Our Voices, Our Experiences (2019)

Content curated and compiled by: Anita Cheria and Uma
Editor: Winnu Das
Editing and transcription support: Parimala Kamatar, Gopika Bashi, Sunita,
Mallu Kumbar
Cover art and book design: Winnu Das
Printed by: Kriya Prakashan P. Ltd.
Bengaluru, Karnataka – 560027.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-
NoDerivatives 4.0 International License
This book is not for sale.
Suggested contribution ₹ 200; $ 25; € 20
First edition: May 2019
Published by: Jeeva, a Trust registered under the Indian Trusts Act, 1882.
Jeeva is registered under Sections 12A and 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961.
email: jeevabng@gmail.com
Phone: +91 9591775020 / +91 9008376679
Wordpress: http://jeevabng.wordpress.com/home/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jeevabng
Youtube: https://bit.ly/2Gqa2Wv

Contents
JEEVA’S JOURNEY...........................................................................................i
PREFACE ...................................................................................................... iii
OUR VOICES, OUR EXPERIENCES ............................................................ 1-51
MAPPING TRANSGENDER EXPERIENCES................................................ 53-71
JEEVA: FOR A LIFE OF PEACE AND FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION.............. 73-87
ENGAGING WITH LAW AND THE STATE............................................... 89-121
ANNEXURES....................................................................................... 123-131

i
Jeeva’s Journey
Jeeva (lit. life), registered on 5th
November 2012, is a community-led
organization that aims to build a society where all people can live in peace
and freely express themselves irrespective of their gender identity or sexual
orientation. It is the solidarity and support of countless individuals that has
made our journey possible.
Manohar Elavarthi provided valuable support to start Jeeva. Fellowships
from Aneka (2013-14) and Jain University (2015-17) provided mentorship
and financial support to Jeeva in its initial years. Akkai Padmashali has
partnered with Jeeva and helped build organizational linkages. Jayna
Kothari of CLPR has supported Jeeva’s legal interventions. The Karnataka
Sexual Minorities Forum, particularly Mallu Kumbar, has partnered with
Jeeva for several community initiatives. OpenSpace has provided
documentation and strategic planning support. Alex Tuscano of Praxis has
consistently supported the Praxis-Jeeva projects since 2016.
Our present board of trustees – Lakshmi. A, Pushpa Achanta, Dr.
Muralidhar, Revathi A, Sunitha B.J and Anita Cheria - and former trustee
and founder member Dr. Evangeline Anderson-Rajkumar, have guided and
supported the organisation at every stage.
I thank all the volunteers, allies, community leaders, activists and NGOs in
Bangalore, in other districts of Karnataka, nationally and internationally
who have supported and collaborated with Jeeva since its inception.
Uma (alias Umesh P.),
Founder and Managing Trustee,
Jeeva

iii
Preface
‘Our Voices, Our Experiences’ focuses on transgender experiences in
Karnataka and issues with which Jeeva has extensively engaged. Putting it
together has been an insightful journey. We started curating and compiling
experiences a year ago, certain the process would be completed in a few
months. However, as we progressed, and the events of 2018 unfolded, we
found there was a lot more to say.
There are four sections in this book. The first and second map personal
stories and experiences with the major institutions of society such as the
state, media and family. Most stories have been shared by friends of Jeeva
who have consistently supported Jeeva in prioritising issues for reflection,
conversation and campaigns. Some stories have been adapted from
‘Ananya’, Jeeva’s print magazine, or interviews aired on Jeeva Diary, a
community radio programme. Jeeva’s key interventions are highlighted in
the third section. The final section touches on engagements with law and
the state and includes experiences from campaigns and traces key
developments and current concerns for gender and sexual minority rights.
In the annexures to the book are a glossary of relevant concepts, acronyms
used in the book, links for reference and further reading and finally, lists of
sensitive hospitals, counsellors and NGOs/CBOs.
We hope this book generates awareness, understanding and dialogue on the
concerns of gender and sexual minorities. Though not exhaustive, it
attempts to reflect the rich and varied experiences, challenges and victories
of gender and sexual minorities – personal, collective and organizational.
Anita Cheria
Trustee, Jeeva

Our Voices, Our Experiences | 1
Our Voices, Our Experiences
This section contains eight life stories:
▪ JARMI, JASMINE, JOY – MY LIFE EXPERIENCES
▪ BLESSED BY THE GODDESS – THE LIFE OF RENUKA
▪ SHAKTI – A MARALADI LIFE
▪ VIMALA – A SEARCH FOR ACCEPTANCE
▪ AMULYA – MY STRUGGLES, MY LIFE
▪ MY JOURNEY – SONU NIRANJAN
▪ REVATHI – THE STORY OF MY LIFE
▪ UMESH, UMI, UMA – MY LIFE, MY DREAMS
Jarmi, Uma, Kannan, Deepika, Vaishali, Kumar B, Ranjita and Mallu
Kumbar participated in a discussion on the transgender experience
facilitated by Anita Cheria. Observations from this focus group have been
interwoven into this section and through the book.
Reflecting the diversity of the transgender population, the narrators of the
life stories and the participants of focus group are of diverse ages, gender
identities, sexual orientations, come from different places and cultures and
have varied aspirations. It is on these diverse experiences that Jeeva bases
its work.

2 | Our Voices, Our Experiences
Jarmi, Jasmine, Joy – My Life Experiences
My name is Jarmi, short for
Jeremiah. I was born male on 3rd
September 1974. I am a woman and
live and identify as a kothi. I may
dress in a pant and shirt, but my
feelings and emotions have always
been feminine.
Ever since I can remember I have
been interested in girls’ clothes and
cosmetics, but my feelings became
clear to me at the age of 13. There
was no opportunity to share my
feelings at that time. Later in high
school, I shared my feelings with
Shashi, another transgender person.
Till I joined a pre-university college in 1988, I did not face any real
restrictions. My identity and expression were never hidden. My family and
friends never thought of it as unnatural. Women in the neighbourhood used
to even ask me for tips on hair styles, blouses and matching colours which I
loved to give. I used to spend most of my time with other girls. This was
never seen with suspicion. I was allowed to play games like kho kho (a tag
sport) with girls. It was only when I became an adult that my family started
asking me to learn cycling and play cricket. People started saying that I
should not be friends with or spend time with girls.
College: Harassment and isolation
In college, I was made to feel uncomfortable. People made hurtful
comments. I was teased about the way I walked, dressed, held books and
for using an umbrella. Though I wore a pant and shirt, I used to wear ones
with patterns in colours of my choice. I used to ask the cobbler to add a

heel to my shoes. My clothes and my gait attracted negative attention.
When classmates started teasing me and questioning my behaviour, I said
that this is how I am and how I have always been. Sometimes it was okay.
But at other times, comments could be very hurtful. Sometimes I was asked
why I dressed and behaved like an ombuttu (a derogatory word referring to
effeminate men). It did not stop at that. They started asking me for sex.
One day, class got over an hour early. The boys were going to a stream
close to the college and asked me to join them. At first, I refused saying that
I did not know how to swim, but they forced me. Once we reached the
stream, they wanted to get into the water. As boys usually do, they stripped
down to their underwear and jumped into the water very casually. I agreed
to go into the water with my clothes on. Till that point it was okay, but then
they started questioning me: “Why can’t you be like us? We want you to do
the same. What is the problem? We want to see what you are like. Why you
are refusing to do the same as us?”
My refusal to undress made them agitated. I was confused and stressed and
embarrassed and scared by their demands. As they started getting insistent,
I became nervous, not sure whether to hold on to my clothes or jump into
the water. They asked me again why I was not ready to strip like them and
come into the water. Finally, they forced me. They stripped me and I just
sat in the sand and cried. That was when one of them came to me and
comforted me. He said that no one was serious or wanted to hurt me; they
were just teasing, and it was a joke; that it was fine if I chose not to get into
the water. I said that this may be a joke for him, but I found it very hurtful.
He brought back all my clothes. I put them on and left.
I did not share this incident with my family as I felt they would not
understand my pain. They would have scolded me and asked why I did not
feel free with my friends, why I was shy, why I wanted to behave
differently. They would have said that I should have undressed like my
friends.

Girls from my own class were friendly with me. I used to play throwball
and kho kho with them. But my seniors, even the girls, started teasing me.
When I walked in college, groups of students sitting around the campus
would make it a point to look at me and ridicule me. I used to wonder why
my classmates commented so rudely. It was very painful. I started finding it
difficult to focus on my studies.
By my second year at college, I started wanting to express myself more
freely as a woman – to dress like one, wear a sari, walk like a woman and
be loved by a man. So, I left college.
Leaving home
I was at home for a few years after that. I started working in a paper factory
close to my house and moved to the factory town in 1994. There were very
well-furnished stylish buildings for the management. But for the workers
there were only small temporary shelters where we could keep our
belongings or rest between work. My job was to trim plants and maintain
the garden around the factory. I got paid Rs.18 per day. I felt very awkward
there; I felt that others were always staring at me. They used to call me
many derogatory names like ombuttu and chakka (a derogatory term for
transgender persons). I was constantly a little scared of this negative
attention.
Friendships and love
After a month or so, I found another person who was feminine like me – a
kothi. Her name was Sundari. If someone called her by her male name, she
would get very angry. We became friends and supported each other. I felt
much better. But even then, both of us were continuously teased by the rest
of the workers. I felt attracted to a man named Manju but was very scared
to express myself in the factory. I found most of the workers very rough in
their behaviour – almost like rowdies.
There was another man, Karthik (name changed) who was a mechanic in
the factory. I asked him if he was comfortable talking to me and being

