Many of these women never chose this life. Some were sold by a stepmother, a stepfather, a boyfriend, or even a husband.Once they end up here, it is almost impossible to escape.They live with very little—basic food, almost no rest.From morning until late at night they stand by their doors, waiting. Even going to the bathroom feels like a risk.
Sometimes they fall in love with those who visit, but love is never given back. Trust is broken, money is taken.
Most send what they earn to their families, who believe they are working in textile factories.Their sacrifices stay hidden, their pain unseen.
And still, they dream. One dreams of having a family. Another dreams of being a mother. All dream of being loved for who they are—not for what others take.
They share food when there is little. They wipe away each other’s tears. They carry each other through the hardest days. That quiet strength is their only shield.
For twelve years, they have called me Akash brother. They have welcomed me with tea, with trust, and with stories of broken dreams.
They are not invisible. They are not forgotten. They are human beings—survivors—still holding on to hope, where the night has no end.
— GMB Akash
GMB AKASH 