Nagpur’s Red-Light Crisis: Ganga Jamuna’s Hidden Struggles Exposed

thenewsdirt
Jul 8
14 min read

Nagpur, the largest city in the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra, is home to one of India’s oldest red-light districts.

Tucked away in a cluster of narrow lanes known as Ganga Jamuna, this neighbourhood has openly housed the sex trade for over two centuries. Generations of women have lived and worked here in a trade that operates in a legal grey area, technically not a crime for consenting adults, yet effectively criminalised through laws against brothels and soliciting.

Today, Ganga Jamuna stands at the centre of an ongoing battle between law enforcement efforts to curb prostitution and the harsh realities faced by the sex workers who depend on it for their livelihood.

The area’s long history, the difficulties authorities have faced in regulating it, and the everyday struggles of its prostitutes paint a complex picture of a social issue that defies easy solutions.

A Red-Light Area in Nagpur

Ganga Jamuna is a tightly packed red-light enclave in central Nagpur that has existed since the era of the Bhonsale rulers, dating back well over 200 years.

What began as a tolerated quarter for courtesans in the past has evolved into a bustling yet hidden economy of commercial sex work.

Studies estimate that roughly 3,000 female sex workers operate in Ganga Jamuna’s brothels, overseen by around 500 madams known locally as “gharwalis”.

These brothels are typically run out of about two hundred modest buildings lining the area’s congested streets. Each gharwali usually shelters and manages a small group of women, on average four or five, under her roof. In many cases, the madams are older sex workers themselves and act as both managers and caretakers. They provide the women with basic necessities, a place to live, and a degree of protection from aggressive clients or harassment by thugs and police.

In return, the madams take a significant cut of the earnings, as the business also involves payments to brothel owners, local agents and other partners in the trade.

Life in this red-light community follows its own set of informal rules. Sex is negotiated behind closed doors but also solicited openly at times, which has long been a sore point for neighbours and authorities. Many of the women in Ganga Jamuna come from disadvantaged backgrounds or distant regions. Social workers note some hail from as far as Odisha and other states, having migrated here in search of income. A large number of these sex workers are also mothers. In fact, surveys of the area have found more than half the brothel madams had children living with them on the premises, and many younger prostitutes are raising infants or toddlers in the cramped rooms where they also receive clients.

The community has improvised arrangements for childcare and schooling, but the children inevitably grow up in a difficult environment. Surrounded by poverty and social stigma, the sons and daughters of Ganga Jamuna’s prostitutes often struggle to access formal education and healthcare.

A research study in 2021 observed that over 85% of sex workers’ children in this area have no legally recognised father, which has been a barrier for school admissions and social acceptance.

Isolated from mainstream society, these children face a cycle of marginalisation: lacking birth certificates and caste documents, shunned as “illegitimate” by many schools, and exposed to an atmosphere of abuse, addiction and disease. Despite these grim conditions, Ganga Jamuna persisted for decades as a self-contained enclave where sex work was an open secret.

The red-light district functioned with a degree of routine. Women waited for customers under neon bulbs, NGOs ran clinics and condom distribution programmes, and police mostly turned a blind eye, except for the occasional raid.

But this uneasy status quo would soon be upended by a dramatic official crackdown, revealing how tenuous the arrangement really was.

Law Enforcement Crackdowns and Administrative Challenges

In August 2021, Nagpur’s administration took an unprecedented hard line against Ganga Jamuna, exposing the difficulties of regulating such an entrenched red-light area. Acting on complaints of illegal activities, the city’s Police Commissioner, Amitesh Kumar, issued sweeping orders to essentially shut down the district’s sex trade.

Citing the Immoral Traffic (Prevention) Act, a law from 1956 aimed at curbing prostitution, Kumar declared that Ganga Jamuna fell afoul of the rules prohibiting brothels within 200 metres of “public places”.

The area is interspersed with temples, a mosque, schools and civic offices, giving the police legal cover to ban sex work on those grounds. By August 11, 2021, police teams had moved in and sealed off 15 of the 16 entry points into the neighbourhood with barricades. Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code was imposed, preventing the assembly of groups and effectively placing the whole locality under lockdown by police order. Outsiders were forbidden to enter Ganga Jamuna’s lanes, and “outsiders” in this case included clients. Overnight, the once-busy red-light quarter was silenced under heavy patrol.

The commissioner’s message was blunt that no customers allowed, no prostitution will be tolerated. He warned that anyone caught engaging in sex work in the area could be jailed, and within days, several brothels were forcibly shut. By his account, ten out of twelve major brothels were sealed in the operation, and notices were served to others.