friends or if he was embarrassed to interact with me. We gradually started
meeting during the lunch break, a time when most workers would eat and
rest. Sometimes we would get some time alone if the others had left. Once
he asked whether he could love me. I jokingly asked whether it was not
awkward to talk about love among boys as I did not want to expose myself.
Sundari and I loved Manju, but he was friendlier with Sundari and paid no
attention to me. I did not take everything so seriously. Sundari wrote ‘I love
you’ on a chocolate wrapper and gave it to Manju and that made their
relationship stronger. This is when I thought I also need to do something to
attract the person I loved. I decided to cut my hand and use the blood to
write to him about my love. I wrote about half a page. I did not want to hide
anything from Sundari, even about loving the same person so I handed the
letter to Sundari. She was in a tight spot as she loved both of us. It was
difficult for both of us.
Even though it was very painful for her, Sundari agreed to give my letter to
Manju. She later told me that she gave it to him but as we were walking and
speaking about this, I found the letter that I had written crushed and thrown
on the path. I was sad and Sundari felt sad for me. I asked if she and Manju
had spoken about anything when she gave him the letter. She said that she
told Manju that the letter was from me and handed it over to him.
Manju went around the entire factory town talking badly about us. He said
there were two ombuttu in the factory and this became a topic of gossip
among the other workers.
Marriage and divorce
Karthik asked me if I was upset about Manju spreading this gossip. It was
then that I knew he liked me. The next day he said he was unwell and took
permission to take an hour off work. Noticing this, I asked my supervisor
for the same. When I went to see him, Karthik asked me why I was not
friendly with him. We soon became friends and started living as a couple.
He was from the same area as me. I liked to cook for him, wait for him to

come back and eat with him. Sometimes, I served him extra food so that he
could not finish and I could eat from his plate. I did everything that made
me feel like a good wife. He kept telling me that this was not necessary, that
he would always stay with me. But that was my image of loving couples –
the right way for a husband and wife to be together. Even though I dress in
a pant and shirt, my feelings then and now are the same.
I told him that I wanted him to marry me; that it would make me happy if
he tied a thali (a gold pendant on a chain known as mangalsutram that the
groom ties on the bride’s neck as a symbol of marriage) for me at a temple.
He was ready but warned me that at some point his family would force him
to get married. He asked me whether I would be able to deal with a
situation like that. He knew I was very sensitive, but I said that would be
alright. We tied a thali in a small temple nearby. From 2002 to 2004 we
lived very happily as a couple.
Slowly, word got around and his family found out about our relationship –
first his brother, then his parents. His mother asked me why I thought of her
son as a husband; was I not a man too? It became a big issue in my home
also when the whole fight started. His brother brought some goondas to
threaten and beat me. When the goondas came, my husband hid me and
saved me. My sisters found out and came to visit me. Karthik’s mother filed
a police complaint. At the time I did not know that there were any
organisations that worked on issues like sexuality and gender who could
help. The police also did not know much about these kinds of cases. They
did not take any action against me saying that whatever the relationship
was, it had no validity before the law. They claimed that I cannot complain
as his first wife if Karthik were to get married, so there was no issue. Then,
it became a fight between the families. My sister made me promise not to
meet him again saying that my presence will ruin his life – she made me
promise on her son to put more pressure on me. My husband was then
forced to marry by his family. I felt it was time to make a clean break and
decided that shifting to Bangalore might help.

Bangalore: Expectations from city life
Moving to Bangalore was difficult for me; not because I was leaving home,
but because of my experiences there. I had a picture of city life: a place I
could dress according to my choice, use make-up and most important, live
freely. Once I arrived in Bangalore that image was shattered.
My sister lived in Bangalore but living with her would have meant a lot of
restrictions. One of my husband’s friends helped me shift and I lived in his
house. He was a driver and had an erratic schedule. He held a lot of ‘drinks
parties’ in his house.
“He often told me to be ‘good with his friends’.”
The people who came home were also from our village. They knew
everything that happened to me, teased me and asked me for sexual favours.
I was totally dependent on my husband’s friend and did not have much
choice. It was very traumatic for me. I had never drunk alcohol but here, I
was forced to drink. They would just force it into my mouth and then
involve me in oral sex.
Abandoned by friends, saved by strangers
All this made me feel very low. I was sad that people looked at me only as a
sex object. Nobody was genuinely ready to help me. I was scared to accept
any help, as it would often mean that they would ask me for something
hurtful in return. After a year, my husband’s friend left me alone in his
house to fend for myself. It was difficult for me as at that time I hardly
knew anyone, I did not have a job, and I did not know the city. I had left my
home, the friend who brought me here left, and even my sister did not want
me to stay with her. I found it difficult to manage basic food and clothing.
I felt lonely and helpless and contemplated suicide. I went to Nandi hills.
While I was sitting there and thinking, three young boys noticed me and
asked me why I was sitting there. They said it was dangerous after dark and
the police and guards would drive me away. I started crying. I told them I

was depressed because of a family issue and did not go into any details.
They were nice to me, but I did not want to risk being treated like a sex
object – after all they were three boys. They very carefully moved me away
from the edge of the hill, brought me down and put me on a bus that would
take me away from there.
Rebuilding
In a temple close to my house, they served food. Whoever cleaned the
plates after the meal got a free lunch, so I did that. That got me a meal every
day. One day at the temple, a person came and spoke to me and I shared my
experiences and problems. This person introduced me to someone who got
me a job at Garuda (a shopping mall in Bangalore). This was 2006. After a
year of working there, I felt much more secure. That was the first time I
could plan for myself and make decisions independently – how to live,
where to live, how to manage expenses.
One day I went to Cubbon Park. While I was sitting there, a person
approached me and started asking questions. He told me about Sangama, an
organisation that supported people like me, helped us access counselling
and medical services, held community meetings and gave us space to
express ourselves and enjoy ourselves together. My first reaction was to
reject his advice. I thought it was risky to believe a stranger, especially in a
place that was new to me. But then, a second person came to me and spoke
about Sangama on another day. That was when I felt that it could be the
truth as it is difficult for two people to tell me the same lie. I started visiting
Sangama’s office. I went for every weekend meeting and found friends and
a community. I felt a new confidence knowing that there are so many
people like me. For about three years, I continued working in Garuda mall
and went for community meetings. Slowly, I became more confident and
self-reliant. I forgot the people in my past and felt happier than before.
I quit the job in Garuda mall and started working with organisations
working with our community. I started as an office assistant at an
organisation called Samara in 2009. It works on AIDS prevention and care.

After some time, I became a peer educator and later an outreach worker.
Now I am an assistant manager. I am keen to continue working for my
community. There was a time when I thought that what happened to me
was the worst. Now I know others have experienced much more pain and
need support.
Faith, Worship and the Church
As a child, I was part of the CSI Church Vanes Memorial Church in New
Town, Bhadravathy. When I shifted to Bangalore, I contacted some CSI
bishops through a friend and tried to join the local churches – one near
Bowring hospital and another in Kothanur. They both said that I had to
apply as a male and not a transgender person. In my previous church –
many years prior – I was registered as a male. In Bangalore, I wanted
admission as a transgender. They insisted that I get a letter from the
previous church mentioning the same – transgender. After all this talk of
process and procedure, I got tired and found a private church which has
been very welcoming.
Castration
I have always wanted to undergo castration and SRS to be seen and
recognised as a woman. For a long time, I did not receive any support.
Everybody discouraged me based on my age. Then, some people told me
that age is not an issue. I tried to follow the legal procedure for SRS and
approached Ramaiah hospital for counselling. Unfortunately, I could not
pick up my certificate as I got busy with other things. During that time, a
friend warned me that if I undergo an operation at this age, I will have
problems passing urine. I was keen to build my identity as a woman but
further delayed my SRS procedures for almost another year due to the
discouraging advice and lack of support.
Then, another friend who had done her nirvana (castration) said that she
knew people who had undergone the surgery after fifty and that there were
no age-related complications. I regained my confidence and went back to

Ramaiah hospital to get my counselling certificate. I was told that I should
live as satla (dress as a woman, preferably in a sari) for six months and only
then would they certify me as ready for SRS. I was disappointed and had a
disagreement with the counsellor. I felt discriminated against. I was not a
seventeen-year-old. I was mature and decided on the surgery after a lot of
thought, considering all possible complications. The way the counsellor
spoke to me, it appeared that he did not understand my situation and context
and thought I was discussing the issue for the first time. I gave up on
Ramaiah and in 2017, with the help of friends and colleagues, I went ahead
with castration at a hospital in Madurai. I finally did SRS in early 2018. I
now prefer to be called Jasmine or Joy. My family knows about the surgery.
It has not been an issue as they accepted me as I am a long time ago.
“My feelings are not reflected by or linked to my clothing.
Whatever I wear, I feel the same and recognise myself as a
woman.”
I feel happy now. I am at peace with myself. For so many years, I was
unhappy when I saw my body – when I looked at the mirror, when I had a
bath. The sight of my private parts – my penis – disturbed me. I always
wondered how my life would have
been if I was born without it. Now I am
satisfied with my appearance, my body
and my thoughts. I am still most
comfortable in jubba and pyjama
(traditionally male clothing) and
continue to use that as my daily wear,
but my style has always been feminine.
For parties and on special occasions, I
like to dress up in a sari and wear
make-up.

