I am Rhea. A ten-year-old girl living with a drunken father. I never knew my mother other than the fact that father calls her “veshya”, a bad woman who sleeps with many men for money.

I used to go to school but Father says I have to work if I want food for my stomach. Father works too, he rows boats for the tourist along the Ganges River to view the ghats. I don’t know how much he gets but I do know he spends most of it on Desi Daru, his favorite whiskey. So, everyday, from dusk till dawn I sell lotus flower candles used as offerings. On good days I can bring home around 50-60 rupees. On bad days I get ten rips of the belt from Father for bringing home ten rupees. I’m not sure when the beatings started but my earliest memories include living in fear of Father and having to tiptoe around the house when he was home.

I enjoy working because I see all kinds of people. Just by walking along the ghats I get to meet people from all over the world. I’m not like the other girls who are shy to talk to the tourists. Father tells me I will have more tourists buying my candles if I am friendly and honest. I always start with “Are you from…?”, most of the time I get it right. I’m still getting it right between the Koreans and Japanese. Their eyes light up if I get their country right and will buy more candles to make me happy.

I used to pray to Hanuman, the Monkey God to stop Father from beating me. I stopped praying when Father slammed my head on the floor for wearing nail polish. Ragu, my closest friend and a hard working beggar gave it to me. He once caught me looking at the older girls painting their nails by the ghats and the next day, I see red polish in my candles basket.

There is a word “hope” drawn on one of the walls by the burning ghat and on bad days I leave a lotus flower candle under it and walk home.