Our Lives, Our Words: Telling Aravani Lifestories

SEXUALITIES General Editor: Gautam Bhan

Our Lives, Our Words

Other Books in the Series: Ruth Vanita Gandhi's Tiger and Sita's Smile: Essays on Gender, Sexuality and Culture

A. Revathi Humaari Kahaniyaan, Humaari Baatein: Hijron kijeevaniyon ka ek Sankalan (Hindi)

Arvind Narrain and Gautam Bhan (eds) Because I Have a Voice: Queer Politics in India

Arvind Narrain and Alok Gupta (eds) Law like Love: Queer Perspectives on Law

Maya Sharma Loving Women: Being Lesbian in Unprivileged India

Arvind Narrain and Vinay Chandran (eds) Medicalisation of Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity: A Human Rights Resource Book (Forthcoming)

Gayatri Reddy With Respect to Sex: Negotiating Hijra Identity in South India Rahul Roy A Little Book on Men

Pramada Menon and Ponni Arasu (eds) Because I Have a Voice II (Forthcoming)

Sunil Gupta Wish You Were Here: Memories of a Gay Life

John Burbidge The Boatman: A Memoir (Forthcoming)

Telling Aravani Lifestories

A. REVATHI

Translated by A. MANGAI

• -KUS

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YODA PRESS 268 A/C Vasant Kunj New Delhi 110070 www.yodapress.com

Contents

©A. Revathi2011 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right YODA PRESS (maker) Series Editor's Foreword I First Published in 2011

Translator's Note

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Preface / 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of YODA PRESS, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organisation. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to YODA PRESS at the address above.

Childhood and Schooling / 7 Parents and Society / 18 Work / 34 Love and Family Life / 45

You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Hijra Mothers / 56 Cultural Practices / 59 Niravanam / 64

ISBN 978-93-80403-06-9

Activism / 72 Change / 78

Typeset in 11/15 pt AGaramond By Tulika Print Communication Editors in-charge: Rehaan Engineer, Nishtha Vadehra Printed at Kaizen Offset Pvt. Ltd., New Delhi 110 020 Published by Arpita Das for YODA PRESS

Series Editor's Foreword

The truth is that before I heard the words hijra or aravani, I heard others: chakka, sixer, gaandu. I remember very clearly where. I was ten years old and the sound of a single clap had broken yet another round of afternoon cricket. "We all stood gaping at the hands from which it had sprung. No one knew what to say, if anything. The silence ended as such silences often do. I don't know who laughed first - perhaps it was me. That first nervous giggle let open the floodgates. We laughed, suddenly faced by the limits of our own experiences. That hijra became just another joke between us boys that we hid further and further behind as the years went by. But I was lucky. Since then, Famila, Kajal, Vidya, Muskaan, Revathi, Asha Babu and many others came into my life. They were and are activists, friends, comrades, counselors, and inspirations. I was close to some, acquainted on the phone and email with others, and knew some just by gossip and reputation, but they were all a part of my life. The fact that they were hijras became just information, rather than identity. Most of the time I was able to exercise that greatest of privileges: I forgot that they and I were meant to be 'different'. Most readers of this book will not have had that chance. For them, the laughter has never broken. Hijras have not become friends, lovers, acquaintances, colleagues and neighbours. The fear, hesitation and ignorance hidden inside the laughter have remained unvoiced, the questions unasked. In India, hijras are hypervisible and invisible. Stories and myths abound: the singing and dancing; the power to curse; the power to

