PROSTITUTION IS NEVER THE WAY TO GETTING RICH

Meera used to believe life would be kinder if she worked hard enough. She grew up watching her mother stitch clothes late into the night, fingers cracked, eyes tired, hope thinning with every unpaid bill. Poverty wasn’t loud in their home it was quiet, persistent, and humiliating.

When her mother fell sick, kindness vanished quickly. Relatives stopped visiting. Neighbors avoided eye contact. Employers paid less when they sensed desperation. Meera searched for work everywhere shops, factories, homes but no one wanted a young girl with no education and no connections.

Hunger returned. Then eviction notices. Then fear.

One evening, a woman approached her near the bus stand. Well-dressed. Confident. Smiling too easily.

“There’s a way to make quick money,” she said. “Just until things get better.”

Meera knew what it meant. Everyone did. Her stomach twisted. Her heart screamed no. But poverty is persuasive. It reminded her of her mother’s medicine, the empty kitchen, the nights spent crying quietly so no one would hear.

“I’ll do it just once,” Meera told herself. “Just to survive.”

But survival came at a cost she hadn’t counted.

Each day chipped something away her dignity, her sense of self, her belief that she mattered beyond her body. People didn’t see Meera anymore. They saw an object. A transaction. Something disposable. Money came, yes but peace didn’t.

She started avoiding mirrors.

One night, she returned home to find her mother sitting awake, waiting. She had heard rumors. She had guessed the truth. Her eyes weren’t angry just broken.

“I raised you poor,” her mother said softly, “but I raised you to know your worth.”

That sentence crushed Meera more than hunger ever had.

The next morning, she walked away.

Life didn’t magically improve. In fact, it became harder. She cleaned houses. She washed dishes. She slept on floors. Some days she ate once. Some days not at all. But something slowly returned her self-respect.

Months later, she joined a women’s support group run by volunteers. They taught skills. They offered counseling. They listened without judging. For the first time, Meera felt seen as a human being again.

Years passed.

Meera now works at a small tailoring unit. The money is modest. The work is tiring. But when she looks in the mirror, she recognizes herself. She stands taller. She sleeps without shame.

Poverty pushed her to the edge. Desperation tempted her with shortcuts. But she learned the hardest truth of all.

Some paths may offer money but they steal your soul.

And once dignity is lost, no amount of money can buy it back.

MORAL;

Poverty can force painful choices, but prostitution is not a solution it deepens suffering and strips away dignity. True survival is not just staying alive, but protecting one’s self-respect. No hardship justifies losing your worth, because dignity is the one thing no poverty should ever take from you.