My worry now is about survival. The project at Samara where I was
working came to an end this year and I do not have a job. At forty-five, I
cannot think of sex work or begging to support myself. After the surgery, I
feel a little more tired and have lost some of my strength. At most, with
financial support, I can most try to start a small business. Any work that
involves physical labour will not be possible.
Expectations from family, society and state
I consider two families my own: my birth family and my community. In my
birth family I have sisters – they take care of me if I have a health issue, we
share and support each other. Though they are not very happy about the
choices I have made in life, they demand that I keep in touch and meet them
often. With my community family, I share my feelings and there is mutual
understanding, contact and care and support.
A lot of people have hurt me. I want respect and acceptance from society. I
appeal to everyone, if they see someone like me on the road, look at them
with respect. Do not refer to us using demeaning names. We also have a
right to live with dignity. From the government, I expect the
implementation of schemes and services that can support our livelihood and
housing as these are important for our survival and self-reliance. Most
people are not ready to give us houses on rent and the government must
recognise that. Housing and government jobs will make a big difference as
we will not be forced into sex work and begging by the lack of options. If
we are to live with dignity, we need to be given decent housing and a
pension of at least Rs.10,000. Otherwise, we cannot survive.

Blessed by the Goddess – The Life of Renuka
My name is Renuka. I am from
Chikkamannuru, a village in Gadag
district. My parents did not have
children for many years after
marriage. They begged the goddess to
bless them with four sons. Then, my
three siblings and I were born. My
parents became ardent worshippers of
the goddess Yellamma.
I was attacked by a strange health
issue when I was nine. Every year my
family visited the Yellamma Gudda,
the hill where the goddess resides.
When we visited the hill later in my
childhood, I felt intensely that I belonged to the hill and to the goddess.
Strange feelings drew me back to the goddess over and again. When I came
back from the hill, I got pimples all over my face and body. A kind of
stinking white blood leaked from the pimples. Even with frequent visits to
doctors, it gradually increased. This is how the goddess possessed me.
My parents connected this problem with the goddess and said, “We will
offer the crops in bulk to her, but we will not let our boy ‘tie the pearls’”
(Kannada: muttu kattuvudu, a ritual followed by Jogtis, Devadasis and
Jogappas to dedicate a person as a lifelong servant of the goddess). My
health started deteriorating again. The goddess possessed me and said that
she would make my siblings and I leave the family and the village. My
uncle begged the goddess: “We will let him ‘tie the pearls’ and bring a huge
number of people in a lorry to worship you, but we will not let him wrap the
sari”. The goddess was not ready to listen to him. My health problems
increased again. My uncle started fasting in her name and said, “We will

allow him to wrap the sari but will not send him out of the house or
village”. The goddess possessed me again and said, “I know what to do
next. It is your responsibility to leave him to serve me”.
My parents, with our family and others, took me to the hill of Yellamma to
tie the pearls. To tie the pearls, the elder Jogappas and a specific priest of
the temple have to be informed a day in advance. There are two rituals to tie
the pearls: enjalu muttu and meesalu muttu. Since I was young, they did not
allow meesalu muttu and decided to tie enjalu muttu. According to the
ritual, I bathed in the enne honda (lit. pond of oil, one among the seven
ponds on the hill of Yellamma). They placed a paddalagi (a bamboo basket
with food, sweets and vegetables, also used by Jogappas for begging) on
my head and gave me water to drink and some sugar to eat. Then the priest
tied the pearls. We offered the priest twenty-one rupees and ulupi (a
bamboo basket with rice, jaggery, coconut, betel nut, a sari and a blouse
piece). I worshipped the other goddess Matangi and offered her fresh food.
At Sattyakkana bhavi (lit. the pond of Sattyakka), I drank the water from a
stone barrel in which a piece of animal skin was placed. We offered food to
young Jogappas. Once all these rituals of enjalu muttu were completed, I
was completely cured.
Leaving home, finding a livelihood
I stayed at home for three years without any problems. But later, problems
arose and I left. I went to a village called Kurlageri in Nargund where Devi,
a senior Jogappa, stayed. Similar to the Hijras, Jogappas have gurus who act
as mothers and take care of their chelas (daughters). For eleven years, I
stayed with my guru. Before I returned to my village, my guru offered ten
thousand rupees and ten grams of gold to the goddess. She told me to
contact her if I needed anything.
Soon after I returned home, my brothers got married. They told me I had to
take on the responsibility of everything at home. I could not shoulder the
responsibility of caring for everyone. So, I left the house again and settled
in Gadag. Every now and then, I visit my village and meet my mother.

To earn a livelihood, I begged in several villages. People offered raw rice,
jawar, flour and small amounts of money. How could I live only on that? It
was too difficult – I needed to pay my rent. I started begging from vehicles
sometimes, but other Jogappas did not allow me to do this since they
worked in those areas. I started dancing on special occasions, sometimes
alone and sometimes in a group.
Jogappa traditions
When we dance, we place a copper pot with the head of the goddess on our
heads. We also sing and play the chaudike (a music instrument played by
Jogappas and other devotees of Yellamma). We divide the earnings from
these performances between us.
During festivals and crescent moon days, we stay at the hill of goddess and
perform there. On crescent moon days like rande hunnime (part of a month-
long mourning of Yellamma’s widowhood during which devotees follow
the rituals of a woman becoming a widow) and muttaide hunnime (part of a
month-long celebration of Yellamma being restored to her status as a
married woman) devotees from all over the state and the country come and
stay on the hill in huge numbers. We earn more on those days. We buy gold
jewels for the goddess if we earn large amounts and wear those jewels on
special occasions.
“Jogappa culture is embedded within Hinduism, but we cannot join any
temple. We have to start in our own temples. Within the Jogappa culture
there is no place for nirvana, i.e. castration and SRS. The body given by
god should not be tampered. Our dressing is also traditional, unlike in the
city.” – Vaishali, Focus Group
Castration and sadar (Jogappa term for sex work) are not accepted within
the Jogappa culture. Few Jogappas are engaged in sex work. People who do
not dedicate themselves in the service of the goddess are not respected in
our culture. If they really serve the goddess, they would depend on the
money they earn from performances not tapar (Jogappa term for money

earned from sex work). They would not accept any of the facilities or
services the government provides. But it would be of great help to us if the
government provided us with houses.
A Jogappa in Krishnapur was sent out of his house. He has rented a house
now and lives with his sister whose has left her husband. He does not have
a source of income. This is how we live – without a home, family, earnings
or security. No one listens to us.
The only comfort and solace we have is that we have some relationships
outside of our families. I am forty-one years old now and have six
daughters.

Shakthi – A Maraladi Life
My name is Shakthi. I am a
Maraladi kothi. I was born and
brought up in Viveknagar,
Bangalore. When I was young,
I identified more with girls and
preferred to play with them. My
friends would tease me about
this. In school, the boys in my
class kept asking me why I
would not play with them, why
I spoke and behaved like a girl.
They taunted me saying, “You
are a boy, why don’t you
behave like a boy?” When I
was in seventh standard, I
became conscious of my
feelings and how different I felt
from the boys around me. I left
school by the end of that year.
Finding my way
I was always very interested doing poojas (rituals in honour of Hindu
deities. Men and women traditionally take up different responsibilities in
poojas. The daily rituals are predominantly performed by the women of the
house). This was often questioned, even within my family. I was told that I
was a boy and should behave like one. The warnings became stronger until
I was openly told not to behave like a girl.
Doraiswamy, a Maraladi with a temple of her own, lived in my
neighbourhood. She was respected in the area. I started visiting her temple
as I liked the rituals and began to identifying with it. I hoped that I could

become like her. To initiate a person into the Maraladi tradition, a senior
person from the community must accept her. The rishta (relationship)
established is that of a mother and daughter, both of whom are married to a
deity. The senior person ties a chain, called a mangalya or mangalsutra, on
the neck of the new member to symbolise this marriage. The elders gift
vessels and clothes to the new member. Doraiswamy agreed to establish a
Maraladi rishta with me. I found comfort and a way to express myself in
poojas, worshipping gods, offering flowers and decorating the idols. I went
regularly to the wholesale market to buy flowers for the temple.
I started working at a hotel but did not like the job because people
commented on my feminine characteristics. They asked me openly why I
behaved like a girl. I was not comfortable there, so I left.
My family realised that force was not working and it was not up to me to
change. Once they accepted this, they asked me not to go anywhere for
rituals or for sex work. They said I could continue to live at home and they
would build a temple for me at home where I could do poojas.
Maraladi culture
Maraladi kothis build our own temples and perform rituals there. We are
strong in our faith. We are respected in society as there is a belief that to be
blessed by us is auspicious and brings good health, luck and healing.
In summer, we celebrate karaga utsav, a festival during which we practice
anna dhaanam (i.e. feeding devotees) and walk on a bed of burning
charcoal. Karaga refers to a mud pot with a tall floral pyramid that is
balanced on the head during the spiritual offering. The contents of the pot
have remained secret for centuries. The belief is that the person performing
the karaga is blessed by the deity to immediately understand what is in a
person’s mind when they come to us. There are slight variations in the way
karaga is practiced in different temples as rituals are specific to each deity.
There is a collective of Maraladi kothis called the Mahanadu unit. It was
formed many years ago, maybe before independence. To register in the

Mahanadu, you must give details of the temple you own or are part of,
photographs and identity proof. Once registered, some support is provided.
When a member dies, they bring a special bell – symbolic of the
community, a lamp, sari and Rs.5,000 for the final rites. After the rituals,
the bell and lamp are taken back. This is done only for members who die a
natural death – if the death is unnatural, they do not come.
Changing practices
When I joined, no one within the Maraladi culture practiced sex work or
had SRS or breast implants. Maraladi kothis wore lungis (traditional wrap-
around garment, usually worn by men) and shirts and let their hair grow
long. They looked distinct as they wore bindis (a coloured mark worn on
the forehead, usually by women) and marked their face with turmeric and
vermillion. Saris were mainly worn during festivals and special occasions.
Over time, there have been changes in our community. Some people have
taken to wearing distinctly women’s clothes like saris and dresses as the
norm. Some have got SRS done, including breast implants. Often such
feelings about the expression of womanhood are due to the desire to be seen
as part of the larger society. Most Maraladis with a temple have a following
of people who believe that their blessings can bring luck and solve their
problems. Even so, with all the stigma and discrimination that exists in
society against transgender persons, it is more stressful to maintain a
distinct dress code and appearance.
Finding home
I am now 40 years old. I continue to live in Viveknagar with my family. I
am settled with my temple work and conduct poojas every week. I get some
income through the offerings made and that is enough for me. I have full
family support for my temple work and in my personal life. My hope is that
I can live worshipping my god in my temple, decorating it with flowers and
blessing people.

