an Englishman as one from the kingdom, though without any of the familiarity with the kingdom itself. Such an unusual cultural melding had been useful, as the authentic French I associated with had always a diverting opinion on the situation and knowing English in India, though being officially French, would satisfy the resentful members of the native populace.

The rickshaw driver took no further interest in me aside from my destination and I watched the buildings and locals crawl by. There was color like I had never seen before, though the people who lived and worked there everyday had paid it no mind, as is the custom anywhere.

I saw a melding of cultures: whites such as myself and other Asians interspersed within the varying shades of brown of the native Indians. British officials in their signature pith helmets bobbing above the heads of their dour subjects. The Indians cut a path around these haughty others instinctually, neither group looking the other in the eye.

I shuddered at this but quickly forgot about it at the sight of the natives' attire. Women wearing bright, colorful sarees and dresses and blouses of more European influence in varying degrees of beauty per their caste. Men wore simpler colors and dress, admittedly not catching my eye as much as the ladies had.

I was soon dropped off on the sidewalk before the consulate and left without a word by my very dejected driver who scarcely took my money before dragging his cart back to the busy streets.

I breathed in deeply and exhaled, imagining it to be conducive to the start of a great first day in a new world.

I was greeted warmly by my more pure French counterparts and shown to my office. Clerical work was natural to me and I needed little explanation before I got to work on the backlog of emigration applications. Out my window was a view of another part of the city on both banks of a wide river. The women in their oranges and yellows at the riverside caught my eye and I watched them for a moment in between applications.

They had clothing with them in baskets. Some had more than others, and they were slapping it against stones set in the shallow ends of the river. I could not hear it through the window but I could feel the wet thud against the rocks set to their different rhythms. I thought about it as I approved or notated or disapproved applications and considered the matter as a metaphor for my life.

I was somewhere new, but doing what I had always done, therefore still deaf to the life flowing around me. I stood up at once, and opened the window.

I stood and watched the women wash their garments, the sodden clothing slapping heavily against the rocks. The birds around them and bustle of the streets above did not drown out their expression. I realized I must be like them, if I were to truly accomplish my ambition of finding new meaning and enjoyment in life.

I decided I would go into the city that night.

After I finished my paperwork, of course. I was not a complete fool.

I returned to my desk and counted the wet thuds until my time was up. I rushed to my flat a couple blocks away in the Europeans' own section of town. It was a sizable enough apartment for a bachelor whose only possessions were contained in his suitcase. I put my things in order and dressed in my more fashionable suit to hit the town in.

I strolled through the European quarter, hearing familiar music and languages and seeing unfortunately familiar harsh faces. I loitered in a cafe for a little while before deciding it was time to move on into the city proper. I kept my eyes only ahead of me, where the city morphed into it's true self with dramatic departure from the European replica.

Flowers hung in chains off the lamps and storefronts, the lamps themselves were covered in different covered glass to make the night vibrant. The Indian youth were out interspersed with a few curious foreigners like myself. They paid us no mind and got up to the usual mischief together.

The music had changed and flew through the air naturally, strings seemingly zapped with electricity carrying a melody. I followed the music and a smell full of spice to one of India's own cafes and tried all manner of foods completely alien to me.

I attempted talking to the ladies there but they only laughed at my attempt at their language. I could not help but laugh as well and endeavored to learn new words every night from then on during my expeditions after work.

The ladies were kind enough to show me a couple pronunciations afterward but didn't want to be further distracted from their meal.

I left the cafe my curiosity sated and happy with the friendly reception, deciding to make my way to my personal holy site of the riverside. The sidewalk flowed naturally toward the river, leading to a stairway that descended to the rocky shallows.

The moonlight danced on the gentle flow of the river. Blue and red and purple light from the lampposts were reflected by the water. I waded in and placed my hand upon one of the washing stones and felt their smoothness.

To be honest, I didn't feel anything powerful upon visiting that spot but the night was wonderful enough that I did not mind. I pat the stone as a farewell and returned to the sidewalk to conclude the night's journey.

I enjoyed the atmosphere while I could for I saw the drab uniformity and standard of the European quarter ahead of me. I sighed but a smile could not be struck from my face that night. I got interesting looks from locals as I walked by, undoubtedly used to Europeans whose demeanor matched their architecture.

Before I could cross the invisible yet highly perceivable threshold between the European and Indian city, I heard a scream from down an alley. Fear took my heart and I stopped dead in my jaunt, peering down the dark alley and hearing nothing but movement.

I swallowed hard and readied myself for danger. In the streets of Paris I would never dare to intervene, but that was my former self. My new identity was grounded in freedom, happiness, and choice. I had a choice in whether I helped or not, and it was mine to make, mine I was free to carry out.

