The notion of paid companionship is not new to the subcontinent. In the Mughal courts of the 16th and 17th centuries, tawaifs—trained courtesans—performed poetry, classical music, and dance, and they often enjoyed the patronage of nobles and emperors. Their role was both artistic and intimate, and they held a unique social status that blended respect with marginalization.
Fast forward to the mid‑20th century: as Lahore transformed from a colonial administrative centre into a thriving post‑independence metropolis, the city’s commercial districts—Anarkali, Ravi Road, and later, the upscale Defence Housing Authority (DHA)—began to host a variety of informal services. The term “call girl” entered the local lexicon in the 1990s, adapted from the English phrase but steeped in Urdu slang. It now describes women who operate primarily through phone or internet contacts, arranging discreet meetings with clients.
Lahore’s rapid urbanisation has produced a stark income disparity. While the city boasts booming tech startups, high‑end shopping malls, and a flourishing film industry, many households still struggle with limited job opportunities, especially for women who lack formal education or face cultural restrictions on workforce participation. For some, the call‑girl trade offers a comparatively high, albeit unstable, income that can support families, fund higher education for siblings, or pay off mounting debts.
Patriarchal expectations often dictate that a woman’s worth is measured by her marriageability and adherence to modesty. Yet, paradoxically, a hidden market of affluent, often older men seeks companionship that is both discreet and outside the bounds of traditional marriage. The call‑girl arrangement—typically brief, transactional, and anonymous—fulfils a demand that openly discussing such needs would otherwise stigmatise.
Smartphones and encrypted messaging apps have lowered the barriers to entry. A single advertisement on a private Facebook group or a discreet Instagram profile can reach a broad clientele without the need for a physical brothel. This digital shift has also made it easier for women to screen clients, negotiate rates, and maintain a degree of control over their schedules.
In Pakistan, prostitution is illegal under the Pakistan Penal Code (Section 377) and the Protection of Women (Criminal Laws Amendment) Act, 2006. However, enforcement is uneven. Police often target visible street‑level operations while overlooking the more concealed, internet‑mediated arrangements that dominate Lahore’s current scene.
The ambiguity creates a fragile reality for the women involved: they are simultaneously criminalised, vulnerable to exploitation, and ignored by social welfare systems. Some NGOs have begun offering outreach, counseling, and skill‑development programmes, but funding remains limited and cultural resistance hampers broader acceptance.
The narrative surrounding “call girls” in Lahore is heavily gendered. Women in this line of work are labeled “immoral,” their families often face social ostracism, and the men who pay for companionship are rarely scrutinised. This double standard reinforces a cycle of shame and invisibility, making it difficult for women to exit the trade or seek legal protection when faced with violence or harassment. Call Girls In Lahore
At the same time, a few scholars argue that the phenomenon can be viewed through the lens of agency: in a context where legitimate employment options are scarce, some women deliberately choose this path as a rational economic decision. Recognising this agency does not excuse exploitation, but it does challenge the monolithic view of victims as passive.