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

shame by exposing the 'different' body; the clap; the accusations of crime and theft; sex work; the stealing of children; stories of castration; the 'harassment' for money at traffic lights, weddings, offices and new homes. Underneath these stories lies our own need to manage, explain and distance ourselves from visible sexual difference and a gender identity that doesn't fit within easy labels of "male" and "female." In these stories, hijras have no voices, names, families, or histories. They don't love, they aren't happy or sad, they have no political visions or individual quirks. They are invisible. This volume refuses this silence. Narratives and ethnographies of hijras written and compiled by a hijra activist herself, these lifestories were first published in Tamil in 2005 where they entered into and furthered the emergent transgender rights movement in Tamil Nadu. The collection inspired many others, and the movement in Tamil Nadu has grown from strength to strength scripting a new set of stories about hijra lives that encompass changes in passport forms (where one can now enter "T" for Transgender, or "O" for Other), the establishment of a welfare board at the state government level, pensions and everyday lives lived with dignity, security and work. Perhaps because this is one of the first collections to be produced entirely by members of the hijra community themselves, these stories escape the trap of simply being testimonies to tales of violence, exclusion and eternal victimhood. They do not deny or hide this exclusion, but they refuse to be limited by or to it. These stories are just as much tales of rights and citizenship, and of moral and ethical responses and challenges to prevailing social norms. They refuse the easy trope of'difference', using it, instead, to ask difficult, unsettling political questions of all of us. In doing so, they break with the tradition of most academic and popular writing on hijras, especially in English, where hijras have remained objects of discovery and description. This is Yoda's third offering on hijra lives within the Sexuality series. In With Respect to Sex (Yoda Press: 2007), Gayatri Reddy argued that hijras were most commonly described using the trope of sexual

Series Editor's Foreword

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and gender difference, but that hijras themselves did not understand their own sexuality or their community through this trope. Rather, she said, these communities have complex codes of izzat (which she translates as respect, rather than honour), determined by a range of factors that extend far beyond the body and sexual or gender difference. The stories in this collection are stories of this izzat. The Sexualities series at Yoda is proud to have released this pioneering collection in Hindi in 2010, and now in the English translation that you hold in your hands. With it, we shall perhaps move one step closer back to the beginning, to re-scripting that summer afternoon's fearful laughter. New Delhi March 2011

GAUTAM BHAN

Translator's Note

Translator's Note REVATHI'S UNARVUM URUVAMUM

First published in 2005 in Tamil, Revathi's documentation of the lives of hijras - or 'aravani' as they are referred to in Tamil by the community — was a pioneering work that paved the way for many more such writings, and provided a support for the struggle of the transgender community that had already begun making its presence felt powerfully in Tamil Nadu. For Revathi as a writer, this was an attempt to understand her own plight as part of the collective. She began to interview fellow transgender persons at a time when her own emotional life was at a low ebb, as a means of asserting her identity and dignity. Her writing, therefore, was a way of coming to terms with her life. Tamil progressive literary circles had been one of the first groups to identify and acknowledge the wave of transgender presence in the new social and civic movements. "Writing workshops were being organized by Pudiya Kodangi, a dalit little magazine spearheaded by Sivagami, an IAS officer and writer. Most of those writings were short poems, prose articles and oral narratives of their lives. So the time was ripe for a full length study like that of Revathi. The assertion of marginalized voices has tended to adopt one of two major modes of mainstreaming their narratives: either to glean from legitimized narratives streaks of negligible but undeniable representations, or else to break away from those narratives altogether. Therefore, referencing transgender presence in myths like that of Aravan in Mahabharatha, and taking over the annual Koothandavar ritual as a sanctioning of the transgender presence was one mode.

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The other was to critique abusive references to transgenders in classical Tamil texts. The afterword to Revathi's book in Tamil by the novelist Perumal Murugan draws our attention to the fact that Tolkappiyam, die earliest Tamil grammatical and aesthetic treatise, assigned the status of 'uyar tinai' (living beings with a gender marker as masculine or feminine grammatically) to transgenders, while a latter work Nannul made this Ahrinai' (non-living object with no gender marker and therefore called 'adhu'). This observation is crucial in tracing the genealogy of gender and sexuality in the Tamil context. An acknowledgement of the co-existence of different permutations and combinations in gender identity had given way to a normative polarization into masculine and feminine. The in-between was lost or demeaned in the process. Revathi's work managed to accommodate multiple perspectives widiin the narrative, and demanded a critical reading that didn't reduce it to sloganeering or a set of sob-stories. It called for an understanding of lives that do not fit into recognizable patterns, one that placed them squarely within the discourse of civil and human rights. Following this work, there have been many writings by transgenders in Tamil. Living Smile Vidya wrote her autobiography as "I am Vidya" in Tamil. It was translated simultaneously into Malayalam and English. Priya Babu compiled the rituals and practices of the community from an ethnographic angle, and published her findings. She also documented them on video for the National Folklore Support Centre. Thilagavathy IPS compiled glimpses of contemporary Tamil writings and included Kannadi Kalai Kuzhu's plays Manasin Azhaippu and Uraiyatha Ninaivugal. Maharasan, a research scholar, compiled all the writings of the transgenders into a single volume entitled Aravanigal. Rose anchored her TV Show 'Ippadikku Rose'. Much academic research has also been conducted. In other words, articulation of transgenders has come to stay in Tamil, and Revathi's work laid the foundation for that.