Vimala – A Search for Acceptance
My name is Vimala. I was born in
Ramachandrapura, a village in
Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu. I
always felt I was not born the right
way. Ever since I can remember, I
wanted to look like and be seen as a
girl, feel attractive like a girl. When
I was three years old, I started
going to the government preschool.
During the break, all the boys used
to sit together in groups for lunch,
share food and talk about their
families. I was never included in
any group. One of the boys told me
that this was because I was not
‘proper’. At school and at home
they used to drive me away saying,
“go pick cow dung” or “go graze
cattle.”
My parents did not want me; I never felt accepted by them. My mother
cursed me saying, “Because you are like this, nobody includes you. Why
were you even born in my stomach? Go jump into a well or a lake and die.”
She used to beat me with a spatula. Sometimes, she heated the spatula over
a fire and branded my hands and mouth.
My neighbours taunted my mother saying, “What Kalaimani amma? Your
son is behaving like a woman. Having given birth to such a son, you should
hang yourself.” This provoked my mother and she beat me badly using
broomsticks and slippers.

Turning to Devi and leaving home
I wanted to be a Maraladi. I believed that whatever I wished for in my heart
would come true. So, I prayed to Devi Angala Parameshwari and asked that
she make me look like her – with bangles and earrings, vermillion on my
forehead, turmeric on my feet and rings on my fingers and toes. I collected
small stones and performed poojas (rituals in honour of Hindu deities). My
mother used to throw them away until I told her that if she believed that
they were gods and prayed to them, good things would come our way; that
was when she started letting me be.
When I was eleven years old, I left home and went to Krishnagiri. I went to
restaurants looking for a job as a dishwasher, but they shooed me away. I
eventually got a job delivering food. I worked and I studied there from sixth
to ninth standard. As I got to higher classes the male teachers began
touching me here and there. When I asked, “Sir, why are you doing this?”,
they used to say, “Vimal, you are not like other boys. That is why.” I felt
very humiliated.
I worked as a domestic helper in a house for some time – sweeping the
stairs, cleaning the terrace and buying provisions. At first, the family did
not seem to care about my mannerisms, but slowly their behaviour changed.
They began ill-treating me, telling me not to behave like an ombattu
(derogatory Kannada word for transwomen and effeminate men). So, I quit
the job.
Disowned by family, finding my own people
One day, I boarded a bus to Bangalore. When I got down at the Bangalore
bus stand, I saw others who were just like me selling fruits. I began talking
to one of them and ended up telling them my story. They helped me earn a
living by getting me a job at a farm. I worked there for five months during
which I met others like me and found a community.
I lived with my brother in Bangalore for two years after that and continued
my schooling. One day, someone saw me with my community on the street,

clapping my hands and collecting money from shops and told my family.
My relatives came to Bangalore to beat me, drag me to my village and kill
me. My community stood up for me and did not allow that to happen. My
relatives poured water on themselves to symbolise my death and said that I
was not their son anymore. They told my brother that if I ever went to his
house, he should throw me out and beat me with broomsticks; they told him
not to speak to me even if he saw me on the road. My brother told me to
leave and never come back as his neighbours would comment and his
children would become like me.
I was very hurt by this incident. I
could not take the humiliation and
did not want to live anymore. That
was when I remembered someone
telling me about an organization
for people who talk and walk like
me. I found the organisation, and
through it, other friends.
In 2006, I met Chandrika, a
Maraladi and my guru and finally
felt at home. Though Maraladis
look like men, in our hearts, we are
woman. We worship Devi and
perform poojas to make a living.
Devi blesses us with the ability to
identify a person’s inner problems
– what is in their heart – when we
look at their face. We ask them to
buy a lemon and perform drishti, a
ritual to take away bad luck. In
return, they offer five or ten
rupees. We also bless houses and

perform special rituals on festival days like amavasya (new moon) and
Shivarathri (the festival celebrating the birth of Shiva).
Money and acceptance
I trusted people but they abandoned me. The family I was born into threw
me out. I used to keep inviting my brothers and their families for
Shivarathri but they always told me they did not want to come. I had no
support from my family. In 2013 and 2014 I did not even have proper saris,
I had to stitch up torn ones. People would say to me, “You perform such
good rituals and functions. Don’t you have a proper sari to wear?” I would
lie and say that my good saris were at my brother’s house. But Devi sends
help when she sees her children in trouble. I trusted my goddess and she did
not chase me away. Devi alone is responsible for all that I am and have
now.
The fifth year I called my brothers, they came. That was eight years ago.
They came because I have money now. I am able to pay Rs.6000 as rent
and take care of my life. If I did not have anything, my family would
probably never come to me. Now, they call me home and ask me to eat and
stay there. My father asks me to buy him clothes; my mother opens my
cupboard and takes my saris to wear. My sisters-in-laws come, wear my
saris and cook and eat in my kitchen. They ask me for cotton saris that will
be light and nice in the hot weather in the village. They all tell me that I am
the light of the house and I should keep the light burning forever.
My only request is that if someone is like me, let them be; let them live and
try not to harass or humiliate them.

Amulya – My struggles, My life
My name is Amulya. I am
from Shivalli, a village in
the Mandya district of
Karnataka. At birth I was
identified as a male child. I
have an elder sister. As a
child, I used to play with
girls and help my mother
with domestic work such
as washing the vessels and
clothes. My mother liked
this but my father used to
scold me and beat me up.
He said that I should not
do such things – that these
were my sister’s
responsibilities.
At school, I used to play
with girls. My PT teacher
would tease me for not
playing throwball and kabaddi (a traditional team sport common in India)
with the boys. He would ask why I behaved like a girl and call me like
names like sangha and ombuttu (local derogatory terms for effeminate
men). The boys in my class would ask me why I did not play with them.
When I said that I did not like those games, they also teased me and called
me a girl, using feminine pronouns.
I used to love dolls so I attended some tailoring classes and sewed frocks
for girl dolls. I liked imagining that I was a girl and that I had a husband
and children. The family drama of a husband beating a wife, a mother

sending her children to school and cooking for her family was my favourite
game. I always played the part of the wife in that game rather than the
husband or any other role because I was otherwise unable to express that
there was a girl inside me. I used to play these games when I was in
seventh, eighth and ninth standards. I was beaten for playing these games. I
started to wonder why I behaved like this and was disturbed when I got to
tenth standard.
Love gone wrong
There was a boy who used to sit on the last bench in my tenth standard
class. Usually boys propose to girls but I wrote a love letter to propose to
him. There was a small poem in it with my name, his name and a heart.
There was another boy who was very dull. Since I was a class leader, I
irritated him often and created situations where I knew he would be beaten
up by the teachers. He was waiting to take revenge on me. He knew my
weakness of behaving like a girl. He saw me writing the letter and took it
from my bag without my knowledge. He gave that letter to the Kannada
teacher hoping that I would get beaten. My teacher took it to the
headmaster. At lunch time I was called to the headmaster’s room. All the
staff were sitting together in his room.
I was a back-bencher in class, but I actively participated in many cultural
activities such as Bharatanatyam dances and fashion shows. I have
performed at the state level and still have those certificates. I was usually
the first student called to discuss plans for cultural events, so I assumed that
that was why I had been called. I was shocked when I saw my letter in the
headmaster’s hands. He asked me to whom I had written the letter. I said
that I had not written it. But the boy who complained told them that he had
seen me writing it. My headmaster asked for my homework books, cross-
checked the handwriting and confirmed that it was mine. He asked me
again who I had written the letter to. I bowed my head and stood still. Then
the other teachers said that I might have written a boy’s name by mistake

instead of writing a girl’s name. They were worried not so much about the
love letter but because it mentioned a boy.
The news spread to the whole school. Even the boy to whom I had written
the letter heard. From then on everyone began calling me “love letter”.
Since we were poor, it was difficult for us to manage the expenses. That
was the end of my school life and education.
Finding friends and community
I always felt the desire to look like a girl, with long hair and a feminine
appearance. I had mood-swings and thought constantly about my feminine
feelings and behaviour. While I was in my village, I never had contact with
other transgender people. Once I went to Mandya district for sports with my
PT teacher and friends. There I saw a group of transgender people who
came for collection (a term used for begging) shouting and speaking loudly.
My teacher and some of my friends said to me, “Look, your people have
come. Go and give them money”. I never thought of speaking to them as I
was scared by the way they were behaving. They saw me running away
from them and said, “Ey! Come here. Why are you running? You will also
become like us one day.” Their words soon came true.
One day I was in a park, lost in my own world. I was very depressed and
confused by the thoughts inside me. Someone came to me and asked me my
name. We spoke about our desires and feelings and he said that both of us
were the same. He took me to an NGO and helped me get counselling.
There I met Shobhamma, a counsellor who seemed to be completely a
woman except for her voice. I was confused whether to call her aunty or
uncle. I told her that I wanted to become like her – like a woman. She told
me not to become like her. She meant that I should not undergo sex
reassignment at this stage in life, but instead adjust and continue my
education and get a job. She said that becoming a transgender would lead to
a miserable life in all possible ways. But I wanted to become a woman.

