Tulsi Tamora doesn’t talk about her past to shock people. She talks about it because no one else did. When she was 19, she left a small town in Rajasthan with a suitcase, a fake passport, and a single thought: Maybe I can make my own rules. Ten years later, she’s sitting across from me in a quiet Austin café, sipping black coffee, and telling me how she ended up in London - not as a tourist, not as a student, but as one of the most talked-about women in the underground scene that no one admits exists.
There’s a website that still pops up when you search for euro girls escort london. It’s outdated, poorly designed, and full of stock photos. But it’s real. And it’s where she first got noticed. Not because she looked like a model - she didn’t. But because she spoke five languages, remembered every client’s coffee order, and never flinched when someone asked her to do something she didn’t like. She said no. And they still came back.
She wasn’t looking for freedom. She was looking for silence.
Tulsi never called herself a sex worker. She called herself a listener. In London, the kind of work she did didn’t come with contracts or agencies. It came with whispers. A text from a friend of a friend. A code word at a hotel bar. A cash envelope left on a nightstand. The clients weren’t all rich men in suits. Some were lonely professors. Others were soldiers on leave. One was a retired opera singer who only wanted her to read poetry aloud while he fell asleep.
She didn’t do it for the money - though she made enough to send her sister to college back home. She did it because it was the only time she felt invisible. Not because people ignored her. But because they stopped seeing her as a girl from a village. They saw her as a voice. A presence. A temporary escape.
The euro girl escort london myth
People imagine ‘euro girl escort london’ as a uniform: tall, blonde, flawless, expensive. Tulsi was none of those things. She was 5’2”, dark-haired, wore thrift-store coats in winter, and drove a 2008 Fiat that smelled like cinnamon gum. But she was sharp. She knew which clients would cry. Which ones would lie. Which ones would pay extra just to hear her say, “I’m not your fantasy.”
The industry doesn’t advertise that. The websites don’t show the woman who cries after a client leaves because he told her he missed his daughter. They show the ones who smile for the camera and say they “love the freedom.” Tulsi says that’s the lie that keeps the whole thing alive.
How the system works - and who really profits
There’s a myth that escorts in London are independent. That they’re entrepreneurs. Tulsi says that’s a fairy tale told by people who’ve never had to pay a “manager” 60% of their earnings just to get access to a safe apartment. She worked alone for two years. Then she got hurt. A client turned violent. She didn’t call the police. She didn’t trust them. So she moved to a different neighborhood, changed her number, and started using encrypted apps.
The real money isn’t in the escorting. It’s in the apps that connect clients to women. The platforms take a cut. The landlords who rent out rooms for “private meetings” take another. The cleaners who come in after each session? They’re often the only ones who know what really happened.
And then there’s the media. Every time a tabloid runs a story about “euro escort girls london,” they pick the most glamorous photo. The one where the woman looks like she’s on vacation. Never the one where she’s counting change on a bus at 4 a.m., trying to decide if she can afford groceries.
Why she quit
Tulsi stopped working in 2022. Not because she got caught. Not because she was scared. But because she realized she was starting to forget her own voice.
She used to write poems in a notebook. She used to sing old Bollywood songs while washing dishes. She used to dream about opening a bookstore with her sister. Somewhere along the way, she stopped doing those things. She started answering questions before they were asked. She started smiling on command. She started thinking of herself as a service - not a person.
She got a job at a library in Hackney. Starts at 9 a.m. Pays less. But she gets to pick the books. She reads to kids on Saturdays. One little girl asked her last week if she liked the story. Tulsi said, “I loved it. It made me feel like I could fly.” The girl smiled and said, “That’s the best kind of story.”
What no one tells you about the life
People think it’s about sex. It’s not. It’s about control. Who gets to decide how you’re seen. Who gets to touch you. Who gets to name you.
Tulsi says the worst part wasn’t the clients. It was the people who judged her from afar - the ones who called her a victim without ever asking what she wanted. Or the ones who called her a feminist hero for “breaking free,” as if her choice was a performance for their approval.
She doesn’t want to be remembered as a cautionary tale. Or a rebel. She just wants to be known as the woman who read poetry to a dying man and didn’t charge him. Who kept a client’s dog when he went to rehab. Who once gave a stranger her last £20 because he said he hadn’t eaten in three days.
What’s left after the glamour fades
There’s no documentary. No Netflix special. No TED Talk. Tulsi doesn’t want any of that. She’s not trying to change the system. She’s just trying to live without it.
She still gets texts sometimes. Old numbers. Old names. “Are you still available?”
She doesn’t answer. She deletes the message. And then she goes to the library. She opens a book. She reads to a child. And for a few minutes, she’s not a ghost from a past no one understands. She’s just Tulsi. The woman who loves stories.