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS Revathi has managed to give voice to the collective lives of

aravanis without losing sight of the individual stories. In doing so she does not lay claim to a single authentic narrative, but asserts, instead, multiple strands that converge at various points while remaining

Preface

distinct and disparate. A. MANGAI In the battlefield we stand. We do not seek sympathies Understand our emotions—we Demand our dues and nothing else. Amma should accept us Appa must accept us Society should accept us—and The world must accept us Property we ought to get—sirs Pleasures we must have House we need—sirs And jobs we need. Fear. I was scared to walk on the road for fear of people recognizing me. I was worried someone might tease me while I walk on the road. I was afraid the police might arrest me. I avoided taking the bus, not sure whom I could sit next to. I was scared to use the public toilet for fear that people might know my difference. I was scared that rotten tomatoes might hit me in the market. I was scared of falling in love for fear of being hit hard. Fear of anything and everything. Why am I so scared? This question haunts me. Is it the fear of having changed into a hijra through castration? Or that I was born a male but wore female clothing? Is it due to the way I live—cast aside by my parents, unrecognized by society,

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Preface

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penalized by the law and begging or prostituting for a living? What mistake did I commit? Did not my mother bear me for ten months, like my siblings? Why should I suffer this fate? Why should I live in perennial fear all my life? Can't people understand how much I am suffering—like the curd churned by the ladle or the worm burnt in the heat? Are they Gods at all who create us with male bodies but give us female feelings? Are my parents responsible for this? Am I simply shameless to put on this garb? Who am I? Which gender do I belong to? Is it right or wrong to be thus? Where will I find answers to my questions? In India, Ardhanareeswara, who is half male and half female, is worshipped. Why would such a country abuse hijrasl How could those of you who have read the story of Shikhandi in Mahabharat refuse to understand hijrasl Are basic human rights meant only for males and females? Aren't hijras human enough to enjoy those same rights? Aren't we citizens of this country? Don't we deserve to get voting rights, a passport, a driving license, a ration card, property rights? How justified is it to say that since I was born a male, I can get access to these rights only if I remain a male? Don't I have the right to reassign my gender identity? Why do you refuse to understand me and my emotions? I did not purchase these emotions, nor did I borrow them. I was made thus by nature. Respect that. Recognize me as a woman and give me all the rights given to a woman. A man and a woman love each other and get married. Why are the law and society denying me the right to marry a man? Why don't they accept our relationship? We understand you in all possible roles— as brother, sister, mother, father, friend, or teacher. We can understand all these relationships and their emotions. Why can't you do the same? You are unable to consider us as human beings. I get the point now— it is not our fault. It's the mistake of society.

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I have been working in Sangama, an NGO working on the issue of sexual minorities, in Bengaluru for the past five years. It primarily aims to undo the wrong views and misconceptions prevalent in society regarding sexual minorities, and work towards making them equal human beings in society. Sangama has been waging a continuous struggle against the violence unleashed on sexual minorities, the false cases filed against them and the legal disparities. It is also fighting to repeal Section 377 of the IPC that considers all unnatural sexual practices illegal.1 Sangama tries to create public awareness through public meetings and film screenings. It regularly organizes workshops and seminars on the rights of sexual minorities, tries to spread awareness on HIV and AIDS, and fights for those who are affected by these diseases. Through Sangama, I have been publicly sharing my experiences as a hijra with other voluntary organizations and policy makers. I have constantly highlighted the culture of hijras, their property rights and the disturbances they encounter as sex workers. I do these based on my own lived experiences. I fight for the welfare of hijras and their basic rights. I also work with other organizations for dalit rights, antidowry and anti-female infanticide movements in Bengaluru. Initially I had to explain to the workers—men and women—within these organizations about hijras. I have witnessed many hijras being harassed by their lovers or husbands. Therefore, I wanted to avoid love or marriage in my personal life. But I too had my desires. I too wanted a family life, like my mother, sister and odier women. I wondered who would come forward to marry me. My dream came true. The dream I had while when I was 16 years old was fulfilled when I was 32. I had a love-marriage.