This crackdown was applauded by some locals and political groups who had long campaigned to “clean up” the neighbourhood. Nearby residents had filed petitions complaining that Ganga Jamuna’s presence brought crime and immoral activity to their doorstep. Leaders like Abha Pande, a local city councillor, openly demanded that the red-light district be permanently closed. “We will not let anyone do flesh trade here,” Pande told reporters, insisting the women should find some other work if they want to continue living in the area.

Police justified their actions by highlighting very serious allegations that underage girls were being trafficked from across India and hidden in the brothels.

Commissioner Kumar later stated that investigations had found minors “of tender age” kept in secret rooms and even given hormonal drugs to hasten their physical maturity before being pushed into sex work.

Indeed, official records indicated that over the previous decade, Nagpur police had rescued at least 109 minors from Ganga Jamuna and arrested more than 1,100 people on charges related to prostitution and trafficking. Such statistics underscored that the administration’s inability to fully control the area had real human costs. Child trafficking, extortion rackets, and police corruption were said to be entwined with the trade. Former top police officers acknowledged that while prostitution itself is not illegal under Indian law, red-light districts tend to breed other crimes, from human trafficking to bribery and extortion, due to their clandestine nature.

A retired Commissioner of Police, S.P.S. Yadav, noted that simply banning the area might not “solve” the problem, since prostitution is a social issue that “cannot be solved by police action alone”.

In the past, authorities had made attempts to rein in the Ganga Jamuna, but those efforts were short-lived. In one instance, a few years ago, a zonal DCP temporarily halted the sex trade there, only for it to resume quietly once the immediate pressure lifted.

Such experiences reflect a pattern seen across Vidarbha and India. Crackdowns scatter the activity for a time, but without sustained rehabilitation measures, the trade finds its way back. As another ex-commissioner bluntly put it, “no officer supports a red-light area, but it must be left alone to operate… The moot point is where would the women go if they are not allowed to continue their profession?”. This highlights the administration’s quandary: shutting down Ganga Jamuna was easier ordered than accomplished in practice.

Following the 2021 operation, hundreds of sex workers simply left Nagpur or moved underground. Younger women from the district quietly migrated to other cities’ red-light localities or started working out of clandestine venues like massage parlours and private apartments around Nagpur.

Within a year, Ganga Jamuna’s once-thronged alleys had emptied, described as a “pale shadow of the past”. Yet this did not mean prostitution ended. It only became less visible. Ironically, the police clampdown ended up sparking as much conflict as it aimed to resolve.

The sudden sealing of the area provoked a series of agitations and legal challenges. Activist Jwala Dhote, the president of a local rights organisation called the Vidarbha Anyay Nivaran Samiti, led protest marches with the displaced sex workers, decrying the move as arbitrary and unjust. She argued that the police had taken “harsh and tough” action without offering any alternative livelihood or rehabilitation, effectively throwing thousands of women and their families into destitution.

Within weeks, a petition was filed in the Bombay High Court by a social worker seeking to lift the police restrictions on behalf of Ganga Jamuna’s residents. In October 2021 the High Court treated the plea as a public interest litigation, indicating the matter raised serious questions about the rights of the women affected.

The petitioner contended that evicting or arresting the women without cause violated their fundamental rights, simply residing in their small homes is not a crime, and being a sex worker does not strip them of the right to live in peace.

The court case brought to the forefront the enduring issue that the administration has long grappled with, of how to reconcile the enforcement of anti-prostitution laws with the constitutional rights and welfare of the people, mainly women, who have been living in this trade for generations.

Livelihoods Lost and Fights for Dignity

For the sex workers of Ganga Jamuna, the crackdown was a sudden humanitarian crisis. Virtually overnight, roughly 2,500 women were left with no way to earn an income. Many also lost their homes, as brothel buildings were sealed and outsiders (including regular clients or even suppliers) were barred from entering the neighbourhood.

Desperate scenes played out in the days and weeks after the closure. “We have not eaten for the last five days. We have been sitting hungry and have even fallen sick,” one sex worker told in late August 2021.

Her earnings, typically around ₹10,000–15,000 a month (about £100–£150), had abruptly stopped, leaving her unable to feed the 25 family members who depended on her. Similar stories echoed across the community, women pawning their jewellery and belongings to buy food, children going without milk, and families being unable to pay rent or school fees because their sole breadwinners’ work was banned.

