Ab yahan pehlay wala koi nizam nahin [the old brothel system doesn’t exist anymore],” says a pimp in Hyderabad’s Bazaar-i-Husn [literally, the Beauty Bazaar], the historic
red-light district of the city. He looks down at the simmering hot cup of tea just served to him, before quickly searching for the contact number of a senior sex worker on his costly Note 5 mobile phone.
“Mobile phones have made things easier for everyone. People are no longer dependent on one madam or man,” says the pimp. “The time has long gone when a man or woman would provide sex workers to a certain party. You can now get pictures of prostitutes on WhatsApp before striking a deal.”
Nostalgia is what remains of the city’s historic brothels
The pimp’s description of activities in today’s Bazaar-i-Husn is beautifully apt. The bazaar today can be described as a slum with a labyrinth of tiny lanes. Children of prostitutes play in the lanes and men gather at a square near Khaki Shah’s shrine in the locality’s midst. Brand new cars of sex workers are parked wherever space is available.
But it is no longer a bazaar that was frequented by nawabs and other patrons of the arts. A few blocks of multi-storeyed buildings and duplexes still exist to remind people of the heydays of the bazaar. But dance and melody have left, as have many whose artistic talent could not be restricted to the bazaar alone.
The brothel survives in some forms, however, as sex workers, young and old, maintain pace with the times to keep business going. Many have turned to social media to broaden their customer base. And clientele, according to the pimp, is expanding.
“Look at these pictures,” the pimp gestures to his phone. “This is Sohail Manzil (1973). This is the old residence of another movie star, Khawar alias Chakori.”
Such structures would otherwise be indiscernible. But many of them are birthplaces of Sindhi and Pakistani film stars. While some celebrities lived here before they emerged on the horizon of the big screen in the 1970s-1980s, nostalgia occasionally brings a few former residents back to the area, particularly during the month of Muharram.
Tabassum*, erstwhile stage artist and contemporary of Chakori (of the Maula Jatt fame) and Mahpara, laments the area’s lost charm and glamour. “Ab yahan kuch nahi hota [Nothing happens here anymore],” she cribs as she relates how sex workers have scattered to different areas and cities.
The bazaar lost its splendour sometime in the late 1970s. In that bygone era, young women would loiter in the balconies and comb their hair while striking poses for onlookers. They would gesture and entice potential clients to venture inside. Such mannerisms had a certain attraction for the client.