1 On 2 July 2009, the Delhi High Court read down Section 377 of the IPC, arguing that it violated Articles 14, 15, and 21 of the Indian Constitution that ensured equality before the law and freedom from discrimination.

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

Preface

But situations did not let my dream continue. It came to an end within a year of my marriage. I could not bear the disappointment. The separation affected me. It almost drove me to kill myself. But I thought my community would scoff at me for having killed myself for a man. I told myself that I, who was offering counselling to many others, might be in the wrong to think like this. I could not console myself. I was stressed out and could not focus on my work. I thought of giving up my job. My friends explained to me, 'Are you mad? You are working for your community. So many changes have been taking place. You have also grown in the process. Try not to muddle your thoughts. See if you can do something more for your community.' These words consoled me a little. If I kept thinking about him, I would die. I had to take my mind offhim and concentrate on something else. This decision led me to undertake a study ot hijras and bring out a book. In other countries, there are many books about people who have undergone sex change surgery, but all in English. In Tamil, we hardly have any. No one seemed to have written openly about the lives of hijras. Friends in Sangama encouraged me to write a book on my community. Their support and my pains have appeared before you in the form of this book. I have tried to express my pains in the language I can. Most of my acquaintances in the hijra community were in Tamil Nadu. Therefore, the major part of the study was done in Tamil Nadu. I met a few hijras in Bengaluru as well. I did not want to present it as an academic research work. I have presented it in the form of sharing among ourselves of the joys and sorrows we encounter in our lives. Some asked me, 'Why do you want to study this? What is the use? How much would you earn from it? Who is paying you? Would we get any share?' Of course I got paid to do this work. And my reply to their questions would be, 'Don't we have to change the stigma people hold against the hijra community? Shouldn't we make them understand our emotions? Shouldn't we also let people know how

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much we are struggling? This book is to make society understand that it was no fault of ours but the mistake of society.' Once I explained this in detail, they accepted the importance of this work. I could sense the joy and sorrow that showed on their faces when each one of them shared their life-experiences with me. Even when I recall today how they wept while narrating about love or marriage, my eyes fill with tears. I had been under the impression that I was the only person suffering like this. But when I heard the stories of hijras who had faced much more difficult times than me, my suicidal tendencies vanished. I had already attempted to write my autobiography and a few poems. That helped me in writing the lives of others. They remain as documents. Even my autobiography was not written in one sitting. I would read through what I had written. As I read, all the old memories would emerge, like in the movie Autograph. So I would rewrite. It was through writing and rewriting again and again that I could complete it. The experience of writing taught me a few things about what to ask, and how to ask my questions without hurting people. I wanted to collect their views on how they feel about a hijra writing about other hijras. I received the following answers: • A hijra alone can understand hijras better. • They might have experienced similar kinds of violence and hardships. That would make it easier to share openly. • Hijras can share things that can't be shared with men or women. • We can unburden our mental load to a hijra better. • When a hijra studies the plight of the hijra community it would be a wholesome research. It would also lead to changes within the community and the society at large. • 'Hijras are no less than any other in achievement' is proven by studies like this. Besides these comments, personally this study helped reduce my stress and resurrected me.