Sex worker collectives and NGOs swung into action, organising food relief and raising donations to support the displaced women. The community also banded together in protest. In the weeks following the barricading, groups of sex workers gathered at the barricades daily with placards, shouting slogans for their “business” to be allowed again so they could survive. This spontaneous campaign, dubbed #UnsealGangaJamuna, drew support from human rights organisations across India. Activists argued that the way the shutdown was implemented, abruptly and without consultation or transition – trampled on the workers’ dignity and basic rights.

The National Network of Sex Workers (NNSW), a collective advocating for sex workers’ rights, filed a petition condemning the move as “illegal” and “dictatorial,” likening the cordoning off of the locality to throwing the women and their families into “an illegal prison”. Because police blocked all entries, even essential supplies were disrupted. Residents struggled to get groceries, medicines, and medical assistance due to the heavy restrictions.

Jwala Dhote emerged as a prominent voice during these demonstrations, calling out what she saw as the hypocrisy in society’s approach. “Those demanding the closure of the brothel live in big bungalows and don’t have to bother about two square meals,” Dhote said, pointing to the class divide at play. “Here, these women and their children have nothing to eat. Why should they be pushed into starvation?” she said, her anger evident at the idea of outlawing their livelihood with no safety net in place.

Under her leadership, the women of Ganga Jamuna not only demanded an end to the police restrictions but also pushed for an honest investigation into the root problem of child trafficking. “If underage girls are being brought for sex work, please investigate,” one sex worker said in a recorded statement at a protest, “but the older women should be allowed to continue their work”.

This sentiment captures the frustration of the community. They do not condone minors being exploited, yet they resent being treated as criminals themselves when they engage in consensual adult sex work.

The events in Nagpur also fed into a broader national debate over sex workers’ rights. Activists drew attention to the fact that sex work, while not fully legal, is recognised as a form of livelihood by various international bodies and even by India’s own labour welfare boards.

During the COVID-19 lockdowns the previous year, courts had directed authorities to ensure sex workers received food rations and financial aid, implicitly acknowledging the legitimacy of their profession. However, local authorities in Nagpur seemed to conflate all prostitution with trafficking and public nuisance. This conflation, rights groups argue, ends up criminalising the very people it purports to rescue.

A former sex worker and activist, Nalini Jameela, noted that law enforcement often harasses women even “without a client present,” treating every sex worker as a potential criminal simply by virtue of her occupation.

The so-called “rescue” operations have a mixed record at best. A study cited by sex worker collectives found that 77% of women who are “rescued” from brothels eventually return to sex work. The reason is straightforward: without viable alternative livelihoods or a reduction in stigma, rescued sex workers end up impoverished and ostracised, often in worse conditions than before.

In Ganga Jamuna’s case, the promise of rehabilitation rang hollow. Police Commissioner Kumar had justified his strict action by saying it would compel the women to leave the trade and integrate into mainstream society. “I will not allow illegal sex work and trafficking of young women and children into the flesh trade,” he asserted, framing the move partly as a moral stance and partly as a bid to push women toward rehabilitation schemes.

But no concrete rehabilitation program was in place when the brothels were shut. Some women later remarked that if the authorities had “asked nicely” and offered a genuine rehabilitation plan before using force, perhaps a number of them would have considered it.

Instead, the sudden crackdown bred distrust. As Jwala Dhote retorted, “We have a right over these houses. We have the registry. We pay the tax. So the question of rehabilitation doesn’t arise now”. In her view, the manner in which the women were treatedm, essentially evicted and humiliated, destroyed any goodwill or cooperation.

The larger societal prejudice only compounds the challenge. Even if a sex worker wants to change professions, she faces formidable discrimination in the job market and public life because of the stigma attached to her past.

Employers are reluctant to hire them, landlords refuse to rent to them, and even government schemes often fail to reach them due to red tape and bias. Without addressing those deeper issues, the lofty talk of “rehabilitation” remains, as many critics put it, an empty slogan.

Health Risks and Social Fallout

The inability of the administration to manage Ganga Jamuna in a measured way has also raised alarms about public health and safety, both for the sex workers and the wider community.

A critical concern is the impact on HIV/AIDS prevention efforts. For years, Ganga Jamuna has been a focal point for targeted health interventions by organisations such as the Indian Red Cross Society (IRCS) and local NGOs.

These groups ran HIV testing, condom distribution, and awareness programs in the area, capitalising on the fact that brothel-based sex workers were a relatively fixed, reachable group.

Doctors involved in these efforts reported significant progress. A health expert, Dr. Milind Bhrushundi, noted that when the sex workers are concentrated in the red-light district, outreach teams could ensure regular health check-ups and safer practices, which helped drastically bring down HIV infections over time.

