He needs money. Money means freedom, he says, the freedom to be himself. I disagreed: you can be unapologetically yourself and still be a pauper. But I was not there to debate him. I was there to understand the choices he has made in pursuit of an elusive freedom.

He has his reasons for equating the two. He is young; he turns 24 in November. He is paid for his services. "I serve people," he says. The money lets him buy things and travel, and that makes him happy. It is a pursuit of happiness, plain and simple. Lately he has taken to wearing expensive brands, which lets him raise his rates. He is conscious of this. "There's a name for what you do," I told him. After a pause, he said quietly, "I'm a part-time gigolo. I like sex. I like making people happy. I like it when they see my body and rejoice."

He is tall and slim, slightly fairer than wheatish, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and a square, muscular jaw. His smile is wide and his eyes have an intent look. Clients describe them as mysterious.

He is from Bihar and came to Delhi five years ago. He was shy then, a simple young man with limited needs and an ambition to become a civil servant. A modest stipend from home was enough. Then his needs changed, and so did he. He had a relationship with a widowed lawyer who practised in the local court, a woman three years younger than his mother. He turned out to be good in bed. The affair lasted a year and ended abruptly. He was open to more.

He made himself available. It was an attitudinal change: when you are open to things, things happen. He had several flings. The women gave him generous gifts, then expectations set in, and he began asking for specific ones: a mobile phone, Diesel jeans, a watch, boots. Then he began asking for money, and they found ways to meet his growing demands until they could not.

Easy money appealed to him most. Meanwhile he invested in his body and joined a gym. His trainer doubled as a part-time pimp and opened doors for him. His earnings quadrupled. He moved to South Delhi and now shares a two-bedroom DDA flat with the trainer. They are best friends. His mother, who suspects nothing, has visited and stayed with him. He finished his master's degree and has filled out forms for competitive examinations. He wants to be a cop.

I asked him to describe his clients. They span all age groups, and they seek not sex so much as intimacy. Lately, thanks to his flatmate, he is open to men. He follows the cardinal rule: a gigolo does not fall in love with a client. Clients, though, fall in love with him. They have taken him on trips to East Asia, Dubai, even New Zealand.

"I seek personal pleasure in professional service," he says. He has no idea what the future holds, but he knows he can't do this all his life. His body can't remain a public good with an entry fee.