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Though I am not working with Sangama right now,2 they supported me in completing this study. My thanks are due to them. I thank Saraswathi for guiding me in conducting interviews. I wish to offer my heartfelt gratitude to Subha for having identified my talent in writing and having stood by me from the beginning to the end. She gave me timely advice, and inspired me to do this study. Thanks to Kannan for making me believe I can do this. I must thank the Sangama members and Board members. My thanks are due to my hijra friends for sharing their lives with me without any further expectation. I am indebted to V. Geetha and G. Palani for shaping this work. REVATHI

Childhood and Schooling

Roja I belong to Kerala. We are nine children in the house. I was the fifth boy. I used to hug the notebooks to my breast as I walked to school in my childhood. At home I would wash the dishes, clean the house and draw kolams in the front yard. There used to be many brass vessels strewn all around in our household. I used to rub tamarind on them and clean them up and arrange them in order. My brothers—elder and younger—would scold me saying, 'Why do you keep doing these feminine jobs all the time?' When I was in the 4th standard, I used to feel shy looking at boys. Our school Head Master used to be very handsome. His eyes were very attractive. He would also glance* at me 'differently'. I used to wait for the moment he would talk to me. Once our class teacher had taken leave for two months and gone away to his village. Head Master took our classes instead of him. We had only up to the 4th standard in our school. If we had to do the 5th standard we had to move to another school. I was good in Maths. So Head Master would ask me to correct the sums of other students. He would talk to me affectionately. Sometimes he would pinch my cheeks, or bite my ears fondly. The annual holidays began. On the last day we had to put all the furniture from our classroom into another room which had doors. Head Master

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Since the time of writing, Revathi has joined the Board of Sangama.

asked me to bring a few senior students to shift the tables and chairs. Once I brought them, he told me, 'Go home; take a bath and have coffee; come back around five in the evening.' When I came back at

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five, he was all alone. There were no other teachers or students in the building. He took me to a room.. .held my face and kissed me; he also had sex with me. I didn't even know what it was to have sex at that time. I was scared and upset. I kept on crying. Head Master saw me crying and called me near him and said, 'If you like and want this, come back on the 19th of next month, after the vacation.' He hugged and consoled me. I kept crying even at home. When they asked me why I was crying I replied, 'I did not prepare well, I am scared I will not pass.' I did not reveal to them what the Head Master had done. I was afraid to tell it out. Though it was repulsive on the one hand, I could not resist my desire to meet him. I anxiously waited for the 19th to arrive. Finally it came. I did not want to meet him empty handed. So I took some cashew nuts; burnt and broke the nuts without the knowledge of anyone else at home, and took them as a gift to give him. Since it was the time of new admissions, no one else was there at school. I met him in the afternoon. The same thing happened again. But this time, I was not scared. I was interested. I joined a Christian school for the 5th standard. We had up to the 7th standard in this school. I kept visiting the old Head Master even while I was studying in the other school. While I was in the 7th standard, a boy used to give me love letters everyday. In one of them, he had written a riddle: That which does not grow at birth? What is it that hides it? Which has six legs? And what is its base? What makes it beautiful? Not able to find the answer, I took it to Neela teacher and asked her to help me find the answer. She gave me the answer: That which does not grow at birth is a tooth What is it that hides it is lips That which has six legs is a lie

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And its base is hair It is flower that makes it beautiful I gave him a kiss and he gave me flowers.

Santhi Amma I am the only son of my parents. My native place is Erode. I did my studies in Karungalpalayam. I used to have long hair while I was studying in the 5th standard. I used to plait it and decorate it with flowers when I would go to school. My aunt and uncle would tease me saying, 'Why is he, a boy, plaiting and decking his hair like this?' When I was 6 years old, my father passed away during the half-yearly exams. After that I could not continue my studies. My mother and I lived in the custody of myperiappa, father's elder brother. He was not married or settled in life. His behaviour was not acceptable. So we took shelter among our relatives living at Salem, Kichilipalayam. I worked in an ice-cream shop, a wholesale jaggery store and the like. My paltry sum had to feed both of us. Time went on in this way. One day I saw a few aravanis selling peanuts on the Salem grounds, on my way back from work. I looked at them longingly with my hand over my cheeks, but went back to my house. I did this often while crossing them. One day, an aravani selling peanuts called me to her side and sat me down next to her. She asked me where I lived, and I told her. Are you a hijraf she asked. I nodded my head saying, 'Yes.' She said, 'We are also like you. Come here tomorrow, and I'll take you to other people like us and introduce you to them.' I took off from work the next day and went to their place. She took me to a house. There were many hijras sitting in a circle there. At the centre, there was a plate with betel leaves and areca nuts with one and a quarter rupees. They enquired about me and my family. 'We live like this here. You talk like a hijra. Are you one?' I said, 'Yes', feeling shy. 'You can touch the feet of someone whom you like and choose her as your mother. You will be her adopted child. Even though you