I left my village. I took a bus to Majestic, the interstate bus stand in
Bangalore. Soon after reaching Majestic, I saw a group of people coming
towards me. They asked whether I was also a kothi (an effeminate male).
When I said I was, they asked me to accompany them to their house. I
asked why I should go with them. They said they would make me the way I
wanted to become.
Celebrating womanhood and survival
Later, I met my guru and she took me to her house in Dasarhalli in 2006.
Being accepted as a woman, being able to dress and walk like a woman in
my guru’s house was a dream come true for me. I was finally able to
celebrate the womanhood hidden inside me. I was extremely happy on that
day when my new community life began. In 2008, I underwent castration.
They said that there are only two ways to live our life: begging or sex work.
I went for collection (local term for begging) to Nagavaara for the first
time. I clapped and begged in a shop. They looked at me in an awkward
manner. I felt very bad and started to question why I should beg. I had no
disabilities. Why should I be forced into such a situation? People like me
who are capable, we should get educated and work. But who will give us
jobs? People simply say that they will help us, but no one helps us build our
life. I then remembered the advice of Shobhamma. Somehow, I adjusted to
begging even though I was reluctant as there was no support from my
biological family and my guru said there was no other way out.
I did sex work later. It is not an easy job. I never imagined these hardships,
that I would spend my life like this. I was slapped for the first time when I
was doing sex work. I did not ask the reason. Feeling upset, I came straight
home and slept. Police and goondas never let us to do sex work if we do not
pay their share. They threaten us and beat us up sometimes. Several times, I
decided to commit suicide by hanging myself. But then I wondered, why
should I die? I have not done anything to anybody. I slowly motivated
myself, telling myself that this was my life and I must live it.

Love and loss
I began a relationship with a man in 2011. I asked him to drop me to my
house once. Later, we exchanged phone numbers and messaged each other
for two years. He came home, sat silently, drank tea and went back without
speaking. When he came a second time, I told him that I was transgender
and doing sex work. He felt very bad after listening to me. He asked, “Are
you the one I liked?” I asked him why the love changed after learning that I
am a transgender. He did not say anything. Even after that incident, we
stayed in touch for a few more years.
Later, he said that he was being forced to get married. I sacrificed my love
for him to be happy but I was madly in love with him and cried many times.
I felt completely broken and tried to commit suicide. I called him several
times, but he did not take my calls. Maybe he knew that I may commit
suicide and that was why he came to my house and told me to be calm. He
told me to contact my parents and spend my life helping them. He told me
about the hardships of life, how men leave their wives even after getting
married legally. He asked how it could be worse in a transgender person’s
case. He said “Who will take care of your parents after your sister gets
married? Help your parents.”
Family: Conflict and acceptance
I had never contacted my parents, though they tried to find me and contact
me many times. I had an old childhood friend, Vijay (name changed) in my
village. I call him anna (elder brother). When Vijay found out that I have
become like this, he called me and asked me to meet him. I told him to
come to Bangalore. Vijay also had feelings like me, he feels like a woman,
but he wears a pant and shirt. He came home with another person and asked
why I was dressed as a woman. He informed me that my parents were very
worried after I left the village. It had been six years since I met them. When
Vijay went back, he told the whole village that I had undergone castration
and become a woman. My parents were worried and complained against

Vijay for spreading this news. They said that their son was lost five years
ago, that he might have made me like this by performing black magic.
Soon after, my brother-in-law and uncle called and asked me to meet them
in Koramangala, an area in Bangalore. Wondering why they called me after
such a long time, I tried to avoid their calls. However, my sister called me
and requested that I meet them, so all of us met. On seeing my appearance,
my sister started crying. I also started to cry. They were not ready to believe
that it was me – the boy they had known as a child, but they identified me
by a mole I had. They told me that a complaint had been lodged against
Vijay and his friend who had visited me in Bangalore. They asked me to
throw away my wig but then realised that it was my own hair. I told them
that I had undergone castration by choice, that nobody had forced me to do
anything. They asked why I had become like this. I told them that I would
not torture any of them and asked that they let me live my life. I even
prostrated in front of them.
They took me to the police station, assuring me that they would bring me
back safely. When we reached the police station, they forced me to support
their accusations that Vijay and his friend had used black magic to change
me. When my parents reached the police station, they did not recognise me
and asked who I was. They were shocked on seeing my transformed
identity. They were upset and not ready to accept me and my physical
appearance. I could understand what was going through their minds and
hearts at that time. They claimed their rights of being my parents without
understanding me properly. My father had brought all my sports certificates
in which my male name was written. My parents quarrelled with Vijay and
his friend and accused them of performing black magic and changing me. I
became emotional on seeing my family and felt pressurised to agree with
them. I think I wanted very much to reconnect with my family at that point.
I lied to the police that Vijay and his friend were responsible for my
condition but I felt bad for saying this as it was me who had wanted to be
like this. The police took me to the District Magistrate to record my

statement. Here, in front of all of them, I said that becoming a woman was
my own decision; I was willing and desired it; no one else was responsible
for who I am. My parents emotionally blackmailed me but I explained to
my parents that nobody had forced me and took back the case.
Now I am happy because I have shared my desires and feelings. I am not
hiding it all as I had been since the beginning. Just as my parents had
certain dreams for me, I had always wished to become a woman. Finally, I
became who I wanted to be. Now my family has accepted me as I am. If I
feel bored in Bangalore, I go to my village and spend time with my niece,
go to my fields and work there for some time. I also help my mother with
domestic work. My mother always says that had I been a man, she would
have had a daughter-in-law by this time. I have told her many times to think
of me as her daughter-in-law and to forget that she had a son.
Life goes on
The way I am, the decisions I have taken, even what my parents did, is
nobody’s fault. It was a difficult time in all our lives. I fought alone against
those hardships. I am happy to be what I am today because I love to be this
way. I have become a woman as it was my desire.
My wish is that society treats us equally and does not consider us inhuman.
I would never expect the government to give us kilos of gold, silver or cash.
But I do expect them to offer us jobs and provide equal opportunities since
we are also capable human beings.

My Journey – Sonu Niranjan
I am Sonu Niranjan. At birth, I
was identified as a girl. I belong
to a poor Dalit family from
Trivandrum, Kerala. We were a
small family, just my mother and
I. I do not like to talk about my
father. My mother was a teacher.
We lived on her salary and she
supported my studies.
I hated looking at my body. I
always felt I was a male trapped
in a female body. I was haunted
by the thought that I was the only
one who felt like I did. I tried
hard to cover every feminine part
of my body and insisted on
wearing a pant and shirt. I always
played with boys; I did not mix much with girls or play with them.
While watching films, boys would watch the heroines and girls would
watch the heroes. But I was a girl and was attracted only to heroines.
Whenever I thought of a film song, I would get immense pleasure
imagining myself as the hero. In third standard, I felt attracted to a girl who
was in fourth standard. At that time, I did not know why I was attracted to
girls. I could not express my feelings at home. We were very poor with no
exposure to issues such as sexuality or gender. During that period, I knew
only that I was different from others.
When I was in tenth standard, I cut my hair and started wearing my
favourite clothes – a pant and shirt. This made me extremely happy but my
mother and relatives were very upset and screamed at me. To keep my hair

short, I told them that I had a serious ambition to be an international cricket
player and lied that I could not have long hair as it restricted me while
playing. They insisted that I stop cricket, but I stuck to my ambition.
Ridicule and loneliness
I was constantly ridiculed for dressing in a pant and shirt, playing cricket
and behaving like a man. This was due to the patriarchal stereotype of how
a woman should be – submissive, restricted to the kitchen and in ‘women’s
clothes’. The people in my neighbourhood called me ‘Shikhandi’ (a
character in the epic Mahabharata who is born female and later becomes
male). Even my family ridiculed me and called me names. People scolded
my mother for having allowed me to be as I wanted. They said that she
spoiled me; she had not raised me ‘properly’ as a girl; that she had allowed
me to do what I did.
I was madly in love with a girl and would always spend my time with her.
That became a serious issue for my mother and family. They started
questioning why I spent time with her. They said she was not a girl of good
character, that she was the reason I was spoilt. At that time, I was not aware
of my rights. Even the fact that other transgender people existed was not
very clear to me. Most of the time I felt very lonely.
I found out that there was a person in my family who felt like me. He was
attracted to women and behaved like a man. Unlike me, he did not cut his
hair and wore women’s clothes like churidars (tunics and loose pants
traditionally worn by women). Through him, I met others like me.
“One advantage for those born female is that many times a strong girl is
more acceptable than a feminine boy in our society.” – Kannan
When I joined a women’s pre-university college, I found a friend who was
like me. We were part of the state women’s cricket team. I loved cricket as I
felt it was a masculine sport. I observed my friend – the way he spoke and
dressed, always played with boys, looked at girls – everything he did was

what I wanted to express. I was very happy I met him. I shared all my
feelings with him and we became best friends.
We faced a lot of problems in college because we wore pants and shirts.
Many of the other students’ parents started complaining that their children
were roaming around with two boys in the women’s college campus. The
complaints went to the principal. He was very confused trying to figure out
who these two boys were. The complaints became very serious and one day
the principal called us and insisted we bring our parents. The next day both
of us went to college with our parents. The principal asked my mother
strange and horrible questions: “Is your child male or female? Why does
she wear men’s clothing to college?” He asked me, “what organs do you
have?” He said that the college is for women and no male students are
allowed. My mother pleaded, telling him that I like to dress only in pants
and shirts. The principal scolded my mother and my friend’s parents, telling
them that they were not raising their daughters properly as we “behave like
boys, sing like boys and dress like boys. We [the college] will not let girls
wear pants and shirts. They must wear churidars or skirts”. We tried to
justify our dressing as we were not wearing skimpy clothes, we only wore
pants and shirts which covered the whole body. The principle said that girls
would get ‘spoiled’ because of us and the college name would be corrupted.
He instructed the teachers and students not to mingle with us because if
they did, they would also become like us. After that incident, nobody spoke
to us. We were ridiculed inside and outside the classroom. We were seen as
specimens. Though I was very interested in studies, I could not complete
my 12th
standard due to the harassment.
Battling alone
My mother was very unwell during this time and passed away. That was a
big blow for me. I ended up with living my relatives. They tried to change
everything about me, curtailed all my freedoms and pressurised me to get
married.

