Our car weaves through the Sancoale industrial area in South Goa, coming to a halt in front of a small building. Inside, groups of women in pale blue uniform are busy ironing, others are operating machines, while some take notes on clipboards. Two framed images above a window stand out with their bright colours — one of them is a stylised drawing of a woman with henna on her hands, and another is of the sun, flowers and paisley motifs. A compact music system sits on an ironing board belting out old Hindi film songs. Crates of finished laundry, sparkling white, pressed and ready to be delivered, waits in one area. Women periodically check papers, to see that the day’s target is on track.

This is Swift Wash, a mechanised laundry run by rehabilitated female sex workers from Baina, Goa’s red light area, which was partially demolished in 2004.

Most of the workers here were trafficked from Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh.

An initiative by the NGO Anyay Rahit Zindagi (Arz), Swift Wash was founded in 2006 as a non-shelter alternative economic programme for women in prostitution, as well as other players in the commercial set-up, like brothel-keepers and pimps.

“We considered many options of livelihood and settled on the laundry business as this is a tourist area and there will never be a shortage of unwashed linen,” says Arun Pandey, co-founder of Arz.

A book on the women of Swift Wash was released last month. Beautiful Women — Despair to Dignity is a collection of first-person narratives that illustrate the social, psychological, and financial pressures the women faced and how their lives have changed after Swift Wash. “We wanted to document our experience and the stories of the girls to help other agencies start alternative livelihood programmes for women in prostitution,” says Pandey.

When the company was launched, some of the organisations Arz approached were unsure that the women could deliver. Their client list now includes The International Centre Goa, Taj Hotels, Youth Hostel and big pharma companies in Verna.

“Initially the women were a bit doubtful about the laundry — ‘ Ghar par bhi kaprey dhotey hain, kaam pey bhi same (We wash clothes at home, and it’s the same at work).’ But after visiting a professional laundry, they were convinced,” says Pandey. “Within a few months, they were also bringing family members, asking if they could be given work.”

Once the laundry was set up, it took the women some time to adapt to the new work requirements. “We did no work for a month,” says Juliana Lohar, coordinator, Arz and general manager, Swift Wash. “We had games and other interactions. It took a while to get them into a routine. Earlier, when our driver went to pick them up, they wouldn’t wake up on time. The vehicle would be waiting for three-four hours. Then they started reporting on time but would bring their toothbrushes here. Slowly they realised this is serious and started taking ownership and responsibility.”

Personal narratives in the book throw light on the problems the women faced in trying to acclimatise to their new work environment. Some, for instance, found it tough to keep to a routine or display social skills. “I didn’t like working with people or talking to other women. At night, I would drink daaru (liquor) to cope with the routine… The hardest thing at the laundry — apart from the machines that scared me outright at first — has always been the strict routine one has to keep, especially waking up early to catch the company bus.”

A small van comes with the day’s load from ICG. Two women start to unload it briskly, putting the huge bundles on the weighing machine and making notes. It is about 200 kg. At 3 pm it’s time for a change in shift. Some workers collect their bags, water bottles, and other belongings, wave a breezy “bye-bye” and board a bus.

“I have earned all this with izzat (respect),” says one of them as she heads for the vehicle that will drop her home. “Our kids know us as working mothers, with jobs in a company.”

Pandey says they have two rules for the women who work here — one, no going back to prostitution and two, educate your child. The laundry has a crèche in the backyard. “One of our clients wanted to give books to the children as part of their CSR policy. We said no, give their mothers work. They will buy the books for their kids,” says Lohar. She adds that these mothers are also attending PTA meetings in schools.

Being able to work, having a sense of security and routine, and a glimpse of a future have made a huge difference to the women. “So much has changed over the years,” says a woman in the book.

“My daughter used to be very angry with me. Now it’s not like that... I feel that earlier I never knew the difference between sadness and happiness. If I didn’t feel good, I would drink… Now I feel like living. I think of my grandchildren. I should live and watch them grow. It gives me such pleasure when I hear them call me Ammama.”

Anuradha Sengupta is a Kolkata-based freelance journalist and founder-editor of Jalebi Inka, a media collective for children and youth

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