I ran down the alley, the sound traveling freely between the buildings now; a muffled cry and the rustle of clothing. I turned the corner and only saw the two rough looking men restraining a young woman to get under her saree for a moment before I crashed into them.

The men fell backward and I fell atop one throwing blows wildly, only a few hitting him amidst his attempt to roll away from me. His partner backed away and helped his friend up as I got to my feet and checked on the woman, who cowered by a dumpster, clutching her saree to herself.

Her deep blue eyes stared at her clenched hands and recoiled away when I touched her arm. I assured her I meant her no harm but I assumed she likely didn't know what I was saying.

The men glared at us and the one I battered spat on the ground.

"That is Hijra!" He hissed in an angry summoning of English.

I only shooed them away and held my arms up to threaten them. They started reluctantly but would turn back and shout harsh sounding things in Hindi at the girl. Eventually they disappeared down the alley and I crouched beside the girl.

Her red and white saree was torn off of her shoulders and a portion was ripped at the bottom of the garment. I could see her flat midriff beneath gauzy red fabric though I quickly averted my eyes out of decency and embarrassment.

I presumed she was a prostitute, and that was why they kept shouting 'Hijra' at her and why she was hanging about in such a dangerous place. I had seen some hanging about the sidewalks when I had crossed into the city proper but had only tipped my hat to them. I was confused as to why they were attacking her, though, and the others seemed so ready to extend their services.

It was indeed a dangerous line of work and I did not envy her.

Eventually she stood on shaky legs and shook my hand, finally meeting my eyes. I was not expecting her to shake my hand and she recognized my surprise; a smile appearing on her pretty face. Though her kohl rimmed eyes had been breached by tears and her bright red lips had been smudged, she was still beautiful. Her cheekbones were sharp, giving an intense frame to her face.

I let go of her hand and her smile faded, as she had to face the rest of the night. I led her to the sidewalk I had come from and wished her well, saying my name and pointing to myself, though I didn't know when I'd ever see her again.

She looked away and I thought it best I said goodbye.

"Chanda."

I turned back and saw her pointing at herself, and then the moon.

"Chanda," I said, pointing at her. I smiled and started walking home, watching the moon above me with a smile on my face.

I awoke the next morning aching. I hadn't moved that much in a good while, let alone gotten in a brawl. I smiled all the same, the previous night starting my time in India off right and Chanda's smile lighting my walk to work.

My superiors noticed my cheerful attitude and complimented me for looking forward to work. It was after work I was looking forward to, however.

I worked and counted the thumps of the washing ladies and soon enough I was free. I practically skipped home every evening. Thus began a routine: I would work absently yet diligently enough until it was time to go home. Each night I would go out a little further, explore a bit more, learn more of the language.

A couple months passed and India became more of a home to me, though I knew it would take much longer than that to truly understand the place. I knew my way around and how to say basic words and have simple conversations with the people I encountered regularly.

People began to recognize me, for I was around town so often and was one of few Whites who was happy just to be around. 'Jolly,' they'd call me, on account of my ever present smile. I liked being a part of the community. The business owners knew me by my nickname and were happy to see me and enjoyed my curiosity.

Whenever I saw the ladies who had taught me my first words I would show them how much I had learned since the last I saw them. I was a sort of character of a play, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Being out at night, seeing friends all over town, and lounging at cafes almost every evening.

It had not occurred to me that I had made no White friends in all the time I had been down there until a colleague invited me out after work one day. I was taken aback as no one had offered before. I sputtered out my apologies and accepted, to be polite. I got on well enough with everybody at the consulate but was content to leave my work life separate from my Jolly persona.

The fellow's name was Cadence and we planned to meet at a pub in the European sector. Though I was disappointed I wouldn't see my usual companions, I looked forward to getting to know the man.

Night came and I made the short trip to the pub; a small building looking as if it was plucked off a London street corner. He arrived shortly after I had and we got to work at the bar. It had been some time since I drank and I reached my limit quickly. My companion apparently had no such limit and substituted conversation with bringing a glass to his lips.

I was impressed by how much he could consume but disappointed by his character beside. It seemed he only wanted someone along with him to the bar.

After the I-don't-know-how-manyth drink I watched him down, he noticed I was staring at my pocket watch and suggested we continue the night elsewhere.

Being one for adventure I was interested but feared he'd only lead us another pub.

Cadence was rather drunk at this point so our progress down the road was slow-going and at times, humorous. I kept him upright but he guided us out of the European sector and I liked him quite a bit more for his open mindedness.

I was soon disappointed again. Instead of my usual route down the jovial main street of flower chains and multicolored lights, he stumbled us down a poorly lit alley that led to a dingy part of town I hadn't visited before. People loitered at street corners and shopkeepers kept a scrutinous eye out. I felt ill at ease here but Cadence had no fear in his stupor.