In India if a homosexual or bisexual female, or a transman expresses their
feelings, they are prone to more torture. The assumption is that once she
conceives, she will become ‘alright’. A heterosexual marriage is seen as a
‘cure’ – Focus Group
Hoping to make me ‘presentable’ to potential grooms, they forced me to
grow my hair long, wear girls’ clothing and behave like a girl. I could not
imagine being married to a man. How could I ever share with them that I
always imagined myself as the man in a marriage, being in love with a girl,
making her my wife and living as couple? Even if I wanted to share this
with them, they would see it as two women getting married. They never
thought of me as a man. I even considered suicide as I felt there was no
other escape.
Finding my voice and a world beyond
My friend from college and I found FIRM and Sahayatrika – organisations
supporting people like us. In 2003, there was a case referred to as the
‘lesbian case’. It actually concerned a transman and a cis-woman. The
media portrayed them as perverts, said that they were Naxals running a sex
racket. A legal case was filed to stop them from living together even though
they were adults but FIRM provided legal support and won the case.
FIRM sent many gender and sexual minority persons for the 2004 World
Social Forum in Mumbai. I was one of them. I told my family I had a
cricket match.
“In the train, for the first time I experienced the extraordinary
freedom of expressing myself as a man among many
transgender persons. Everybody saw me as a man. I was
extremely happy that I was away from the restrictions and
rebukes of my family and home. I had no fear, no need to hide
myself and my expressions of gender. It was, and remains to
this day, the most memorable journey of my life.”

In Mumbai, I met many transgender persons from other states. Among them
was Famila, a Hijra woman from Bangalore, working as a human rights
activist with the NGO Sangama. I developed an intense friendship with her
and told her about my life and my fear – that I would be forced to get
married when I returned to my hometown. I also shared my feelings and
situation with Elavarthi Manohar, who was then the director of Sangama.
He assured me that there would be support if I came to Bangalore. Famila
suggested that I could move to Bangalore and stay with her so that I would
not have to go back to my family. I was a little apprehensive as I was
misinformed about Hijras and afraid of them. When we travelled in trains
for cricket matches, we were told that they would force money out of us,
that they kidnapped children to make us like them.
When I came to Bangalore and stayed in Famila’s house, it was wonderful
and all my misconceptions flew out of my mind. But how long could I stay
there? I had to return and I did. My family in Kerala scolded me for not
coming back on time. My mother was gone and I was at the mercy of my
relatives.
I started working in a medical store. There were other boys in the store and
they harassed and abused me every chance they got because I dressed in
men’s clothes. They constantly looked at me sexually and commented in
innuendos. I left the job and decided to shift to Bangalore. I told my family
I wanted to play cricket. They did not agree but I insisted and came to
Bangalore.
Life, survival and dignity
In Bangalore, I could live as I desired – as a man. However, I needed a job
and language was a problem. I started working but was constantly
addressed in female pronouns and faced gender-based harassment. So, I
quit that job. I asked for a job in Sangama and was given one. However, I
lost the job as I became lazy and did not do it properly. I later got a job in
Suraksha – another NGO that works with sex workers and sexual
minorities. I started out as an assistant; with help of friends who trained me

in computer basics, I become a data entry operator. I later re-joined
Sangama and worked as training officer in the Pehechan project. Now the
project is over. Work in NGOs is not a permanent – the job only lasts till
the funds come; I also need a job in mainstream society. I am now
continuing my studies in Kerala with the support of Kerala State Literacy
Mission. I am a member of the Kerala State Transgender Board which
implements and monitors the state transgender policy.
“SRS was a two-year process. First, there was counselling
and my application was approved. Then I went to the
endocrinologist and they started me on hormone therapy
along with further counselling. I underwent the top surgery
(mastectomy). As I am from a working-class background and
could not save money for the surgery, my friends helped me. I
am very happy that I did it.”
The gender binary
Transgender persons face a lot of problems. Our society operates on the
strict binary of male and female and has no concept of other gender
expressions. We are not understood. We are told that as women we should
not wear men’s clothing. These gender norms restrict our expression. If you
assert yourself as a man and not a woman, the stigma and discrimination
begin. This scrutiny extends to every service sector. Take health. My
friends and I do not usually go to doctors for normal health issues as we are
forced to answer a hundred questions about our gender. They ask if we are
women or men; they gather to see us as though we are specimens and
ridicule us. Most of the time, we cannot easily use public toilets as we need
be extra careful to use men’s toilet. These practical issues lead to bigger
problems. We restrict ourselves from urinating in public toilets and end up
with infections and develop kidney problems.

Society often becomes very violent against transgender persons. People try
to strip them to ‘check’ their gender. Once, my friend was travelling in a
bus and got a call. When he answered the call, people heard his voice and
started ridiculing him asking if he was a man or a woman. My friend tried
to stop the bus near a police station but the bus did not stop. They even tried
to force him to strip, but he managed to escape. In another case, one of my
friend’s shirt was torn to ‘check’ if he was man or woman.
All the restrictions on gender expressions and violence have led to many
suicides. I have a request to society. I want people to stop thinking of
gender as binary and let every person live their chosen gender.

Revathi – The Story of My Life
I was born a boy in a
village in Namakkal
district. My family called
me Doreswamy. Sometime
quite early in life I took a
liking to wear my sister’s
clothes and doing domestic
work. In school, I used to
play kho kho (a tag game)
with girls. When I was in
sixth or seventh standard I
began feeling attracted to
boys. I never knew why I
was feeling that way. I
never shared these feelings
with anyone as I was ashamed and scared. I was worried that I was the only
one who felt like this and wondered whether it was a disease. I began to
realise that I was a gender non-conforming person, but never imagined that
I would become a woman.
When I was in tenth standard, I began searching for others like me. Once,
just to pass time, I went to a hill on the outskirts of my village. There I saw
people dressed in lungis (traditional wrap-around garment, usually worn by
men) who were addressing each other with feminine pronouns. They looked
like me and had behaved similarly. They came there late in the evening.
Some of them were doing sex work there. They told me that they went to
towns like Dindigul and the temple festivals in Kuvagam. I was extremely
happy to find them. Lying to my parents that I was attending tuition, I went
there every evening.

Finding friends
I went to Dindigul with my new community friends for the Mariamman
festival (celebrated after new moon at the Sri Kottai Mariamman Temple). I
did not tell my family. I stole my sister’s clothes and make-up to wear to
the festival. On the bus to Dindigul, my friends started to wear make-up.
The other passengers teased us asking where we were headed and whether
we were going to perform in a play. I did not like this and asked them not to
do so since the men were looking at all of us.
We got down in Dindigul after a few hours. I saw many people wearing
saris and could not differentiate between my friends and women. I also felt
like wearing a sari, so I asked whether I could. They said yes. I wore a sari,
a nose ring, a bindi (a coloured sticker worn on the forehead) and bangles.
There, for the first time, I did all the domestic work usually done by
women.
They told me to stay back there and held a jamat (a council of the Hijra
elders, or heads of the gharanas). When I told them that my name was
Doreswamy, they told me not to mention my male name again and asked if
there was a female name I liked. I did not have any names in my mind.
They appreciated my beauty and told me that I look like Revathi, a well-
known film actress; I was very happy to hear this. They named me Revathi.
That was my reet (lit. ritual, reet is a celebration initiating a person into the
Hijra community. They are given a female name, a sari and other gifts).
Leaving home in search of life
My guru was preparing to go to Delhi. After sending her off I returned
home. My relatives were at home for my sister’s marriage, so no one beat
me, but I was scolded. I wanted to go Delhi since I felt that it was where I
needed to be. So, soon after my sister’s marriage I left for Delhi. I was 15
years old.
I stayed in Delhi for three months. I wrote a letter to my mother addressed
from a shop run by Malayalis where I went for begging and got a response

to my letter at the same address. But my family members found out where I
stayed with the help of lorry drivers from my village. These drivers knew
my family and traced me to Azad mandi (a wholesale vegetable market). I
was forced to return home. My brother beat me and my family shaved off
my hair. They filed a complaint against my community people saying that
they forced me to become like this and go to Delhi.
I stayed at home only for a year. I worked as a lorry cleaner in the family
business. My hair grew. I left for Delhi again at the age of sixteen. My
community sent me to Mumbai since I was not castrated at that time and
conducted another reet for me. I stayed in my guru’s house and started
going to shops for collection (begging). I stayed in Mumbai for three years
before undergoing nirvana (castration). While in Mumbai, I met
Maniyamma, a Hijra from Bangalore. She told me to visit her hamam ghar
(a house where Hijras live together which sometimes doubles as a brothel)
in Halsuru if I went to Bangalore.
I felt like doing sex work, but we were not allowed in the house where I
stayed so I ran away to a different gharana (lit. house. There are seven
Hijra gharanas in India, each with different traditions). I encountered
unimaginable violence by all sorts of people at the place. I just wanted to go
back home. This time no one found me and forced me. I went back for
myself.
They knew that I had gone to Mumbai and that I was a satla kothi (a
transwoman who dresses as a female). My brother beat me up again and my
parents scolded me. My mother was very frustrated and cried and shouted
loudly. All the villagers started coming home and when they saw me, they
said “Aiyyo! Doreswamy has become a woman.” I did not say anything at
the time. What could have been my response? But my father supported me.
He said that he failed in all efforts of beating, scolding and shouting at me.
Since I did not change, he accepted me the way I was. But how long could I
stay at home? I had many desires – to wear a sari, to look like a woman.