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have a mother who gave you birth, you will also have a mother in the hijra community. You can visit both. Do you agree?' I agreed, and chose my Guru. They made me her daughter. After that I used to go to my birth-mother and my Guru. One day, my mother saw me at my Guru's place and was very upset. The hijras there consoled her saying, 'Amma! We were all born of a mother's womb. We did not voluntarily choose these emotions. God has created this being like this. Your son is also born like this. Don't feel bad. He will live with you and us.' I did the same. I learnt to dance with the hijras. If I earned Rs 10, they gave me my share of Rs 3.

Ranjitha I was born and brought up in Vellore. I have two elder brothers and two younger sisters. Before the girls were born, my parents brought me up like a girl. I consciously remember wearing kajal, bindbi, two plaits and flowers and going to school. I studied at the Ponnurangam Middle School. I used to fetch water and grind masalas and do similar chores at home. My father would see me help my mother and feel happy that I was replacing the lack of a girl child in die household before my sisters were born. Others started teasing me right from my 4th standard. Every now and then, at home, there would be talk of not having performed die ritual of offering my hair to the temple, what they call tonsuring in English. Even at that young age, I used to apply turmeric while bathing. At school, I would sit among the girls. When the boys played cricket, I would play hopping with the girls. The boys would tease me as 'girlie'. Some would call me 'number nine'. They would sing the film song from die movie Oru Talai Ragam, 'Koodaiyile karuvadu; kondaiyile poo kadu' ('Dry fish in the basket; forest of flowers on the hair'). People at home spoke of shaving my head. Later they decided that they must wait till I reached 5 years of age to do it. I was feeling

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shy to plait my hair and put flowers. As time passed, I got used to it. My heart started feeling many desires. I used to feel that I must wear three bindhis, bangles, skirts and half-sarees like the other teenage girls. Looking at some men, I would feel, 'Oh! How handsome he looks! How nice would it be if I could marry him?' Sometimes, I felt pained as to why God did not create me a woman so that I could fulfill all my desires. But I have never once thought, 'Why was I born this way?' I studied up to 6th standard. I could not pursue further studies. The teasing grew too much. I quit school and stayed home doing domestic chores. I would see a few aravanis in male clothes in our town. They would also call out to me. Initially I was scared to meet them. Later I started going with them without the knowledge of my family members, to do thantha (doing sex work). My elder brother got to know the truth. At that time, my father died. My younger sister was 5 years old, and I was 14. When my head was shaved and I was given a shower, my brother beat me up with an iron rod and warned me not to become an aravani. He tortured me saying, 'We belong to a respectable caste. Do not bring shame to our community. If you are adamant about becoming an aravani, either commit suicide or run away to an unknown place. Or else, I will kill you.' I knew within myself that I was an aravani, even when I turned 12.1 thought that people teased me because I was still wearing male clothes. So I thought what if I become a 'woman'! I decided to become a woman.

Aruna My younger brother and I studied in the same school. He would play kabbadi with the boys. I would play kho-kho with the girls. Our Physical Director would scold me, saying, 'Why is this boy playing with the girls?' I wouldn't even turn towards kabbadi or cricket. I only enjoyed games like pallanguzhi and hopping. Looking at my gait, gestures and speech, my teachers would often say, 'You are not a