According to IRCS data, between 2009 and 2014, around 150 women in Ganga Jamuna had tested positive for HIV, but sustained intervention reduced new cases to barely a handful in recent years. For instance, in the year leading up to the 2021 closure, only two new HIV cases were recorded among the area’s sex workers.

This was achieved through extensive condom promotion, over half a million condoms were distributed free in the community in the span of 15 months, and by ensuring those who were positive received antiretroviral treatment.

The sudden dispersal of the sex workers threatens to reverse these health gains. “It is much easier to focus on HIV prevention with the brothel-based sex workers remaining in the red-light area,” Dr. Bhrushundi explained, “If that population mingles with the floating population outside, there would be no monitoring or control over HIV”.

With Ganga Jamuna shut down, many women had moved to clandestine street-based work or other cities, making it difficult for health workers to track them or provide services.

The fear is that undetected infections could rise, and condom use may fall in the absence of the previous support network. Recognising this danger, NGOs quickly wrote to the district authorities after the closure, urging them to consider the public health implications of scattering the sex trade.

They warned that driving the trade underground could lead not only to more HIV cases but also outbreaks of other sexually transmitted infections, undoing years of outreach in Vidarbha’s high-risk groups.

Local officials were forced to admit that health management had been an afterthought in the enforcement-centric approach.

By focusing narrowly on the legality of the brothels, the administration had overlooked how crucial the structured setting was for delivering health and safety measures.

Beyond HIV, the social fallout of Ganga Jamuna’s upheaval is evident in the lives of the prostitutes and their families. Many sex workers who left Nagpur in search of work elsewhere ended up in unfamiliar cities without support networks, increasing their vulnerability to exploitation by traffickers or loan sharks.

Those who stayed in Nagpur but now operate covertly face greater dangers too. Working alone on the streets or in unfamiliar locations means a higher risk of violence and no community watch to come to their aid.

Reports already surfaced of attacks on sex workers in the aftermath of the closure, including instances of women being assaulted by customers or goons when they were isolated from the protective milieu of the brothel area.

Another grim consequence is the plight of the children. With their mothers struggling to earn, many kids have been pulled out of whatever informal schooling they had and pushed further to society’s margins.

The 2021 social work study in Ganga Jamuna documented that nearly 95% of sex workers’ children had no access to regular schooling or early childhood care even before the crackdown, largely due to poverty and the social stigma attached to their mothers.

Now, any progress that had been made to enrol a few of these children in local schools is at risk of being undone as families scatter. The environment these youngsters grow up in remains harsh. Surveys describe children sleeping in the same cramped rooms where their mothers entertain clients, witnessing drunken brawls on the streets at night, and lacking any positive role models in their vicinity.

Not surprisingly, many develop serious emotional and behavioural problems. Some teenage boys from the area have drifted into petty crime or substance abuse. Some girls, sadly, end up being drawn into the sex trade at a young age, continuing the tragic cycle. All of this reflects a broader social deficit.

As long as sex work stays stigmatised and with strict survelliance over Nagpur's red-light area, the people involved in it are denied basic social services and legal protections that others take for granted.

Nagpur’s inability to effectively manage Ganga Jamuna was not just about policing a location. It was about integrating a marginalised group into the fabric of society. By failing to do so over the years, authorities allowed issues like child exploitation, disease, and violence to fester.

And when they finally responded, it was with an aggressive clampdown that addressed the symptoms (visible brothels) rather than the root causes, leaving sex workers to bear the brunt of the fallout.

Today, the lanes of Ganga Jamuna are quiet and under tight survellience, but the controversy surrounding Nagpur’s red-light district is far from resolved. The police-enforced closure might have cleared the streets in the short term, yet it has not provided a lasting answer to the questions of prostitution in the city.

Instead, it has laid bare the uncomfortable reality that simply banning a centuries-old profession does not make it disappear, it merely pushes it out of sight, along with all the attendant problems.

The struggle playing out in this Vidarbha enclave highlights a poignant dilemma faced by cities across India on how to uphold law and order and protect vulnerable individuals without depriving them of their livelihood and dignity.

Ganga Jamuna’s fate now hangs in the balance between courtrooms and closed-door policy discussions, while its former residents navigate uncertain futures.

As Nagpur’s authorities contemplate the next steps, the story of this red-light area serves as a stark reminder that any effective solution will require more than periodic raids or moralistic pronouncements.

It will demand confronting the social realities that have kept Ganga Jamuna alive for so long. The reality of poverty, inequality, and the absence of viable alternatives, and ensuring that the voices of the women at the heart of the story are not lost in the process.