Two afternoons on GB Road
“Our greatest strength truly lies in the gentleness and tenderness of our hearts.”— Rumi
Last week, I found myself walking into one of the brothels on Delhi’s most well-known street—GB Road (Garstin Bastion Road), the largest and most recognized red-light district in northern India.
It was a hot, humid afternoon. While waiting for a decade-long friend Vijay Maitri to arrive, I stood observing the street below. Vendors called out to customers in one of the city’s busiest markets for machinery, automobile parts, hardware, and tools. Hand-pulled rickshaws carried heavy loads through the chaos. A group of schoolchildren made their way home. Old electric wires hung low above narrow lanes leading somewhere unknown. The air carried the familiar smell of sweat, dust, and urine. By day, the ground floors bustle with commerce. By night, the same buildings reveal an entirely different world hidden behind their walls.
I climbed a long, dimly lit staircase that opened into a narrow hallway. Inside, two women sat quietly crocheting while the others rested. I was introduced to them, admired their beautiful work, and soon found myself watching playful teasing, shared laughter, and the easy warmth that existed between them.
Then one of the didis said with childlike excitement, “Let’s play Ludo on my phone.”
What followed was perhaps the most unexpected part of the afternoon. They were Olympic-level Ludo champions. By the time I had blinked, it was my turn again. Every move was met with laughter, cheering, mock complaints, and fierce competition. Yet beneath it all was something deeply tender. Both the didi’s quietly made sure I didn’t lose too badly, celebrating my small victories as though we had known one another for years.
When it was time to leave, one of them wrapped me in a warm embrace, lifted me off the ground as though I were her younger sister, and stood waving goodbye through the dark, narrow corridor.
She was the very same woman who, just a little while earlier, had softly said, “I don’t like talking to anyone. I am my own friend.” And yet, in those two hours, she had gently let me into her world. The gift of her time and trust felt precious.
Just as we were about to leave, a parcel arrived. It was her new saree. With the excitement of a teenager, she unfolded it for me—a simple yet elegant white saree adorned with delicate floral prints. Her joy was infectious.
Then she told me something that has stayed with me ever since.
“I am waiting for the rains,” she said, “so I can drench myself in nature’s love.”
Perhaps all of us, in our own ways, are waiting for moments like that—to be drenched in love. Whether it comes from the rain, from another human being, or from a simple game of Ludo shared with strangers.
Vijay shared that using expressive art as a tool for dialogue and expression helped build trust, and these playful interactions also became opportunities to introduce simple digital tools that could make everyday life easier. One of them now shops online to avoid bargaining and find better deals. Another uses AI to explore colors and styles before buying clothes. And on days when she doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, she turns to ChatGPT to simply pour her heart out. What began with art, play, and human connection gradually opened doors to technology—not as an end in itself, but as another tool for autonomy, expression, and possibility.
As helping professionals, we often enter spaces carrying frameworks, agendas, interventions, and an unconscious desire to create change. But this afternoon reminded me that before asking, “How can I help?” perhaps we must first ask, “What is being asked of me in this moment?”
Sometimes transformation doesn’t begin with an intervention. Sometimes it begins with saying yes—to a game, to a shared moment, to another human being. Also, so often we focus on transforming the other person. Yet perhaps the deeper work lies in allowing the encounter itself to transform us both.
What unfolded over those two hours is difficult to capture in words.
It softened something within me, leaving both my eyes and my heart brimming. And I found myself silently hoping that perhaps my prayers, too, would reach their hearts, offering a little comfort as they navigate a world that has left—and continues to leave—deep scars.
(Trupti Pandya, founder of Serving HeArts, is a counselling psychologist, expressive arts practitioner, and mindfulness facilitator. Inspired by the Japanese philosophy of kintsugi—the art of embracing brokenness as part of beauty—she creates safe, inclusive spaces that nurture emotional well-being, resilience, and community connection)