I knew better than to trust a drunk I hardly knew but I was curious where he wanted to go, so I stayed with him. Soon enough we walked down a dead end road and walked up the steps to a shuttered house with dim light spilling out between the boards.

Cadence staggered up the stairs and threw the door open. He disappeared inside and I hurried to catch up with him. The light blinded me for a moment, leaving me standing dumbly at the center of a room of women. They sat on sofas lining the walls on opposite ends of the large room but didn't look at each other after they were done staring at my strange spectacle. There was tension in that sweet smelling room but I couldn't discern the cause.

I sat down beside my friend on a sofa beside the door and waited as he waited, seemingly without a concern for the world.

He patted my knee and slurred, "This is going to be most excellent, I swear to you."

I only blinked at him and looked around once again.

The ladies were all beautiful but none smiled. They wore more revealing variations of their usual clothing and I understood what this place was.

Of course a brothel would be the only place the scoundrel Cadence knew outside of our quarter. I turned to him and explained how embarrassed I was to be in such a place but he only told me to relax.

Creaky steps cried out and I looked to the stairs behind the ladies to our right and saw the familiar figure of Chanda descend the steps. She was barefoot and wore a short white shirt exposing her navel above a long blue skirt. I gawked at her, my mouth agape but she didn't look in our direction until she sat down with the girls on the couches to our left.

She looked at me and Cadence but her eyes quickly snapped back to me and her mouth fell open similarly. She recovered quickly and nodded at me with a small smile. I shook my head to clear my stupidity and smiled dumbly back at her.

The women she sat with looked at her quizzically and Cadence only elbowed me with approval.

The Lady of the house came down the stairs next; a matronly figure with a calculating eye. We introduced ourselves to her and she set Cadence up with his choice of woman, the pair disappearing upstairs afterward. Then it was my turn for her to ask me who I would like to 'spend time with.'

I looked at the door for a moment but decided against it.

"Chanda, if I may," I said.

The Lady examined me for a moment, but only smiled.

"Certainly," she said.

She gave Chanda a look and she seemed to mock it in response before getting up and leading me up the stairs.

She led me by the arm up the creaky steps and into a dirty room at the end of the hall. She sat me down on the bed before sitting beside me and holding my hand.

She looked at me expectantly but I only asked her what the place was in her language.

"Whores," she said in mine.

She was smiling mischievously, her dancing eyes fixed on mine. she had moved past her attack it seemed, which made me worry how exposed she was to such occurrences. I had not seen her since then but I immediately realized I cared about her. I didn't presume any notion she was too good for prostitution, but I reckoned she was good enough a person.

I looked at our hands, the contrast between her dark skin and my light. It made me feel warm in my chest but I knew I wasn't one for such a direct courtship. I squeezed her soft hand and returned it to her.

She looked at me curiously as I stood and opened the door.

"Are you hungry?" I asked her.

Her mouth fell open and she nodded vigorously, getting up from the bed and following me out the door. We made it through the bleak neighborhood thanks to Chanda's familiarity and I led her into the light of my part of town.

It was clear she had not spent much time there for she looked at the colorful lights like I had and about herself, accustomed to the danger of her slum.

I pointed to places and said their name until she agreed to go into a restaurant close to the stairway down to my riverside.

We sat down at the table and she asked me what I was going to give her. I implored her to order whatever she wished through bowing and hand gestures until she gave in and ordered appropriate to her hunger.

She answered some of my simple Hindi questions in English and told me she learned a few words from Whites like me.

I admit I bristled at this and told her I was not like the men who spent their nights with her. I was a gentleman and her friend if she would consider me.

She did consider it, and examined me for a moment.

She bit her lip and smiled. She grabbed my hand and shook it.

"Friends," she said.

I nodded and echoed her pronouncement .

We continued our meal and I told her about myself. She preferred not to divulge many details aside from her being from the northern part of the city and that she was indeed a prostitute. I did not mind her distance because it was only our second meeting, though we agreed to see each other again soon.

I insisted we visit my special spot by the river and she obliged. She liked my innocence and curiosity and wanted to see how I saw her city.

I led her down the stairway to the shallow water by the hand, her smile shining in the moonlight. She lifted her skirt and waded In with me. I slapped the rock like I had every time I visited and Chanda imitated. I told her this place was special to me but I feared the significance would get lost in my attempt at translation.

We listened to the river run and the distant noise of the street above, neither of us wanting to disturb the pleasant night.

I could not feel the passage of time standing in that river and I savored it, watching the moon and looking at the different colors of the water ripple about us.

Chanda watched the people at street level and waved her hand through the water idly. I was pleased she seemed to enjoy our outing.

I broke the silence and asked her why those men were attacking her that night months ago.