Bhubaneswar, Jun 2: “No woman enters this profession unless life leaves her with no other option. Poverty, family crises and helplessness push us here. What begins as survival eventually becomes a livelihood. The saddest part is that even relationships that begin with consent sometimes end in cruelty.”

The words come from a 36-year-old sex worker from Malisahi, Bhubaneswar’s well-known red-light locality. Her voice carries the weight of decades of hardship, disappointment and resilience.

For years, Malisahi has been home to hundreds of women whose lives have been shaped by broken dreams, economic distress and social exclusion. Behind the narrow lanes and crowded houses are stories rarely heard beyond the boundaries of the settlement.

The woman, who has spent over two decades in the profession, recalls arriving in Bhubaneswar from Nayagarh at the age of 22. She came searching for work and a way to support her family. Her father was visually impaired and her mother suffered from chronic illness. Survival itself was a daily struggle.

“Education was a distant dream. We were worried about our next meal,” she says.

Determined to help her family, she found work as a domestic helper in the house of a wealthy family in the capital city. She believed her life was finally moving in a better direction.

But the hope was short-lived.

According to her, the employer’s son repeatedly made unwanted advances towards her. When she resisted, the situation escalated. Eventually, after the matter came to light, she says the blame was shifted onto her and she was dismissed from her job.

“My world collapsed. I felt humiliated and abandoned. Circumstances pushed me towards this profession,” she recalls.

‘People call this a dishonorable locality, but who comes here?’

Over the years, she says she has witnessed the realities behind society’s double standards.

“People call Malisahi a disreputable locality. But who are the people who come here?” she asks.

Her experiences have exposed her to the darker side of human behaviour. While many outsiders view sex workers through the lens of stigma, she says the profession often places women at the mercy of powerful and exploitative individuals.

“There were times when customers became violent over money. Sometimes they demanded more than what was agreed upon. I have seen situations where consent was completely ignored,” she says.

She recounts a frightening incident from several years ago when she visited a customer’s residence in Balasore.

“His family members suddenly arrived. To hide the situation, he pushed me out of a first-floor window. I survived only because there was a pile of sand below,” she says.

Despite spending most of her life in the red-light area, she expresses deep concern over the increasing incidents of sexual violence against women and children.

“People often say that because women like us exist, other women remain safe. But even today crimes against women continue. Innocent children are being targeted. That pains me deeply,” she says.

She believes those who commit sexual crimes against minors deserve the harshest punishment.

At the same time, she calls for stronger action against illegal prostitution networks operating outside designated red-light areas.

“Today, such activities are happening in residential localities, hotels, bars and pubs. It is contributing to crime and social problems,” she says.

Amid years of hardship, she found something she never expected-love.

“I never thought I would get married. Society does not imagine a future for women like us,” she says.

She eventually fell in love with a local man from the same area and built a family. Together they raised five children-three daughters and two sons.

Determined that her children would have opportunities she never had, she ensured they grew up away from the environment of the red-light district.

“I kept them in hostels and rented accommodation outside. I did not want them to face the same struggles,” she says.

Her children eventually learned about her profession. Yet, according to her, they never questioned her or distanced themselves.

“I swallowed the poison of life, but I never allowed that poison to reach my children,” she says.

After spending more than half her life battling stigma and hardship, she says she has made peace with her identity.

“I have never been ashamed of my profession,” she says firmly. “People may judge us without knowing our stories. But every woman here carries a history of struggle.”

Her journey-from poverty and exploitation to motherhood and resilience-offers a glimpse into a world that is often misunderstood and rarely heard.

Behind the labels and prejudices lies a simple truth: many women in places like Malisahi are not defined by their profession, but by the extraordinary determination with which they continue to survive, provide and dream for their families.