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While the madam spoke with others in the room, gushing about the group's success, the three of us on the bed asked the prostitute in Hindi to tell us if those things were true. Afraid and timid, the prostitute remained silent until we assured her that we wouldn't get her in trouble. Barely audible, she told us that almost none of the prostitutes in Sonagachi came with aspirations of becoming a sex worker. Most of them, like herself, were trafficked into trade from other parts of India or the region. Yes, she said, condoms were everywhere in Sonagachi, but prostitutes would not use them if a customer paid a higher rate, scared of costing the brother business and of dealing with the violent repercussions. Fearful of punishment, she and the other prostitutes stay silent during these tours, agreeing with the madam in front of the foreigners. When I asked her if she wanted to leave Sonagachi, her eyes lit up, before she could say anything, the DMSC official put her hand on my back and said that it was time to move on.

We continued to the next brothel on the tour, passing hundreds of prostitutes along the way. A person in our group asked if we could visit Neel Kamal, the brothel that was rumored to still prostitute minors. The DMSC official quickly rejected the idea, suggesting that the DMSC had not asked for prior permission, and didn't want to violate the prostitutes' rights before warning them. Big talk goes far in India -- faced with a stern threat to "make the appropriate phone calls" if the terrified-looking DMSC official did not cooperate, she took us in the direction of the notorious Neel Kamal. Five pimps guarded the locked gate that marked the entrance to the multi-story brothel. While one pimp unlocked the gate, the four others ran inside with a clarion call: "Visitors are here!" Our group rushed in, climbing the staircase to the first floor, but stopped dead in our tracks: dozens of girls, no older than sixteen, with bright red lipstick, began running down the dingy hallways, disappearing into hidden rooms.

The pimps kept shouting as the DMSC official told us to remain still. Everywhere I looked, girls were fleeing. In the meantime, I had managed to block a doorway where two teenage girls, no more than 14 years old, were sprawled on the bed with their legs wide open, their genitals visible through denim mini-skirts. Recognizing our shock, the official asked me nervously how old I thought the girls were. "Fourteen -- maybe not even that," I responded. She turned to me with a terse laugh, and told me that "an outsider from America," faced with poor lighting, couldn't judge age particularly well, assuring me improbably that the girls were all over thirty.