I came to Bangalore when I was twenty-three in search of work. I did not
know anything much about Bangalore except Maniyamma’s hamam ghar.
The auto driver in Bangalore took me to a different place, but when I
mentioned Maniyamma’s name and he took me to the right address.
Maniyamma treated me well and I stayed on.
One day, I was once walking on a road when police caught me and dragged
me to a police station. They asked me where I live. They kicked me with
their bare feet and harassed me. They asked me why I had come to
Bangalore. I told them that I came to earn a livelihood and begged them to
leave me alone. They made me sweep and clean the police station and told
me they could not let me go since the officer was not there. They told me to
sit in a cell. I went inside and sat in a corner. There was another prisoner – a
huge, naked person in the cell. He asked me whether my breasts were real
or not and where they came from. He asked whether I had a bottom
operation. When I said I did, he forced me to part my thighs and tried to
insert a stick. He and others said dirty words and started laughing. This is
how I was harassed at the police station.
As I stayed in Bangalore, I started trying to support others like me. I
became a ‘mummy’ to many young friends who came to Bangalore in
distress in search of a safe place to live and express themselves. Famila was
young transwoman who I accepted as a daughter. Though she looked to me
as a mother and guru, it did not stop her from supporting me. She
introduced me to Sangama, the organisation she worked for. I started
working there as an office attendant in the year 2000. Here, I learned more
about my rights. I worked and engaged with many human rights campaigns
for sexual minorities and others.
I fell in love with a person who was also working in my office. My guru
helped organise my marriage in a temple and conducted some traditional
rituals at her home. I had seen these rituals during my sister’s marriage but
never imagined that they would happen for me. But our relationship as
husband and wife was not as I had imagined. He left me after a year. I felt

very low and often even suicidal. However, I felt I needed to live for my
parents and my guru since they loved me. I asked myself, why should I die
for a man who did not even care for me? I moved on and got a divorce in
2002. There was so much tension and emotional turmoil but there was also
a lot of work at the office in 2003. My circle of friends and my professional
connections grew. Slowly, I took on more responsibilities, until I ended up
as the director.
Activist to author
As I got into leadership positions, I often was called to larger meetings to
talk about my experience. I wrote notes to prepare as the organisers allotted
me a fixed time to speak. This slowly started taking the form of poetry, as I
felt I could express deeper feelings better. That is how I started as a writer.
In 2003 Shubha, a board member of Sangama, told me to write my first
book. I felt that I needed to read a lot first as I was not a professional writer.
Shubha gave me Karukku, the autobiography of Bama, a Dalit Christian
woman. This helped me structure my book, but I still faced problems with
grammar. In 2004, my first book Unarvum Uruvamum (Feelings of the
Entire Body), was published. In 2005, I re-joined Sangama and started
working on my next book.
Many more opportunities to deliver speeches about my life and other topics
started coming my way. I visited Dhaka and Sri Lanka as a guest speaker.
The preparations to write and deliver speeches as well as the habit of
writing my diary helped me write a second book. It took me three long
years to complete my autobiography: The Truth about Me: A Hijra Life
Story. It was published in 2010 and translated by feminist historian V.
Geetha. Badaku Bayalu, it’s Kannada translation, was published in 2012.
After my second book was published in English, I witnessed several
changes. Many people began writing about my book. I see references to my
book in reviews and articles online. I wonder how many people have
written about it. So many people seem to have used my book for their
doctoral research. More than 320 universities and colleges in India and

outside have discussed the book and included it in their syllabus for gender
studies and other subjects. It is only because of my book that I received
wide recognition and got invited to London and Switzerland.
When I left Sangama in 2010, I faced financial problems. I started visiting
the hamam ghar. The others teased me about being involved in activism.
They asked what I achieved from all that as I had returned to hamam ghar.
All the clients asked for younger girls. I felt bad as they called me aunty
and amma. I went home a year after I had left Sangama and stayed for two-
three years. I sold my jewellery for about four lakh rupees. I got just two
thousand rupees per month as interest on the deposit. That was not enough
to cover my cost of living. My other plans for businesses did not work out.
31st
August, 2016: Bangalore launch of A Life in Trans Activism, organised
by Jeeva.
Sangama gave me a one-year fellowship of one lakh rupees in 2012 to
complete my third book, but it took more time to complete. A Life in Trans
Activism was published in 2016 and translated by Nandini.

Author to actor
Ganesh Heggodu, from the Ninasam theatre group in Shivamoga, and his
wife read Badaku Bayalu. They were touched by my story and called to ask
for permission to create a play based on it. Ganesh said that it was not for
any personal gain. I did not have much experience in theatre or understand
what he was going to do with the book but I gave my permission. It was
staged in 2014. Many people told me that they had watched my play and
that it had come out very well. I was in Tamil Nadu then so it was difficult
for me to see it.
The 49th
show was organized in Kolar. I attended this along with the
director. The hall was full. The way my mother behaved with me, the way
my brother beat me up, the way people behaved with people like me, the
violence by the police and other incidents were recreated before my eyes. It
was difficult to watch my life unfold on stage. I was left speechless. I
became emotional and started crying. When the performance was over, I
went on stage and expressed my gratitude to the actors. The audience gave
a standing ovation. They were touched by the act and my story. I never
imagined that the play would influence people this way. Seeing this, I
decided to continue the shows for one more year. I did not know how to tell
Ganesh of my wish. Finally, on Deepavali, I told him and within a week he
called me back and agreed.
Ganesh invited me to Bangalore to celebrate the 50th
show in grand way and
possibly close the stage shows after that. He invited NGOs that I had
worked with to organise and support the celebration. Some NGO
representatives said they would watch the show and then take a decision.
Much to my disappointment, they said they would only support the show if
some dialogues were cut. The dialogue they wanted removed was, “I too
got married since I fell in love with a person and the marriage broke up
after a year.” For me, my marriage was a very important part of my life.
Why would I not express that in a play about me? This demand was painful.

I suggested to Ganesh that we do the show independently. We staged the
play in Ravindra Kalakshetra (an auditorium in Bangalore) as a paid event.
Ganesh asked me whether I could spend three months in Neenasam with
them. He arranged for the artists to stay in Neenasam but asked me to stay
at his home. His wife’s hospitality filled me with joy. She took care of me
like my father, providing good food for three months. I started acting in the
play and was extremely happy to work with them and practice theatre. This
is how I started acting in plays. We successfully completed 86 shows.
I developed an interest in theatre after seeing the influence of theatre. It is
an easy medium to tell our stories and reach the hearts of people. I found
happiness in performance. Ganesh was organising a national theatre festival
and suggested that I perform a solo play. I agreed as I had been waiting for
such an opportunity. I asked Mangai, an activist and theatre artist from
Chennai, to help me. I showed her my script. She trained me for four hours
after which I rehearsed myself. I performed my solo play on stage for the
first time at an event organised by Kalki Subramaniam, a transgender rights
activist from Sahodari Foundation and later performed at Ganesh’s festival.
I have done 18 solo shows.
Looking back
I have started to have health issues due to my age. My one regret is that my
father has not yet understood me or my community. Despite all the support
I have given to my family, I have been neglected by them. In spite of all
this, life is moving on. I am aware of my responsibility towards my family
and will continue doing what I do.
“Gender discrimination is not uniformly experienced. It is
differs depending on several other factors such as a persons’
caste, religion and skin colour. Society must treat people as
human beings irrespective of all their differences.”

Activism has become part of my life. I deliver speeches at seminars,
colleges and universities. My book has helped me connect to good people
who lead me to new opportunities. I have become adept as a solo theatre
performer. Sometimes I get financial benefits and sometimes I do not, but I
feel happy to work continuously. My long association with rights-based
work and campaigns has helped me understand freedom and dignity and
take my life further. Along with taking care of my father, all this gives me
happiness and adds meaning to my life.

Umesh, Umi, Uma – My Life, My Dreams
I was born Umesh, but am
now called Uma or Umi. I was
born in 1979 in BV Palya, a
village in Chennapatna into a
rural middle-class family. I
was identified by others as a
boy, but by the time I was
seven I felt I was a girl. In
games, I loved to pretend to be
a bride. At home, I was given
full freedom till I was about
ten years old. My mother had
no daughters and allowed me
to grow my hair and tie it up
like a girl. She even pierced
my ears for me. My aunt and I
had an arrangement – if I washed all the vessels, she would pluck flowers,
make a mala (garland) and tie it around my hair.
Feeling like a girl
In 2nd
standard I had an unforgettable experience. Chinese silk had just
come into the market. My aunt had a cream coloured Chinese silk sari. I
dressed in that sari, with flowers on my head on 15th
August, Independence
Day. The headmaster happily handed me the flag, and I led the parade
through the village. That honour made me happy but later I became sad as
the appreciation did not last.
I was in a government school where boys and girls studied together. Most
of my friends were girls. I loved playing kho kho (a tag game played mainly
by girls). When I got to middle school, I was forced to cut my hair. My
father said that I should look and act like a boy, otherwise our family

honour will be lost. When my hair was cut, I cried the whole day and did
not eat.
By eighth standard, at about thirteen years of age, I started facing severe
violence and discrimination in school, particularly from boys. I was forced
to show my private parts and teased about being too feminine. The same
teasing and beating continued at home as my brothers were embarrassed by
my feminine ways. My voice was a clear give away and my gait was
noticeably feminine.
My confusion became a reason for stress and an issue I could not ignore.
My interest and capacity to study decreased. My feminine characteristics
became apparent, and soon the school staff started sexually abusing me. It
was mainly the physical education teacher, the administrator and the
gardener. They used the rooms allotted for materials and sports equipment
to abuse me.
Life after school
I failed my tenth standard board exam and was not able to study further. I
was much better with chores at home. I stayed at home for two years. There
was a lot of conflict with family members. I feel gender is my personal
choice. When I started questioning my own feelings, I was never sure how
to tell others about it. The two options offered by society were water tights
boxes – male and female. I did not feel comfortable being tied down. The
things I liked to do were seen as girly – I used to be very religious, do a lot
of poojas and fasting. I liked to wear kumkum, bindis and tight clothes. I
used to enjoy drawing rangolis (patterns created on the floor, traditionally,
using materials such as coloured rice) in front of the house. In winter, it is
considered auspicious to wash the house early in the morning, bathe, go to
the temple and singing hymns. I used to like to do all that too. Perhaps I
liked doing these things because I thought they were girlish things to do.

