A Prostitute and a Virgin Boy – The Price – Short Film



This short movie concentrate about a funny tale of a young virgin guy’s 1st visit to a prostitute!
An Award winning short film -THE PRICE-
Starring – Mitali Nag of Afsar bitiya serial (Zee TV)
Gaurav Pandey – Upcoming film actor.
Directed by – Vicky Khandpur
winner in UTV WORLD MOVIES CONTEST, was aired on 22nd may 2011 on utv world movies channel.
short listed in and screened in 16 FRAMES FESTIVAL, IFFI – GOA IN 2010.
Winner of best concept award – by2coffee film fest 2011
showcased in SCRIPT film fest

Stolen from a Reporter’s diary)

A thin film of darkness, like a dark velvet sari hanging from the sky, was fluttering in the cool breeze and the moon had started playing hide-and-seek with the passing clouds. The time would be around 9 in the evening and I was standing outside my house with a mixed feeling. I cannot say with certainty I am not nervous. Mother was coming out every three minutes with a suspicious look. I died hundred deaths whenever she enquired about my proposed trip outside at that time of the night. I prayed constantly while trying to steady my throbbing nerves. I have had no prior experiences and none of my colleagues had so far admitted or narrated their experiences in this regard. I stood there shifting my legs constantly in extreme discomfort. At last the auto arrived at about twenty past nine. It was my good fortune that mother did not come out at that time. I almost jumped into the auto gathering strength and urged the driver to go. I could sense my heart beats had become slightly erratic. The broker was sitting in the auto with an unnecessary glee. I cursed my fate as I had to share a seat with a third rated person like him.


The auto driver definitely had the doubts. He cast surprise glances at me on and often through the rear-view mirror. Unfortunately that auto belonged to a stand located at the end of our street. I closed my eyes in shame. I could understand how that driver would have felt about me. After traveling for about twenty minutes we reached a house at the end of a street at a very well known locality at Chennai. I could not hide my surprise. Is this the house? At the outside it did not look like a brothel at all. I looked at the neighbouring houses. All were independent bungalows, I am sure, occupied by respected citizens of the city. After paying off the auto the broker knocked at the door gently and beckoned me to stand by him in the dark. The door was opened by a fat woman, a typical boss. The broker whispered something into her ears and thrust some currency notes into her open palms. Even without counting those notes, she was closely surveying me with suspicious eyes, while continuously chewing betel leaves. She then spoke to the broker in a rough tone sternly advising that I should behave or otherwise unknown consequences would follow. I gulped uneasily, nodded my head and set foot inside the brothel for the first time in my life. I found out I had become dry. My legs had become suddenly heavy. I had perspired completely from the head to the toe. With uncomfortable ease, I cleared my throat, called for a glass of water and sat nervously at the end of a chair casting my glances all around trying to appear unperturbed.

That was a typical brothel which everyone would have seen in films. There were rooms everywhere and some were occupied, apparently by the sounds of giggles and sighs emanating from inside. Others were empty waiting for customers. Three or four scantily clad girls who were casually coming out from their rooms suddenly withdrew on seeing me. I tried my level best to let go a dry smile and stood up as if inviting them. They huddled into a group and stared at me in utter disbelief. I know my decent dress and pious looks would have startled them.

Inviting courage I neared them and extended my hand introducing me. They could not believe in my words. They looked at the direction of the boss and the broker. After getting a doubtful nod from their boss one of the women, an elderly one, took my hand and led me reluctantly into one of those rooms. I dragged my heavy legs with an effort and walked behind her with an uncomfortable smile. I tried desperately to recall all those prayers which had been taught to me from the childhood and to bring to memory a  picture of my parents. After covering what appeared to be an eternal distance, I accompanied her to the room. She seated me in the bed and with thousand doubts in her eyes closed the door. I was in a private room with a prostitute for the first time in my life! My hands shivered and pearls of perspiration started running down from my temples liberally. And the clock struck ten!


I had a very disturbed sleep at that night and next day I reached my office around eleven in the morning. All my colleagues smiled mischievously at me and gently clapped their hands as if to welcome me. To my surprise, the editor himself came out of his room to welcome me. I straightway headed for the editorial room and got seated with folded hands. “Sir, this is the first and the last time. Hereafter please do not give these kinds of assignments to me for God’s sake.” He received my article from my extended hand with an uncontrollable laugh and said:

“You may be knowing that our magazine’s circulation has almost doubled only after you have started writing here. Your reports are widely appreciated. Moreover our readers are known for unusual and different things. This idea of sending you, to a prostitute’s house came to my mind only day before yesterday. Our readers will look forward with enormous interest for this article written by you after gaining a first hand experience inside a brothel. Anyhow I thank you, for your boldness in meeting a prostitute right in her den and reporting your observations.”

I stood up, adjusted my sari and left for my table with a sigh of great relief.