Recalling the birth

A transgender Indian during a gathering in New Delhi, India

With the start of every morning, the colour of my face is painted brightly. Coloured powders, kohl swiped eyes and shiny metal jewellery decorates it. The mirror tells me every day how beautiful I look. I smile back at the mirror, embracing my jewels. The huge stud ring on my finger compliments my dark lanky fingers. The flowing yellow saree and red blouse cover up the nothings I have.

I step out of my room. Into the commune. Another disowned unlucky bastard like me comes running to, telling me how beautiful I look. I thought the mirror told me that already.

Isn’t it like the other day when I stepped in this commune for the first day? No! I didn’t step, I was brought in, on someone’s lap. The guru, who taught me the rituals of being a Hijra, brought me here.

I was five when I started clapping sitting near the window, to greet the people passing by in the street. My hands flat, allowing only the palms to touch. My father told me not to. I didn’t listen. I was enjoying doing it. I was greeting people. I felt happy. But sad that my father didn’t rejoice the fact that, every day I was greeting people passing by, with my palms flat. His consciousness about the fact was rising every day. One fine day, all of a sudden, my mother started weeping. I saw a few people coming in, wrapping me in a length of clothing, dancing and singing happily. Flower petals showered. I started jumping and clapping happily. No one accepted my existence like they are celebrating it. My mother pulled me towards her and hugged me tightly. My shirt wet. I have pulled away from her.

That was the last day I saw the woman who gave me birth. From the day I was brought here to date, dance and music, these people and the commune. Oh! And those traffic signals. Those local trains as well include in the tiniest detail of my life.

Flaunting my garnished look, I step out of the commune, for the day to start in real.

Every day in Kolkata is a not a new experience for me. It is a same old everyday thing. From the signal to the local trains. Lunch near anywhere to the income hub. Teasing those lanky male figures to looting those rich bitches in the city. Everything is done every day.

But today, someone enquired me about emotions while I was in the tea stall for the regular morning cup.

I wondered what that was. Like yes! The last emotion, the last warmth, the last breath near my forehead, I felt was of that woman who gave me birth. Anyway even if some emotion creeps into me, I bet people will laugh at us or get freaked out. Why? Because we aren’t normal human! Biology has got the deal to judge our mind. I don’t know what worth were we sold off at. Along with our body, our right to love. Our right to have the orgasm. Our right to fall in love. Our right to going through a heartbreak. Our right to reproduce. Our right to build a home. Our right to feel the sorrow of losing a family. All our rights, all of them which our mind owned. Are we all sold off? Sold off at a meagre price. The price of money. Only because biology separated us!

I wished to answer that question. But the reciprocation wouldn’t be satisfactory. I smiled as if I didn’t understand the question. A lie! Like my birth.

Paid for the tea and continued with the day.

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