Work and loneliness
As my mother wanted me to be more self-reliant, I moved to a nearby town
to stay with my grandmother. I got a job as a helper in a textile power-loom
factory. I worked from eight in the morning to nine at night. Later, I learnt
to operate the machine. I worked there for about three years. I started with
Rs.150 a week. By the end of three years, I earned Rs.300 a week. All the
factory workers were men. They abused me sexually. But, also at the
factory for the first time, I found another boy like me. We became friends
and that was when I got the confidence to share my feelings with someone
else. But he developed a heart problem and died. That disturbed me very
much.
There were fights in my family about the division of property. I overheard
my elder brother and wife saying that I should not get a share as I was
feminine. They even convinced my father. I felt emotionally drained and
very depressed by my life. I wanted to commit suicide. Even at that time, I
was bothered about how men might see my private parts, so I wore pants
under my lungi (traditional wrap-around garment, usually worn by men). I
attempted suicide by hanging, but my father saved me.
I decided to fight back and hold on to my property and support my mother.
She was very supportive and we were both targeted. For three long years,
from 1999 to 2002, I fought for my share and finally got it. I sold the
property and handed over the money to my mother. I lived with her, away
from the rest of the family. After securing my mother’s life, I felt my
responsibilities were over and I again wanted to commit suicide. At that
time my cousin in Bangalore called me for a pooja. That was the first time I
had come to Bangalore. I decided to stay.
Finding friends
In Bangalore, I helped my cousin with domestic chores. One day I was at
the Majestic bus stand and I noticed somebody with a feminine gait walking
close to me. That night I was disturbed. I wanted to meet him again. Every

day I walked to Majestic and sat there from one o’clock to four o’clock in
the evening. A week went by. On the last day, when I thought I would need
to go back, I saw him. I could make out that he was also interested. We
began talking and soon became friends. I started helping my cousin with
work. Because I had no money, I would eat at home and then walk to
Majestic or Cubbon Park where I met more transgender people like me.
Ten years ago, we had many spaces such as parks, bus stops and public
toilets that we could use free of cost for relaxing and to meet others. Now,
these are not as accessible. In the name of development, all the parks have
guards and are locked up except for a few hours during the day. If they
realise that we are sexual minorities they do not let us in at all. All the
public toilets are now pay and use so that space is also restricted. – Focus
group
My cousin’s husband and family started complaining, asking me to return
to the village or shift out. Though I had no money or source of income, I
had made a few connections to other transgender people, so I moved in with
them. I started dressing as a woman and started sex work. But I could not
settle in. There was a lot of violence between older members and
newcomers in the community.
I was told to undergo castration. I was confused – I thought an operation
would mean that I too will have a vagina and be able to have children. But I
saw many others who went through castration and jalsa (a traditional Hijra
celebration of castration). I realised that castration was not a complete sex
change. Just a day before my operation was scheduled, I returned home. By
then my mother was worried as I was not living at my cousin’s home.
When I returned to Bangalore. I stayed with friends and started sex work
independently at Cubbon Park. I then found out about the organisation
Sangama and started volunteering there. I got a job in Sangama in 2004. I
also worked with SWASTHI in 2003 on a survey to map the beneficiaries
for a HIV/AIDS prevention programme.

“Biological family is important, but friendship-based family
is closer to us. My birth family gives me stability and being
part of a family is good as I can share my happiness and pain.
But family support and acceptance are conditional on
maintaining a fake identity. Due to this exclusion from my
birth family, the bond of friendship with the family of my
choice is very strong.”
My professional experiences
I have been living as part of the transgender community for nearly 17 years.
I have supported many of my community members in times of crisis. I have
also intervened in social and legal matters through media, community
interventions and legal action to advocate for the human rights and social
entitlements of gender and sexual minorities. I have produced and edited
text and audio-visual content highlighting human interest stories, socio-
economic and legal challenges and stigma and discrimination against
gender and sexual minorities in Karnataka.
In the last seven years I have been a founding member of three community-
based initiatives; Samara, which provides services to sexual minorities on
HIV and other health and rights issues, was started in 2005; KSMF, which
focuses on promoting rights of sexual minorities in Karnataka, was started
in 2006 and registered in 2007; Payanna, which promotes rights of sexual
minorities was started in 2009.
For some time, I took a break from NGO work and worked with a
company. But I felt compelled to work with my community. I considered
working with a fellowship but after discussions with friends and supporters,
I became interested in starting something that would last longer. I registered
my own organisation, Jeeva, in 2012. I decided the focus of Jeeva by
researching the needs of the community through a planned interactive
process.

An issue that repeatedly came up for discussion was the high suicide rates
among sexual minorities. There was no space to talk about mental health
problems. There were also problems of livelihood. The number of persons
openly identifying as gender or sexual minorities was increasing, but there
were few livelihood options to support them.
There were ongoing debates and discussions about sexual minorities, and
groups fighting for sexual minority rights. But these did not reach or
involve everyone. In some areas, there was a lot of activity and in others
there was none. There was a need to disseminate information within the
community and to the larger society. As I had personally faced many of
these problems, I was driven to take action. I decided to make mental
health, livelihoods, and community media the three focus areas of Jeeva. I
sought advice from various people with expertise and experience in these
areas and put together a board of advisors who were working on these
issues.
Over time, my engagements with community issues has become deeper. I
have become involved in advocacy and crisis intervention. I try to
understand issues and then mobilise support to address them. I have had an
active role in mobilising the community to oppose laws that criminalised
us. Now, I not only feel confident but have started to enjoy public speaking.
As a section of society who have suffered from social, economic and
political marginalisation, we need to use every opening to enable ourselves
to live a life of dignity and peace. I want to create a platform for gender and
sexual minorities to participate equally in society, build a sustainable
livelihood, and attain a quality life with self-esteem and dignity.

Mapping Transgender Experiences
The transgender experience encompasses and influences all aspects of life.
This section attempts to provide an overview of engagements and
experiences in different spheres of life and interactions with the major
institutions of society and state:
▪ CHILDHOOD AND EDUCATION
▪ FAMILY AND FRIENDS
▪ HEALTH
▪ MENTAL HEALTH
▪ SEX REASSIGNMENT SURGERY (SRS)
▪ ECONOMIC SYSTEMS AND FINANCIAL VULNERABILITY
▪ MEDIA
▪ RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS
▪ SOCIO-CULTURAL COMMUNITIES OF TRANSWOMEN IN INDIA
▪ THE STATE

Mapping Transgender Experiences
Childhood and Education
Childhood is a vulnerable and defining period in a person’s life. Schools,
families and communities need to be well equipped to respond to the needs
of children who do not conform to society’s norms of gender and sexuality.
Anita Cheria, Director of OpenSpace, highlighted some shortfalls of society
and state in this regard. These children are often confronted by insensitivity,
ignorance and violence from their birth family, school teachers and friends
– the very people they are emotionally dependent on. Their behaviour is
restricted by family and society to make their identity – or even their
existence – invisible. Families sometimes take extreme measures such as
restricting the movement of or confining the child, not allowing them to
attend school or socialise. Faced with such treatment which is often
criminal and violates their basic human rights, many of these children run
away from home – if they are not thrown out first.
Focus group on childhood and discovering identity
Most children become aware of their gender and sexuality at a young age.
Kannan, assigned female at birth, started feeling attracted to girls at around
age ten. Deepika became aware of her gender at eight. Vaishali became
aware she identified as female in eighth standard, Kumar B in seventh
standard and Mallu Kumbar at the age of thirteen.
Some children find acceptance within their families: “I was born a male
child in Bengaluru city on 23rd
January 1988. Now many of my friends call
me Kumari. But even in my childhood, my grandmother and some other
relatives called me Kumari, as they wanted a daughter in the family.” –
Kumar B

Others do not: With the exception of one participant in the focus group, all
had experienced some form of violence in different spaces, discrimination,
isolation, or had been forced out by their families or neighbours for not
conforming to their expected gender roles. They may go a long time
without finding anyone with whom they can articulate and discuss their
feelings. The first time Kannan met another transgender person was at the
age of 26. “I met someone who felt similar, I felt a big relief”.
– Kannan
For children in rural areas these problems are aggravated by their relative
isolation. It is harder for them to reach out or find likeminded or sensitive
individuals or communities. Small efforts can make a big difference.
“One day I saw a press clipping about a lesbian couple. Then I found a
book on sex which referred to a ‘she-man’. This excited me.” – Kannan
Counselling and medical support can be provided only on a case by case
basis when organisations become aware of such cases but one can never be
sure that all such children are able to reach out for support.
“I was teased by classmates in school. When I told my teachers, they would
tell me to behave like a boy. When I was in 8th
standard I felt very lonely
and shared my feelings with my class teacher, Usha. She told me that I was
still very young, that it was just confusion, that it would clear up once I am
older. Though she was not unpleasant, she was of no help!” – Kumar B,
Focus group

Our Voices, Our Experiences (2019)

Our Voices, Our Experiences (2019)

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Our Voices, Our Experiences (2019)