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metal, but an alloy.' I was very good in studies. I stood first in class, but still everyone teased me. I used to get very upset over that. One day in our chemistry class the teacher was taking a class on metals. He said, 'Iron is a metal. It will be heavy. An alloy will look like iron, but it won't be as heavy as that. It does not have a proper form. It will not have a specific shape. You know an example of an alloy would be this boy sitting here,' and pointed at me. 'He appears to be male; but his behaviour is like a female's,' he continued. The whole class broke into laughter. I felt ashamed. The question as to whether I am male or female rose in me. For many days, I was confused. My peers would tease me as 'girlie' and look down on me. I suffered such low self esteem that I wallowed in self-pity, thinking that I was no good for anything at all. I did not share any of these thoughts or experiences at home. I was scared that my parents would scold me if I tell them. Maybe if I had told them and they had responded positively saying, 'Don't bother about what others say; go ahead with your studies', I would have studied further. My amma and appawete extremely affectionate towards me. Even after knowing that I was behaving like a female, my appa had not found fault with me. I scored 420 marks out of 500 in my 10th standard. I went to Namakkal from Tiruchengodu to get a certificate to apply for a scholarship. That's when the evil spirit possessed me. I wanted to climb up the rock fort. It was beautiful to look at. I climbed up. There I found many who were like me, feminine in behaviour. I didn't know what they were doing there. But I wanted to get to know them better. I joined the 11th standard. I lost interest in studies. My friends poked fun at me and teachers ridiculed me. There was not a soul to treat me as a friend. Deep in my heart I used to wonder, 'Am I looking so different? Am I a dog or a devil? Why are they driving me away like this?' Everyone excluded me. Initially I attended school all five days in a week. Later I went only for two or three days.

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On other days, I would go up to the rock fort and meet my new friends. I would dance, sing and be happy with them. We would address each other in familiar feminine terms—vadi anApodi. As we got down from the fort, people would comment on us as 'number nine'. All the fun we had so far would evaporate. It was so painful to hear such comments. I could not act as a male. I didn't get that gait or stature. How else could I behave? I can only be as I want to be! If people made fun of me for eating rice, would I go hungry? When I was upset like this, I longed for friendship even more. I began to bunk classes at school. My family got to know that I was not being regular at school and started giving me trouble. Even then I did not explain my state to my parents and ask them what I should do. My appa beat me up. And I decided not to stay at home any longer. My father traded groundnuts. He would buy them wholesale, and then sell the nuts. We used to harvest the groundnuts in the month of Karthigai, around November-December. Appa had a lot of money then. One day I took a Rs 100 bundle, and packed my clothes in a small suitcase. I even took some books, hoping to continue my studies wherever I was going to be. I left home that night after everyone had gone to sleep. I thought my relatives would notice if I took the train from Erode. So I decided to take the bus. The last bus from our place left for Salem at 9.15 pm. No one from our place would be travelling by that. Mostly, the villagers would go to sleep early after a hard day's work in the fields. Also, we did not have TV then, so they went to bed early. I thought someone might spot me if I took the bus from our bus stand. So I walked up to the next village and took the bus to Salem. Once I reached Salem, I did not know where I should go next. Almost dazed, I sat in the Yercaud Express and reached Chennai the next morning. I was 15 years old then. I was wondering where to go and look for my kind of people. Suddenly I had an idea. I went to a lodge and asked for a room for rent. They refused. They asked me, 'You are so young... where are you coming from? Why did you come

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here?' So I said, 'I came to my uncle's house here. It looks like they have gone out of station and would come back only after 10 days. I have to stay and meet them.' That was the first time I told a lie. The lodge I stayed in was Kerala Bhawan on Waltax Road near Central station. Even now, whenever I cross that lodge all my past memories rush back to me. I was a small boy. I would wear a trouser and shirt and leave at 9 in the morning. From 9 to 4 in the evening, I would search for people who were like me. I searched for many days. I couldn't find anyone anywhere. Almost 20 days passed. It never crossed my mind to search for them in the evening. The Lodge manager asked me one day, "What son, hasn't your uncle returned?' The cash I had with me was running out. I had only Rs 300 left with me. That day I went to Anna Square area to check if I could find them. I had my lunch and slept there. When I woke up, it was six in the evening. While I was worrying that it had got too late, a kothi approached me and cried, 'Brother, I am very hungry.' He was wearing a lungi and shirt. I gave him Rs 10 and bought him biryani at the beach. Then I asked him, 'Where I can I find those who wear sarees like women? I have been looking for them for days from nine in the morning to four in the evening. I can't find any of them.' He replied, 'You are mad... they come out only at nights.' He took me with him. We crossed Kamaraj Road and Fort station and climbed a bridge. There were about five women decked with flowers. There were some men with them too. I did not understand a thing. He made me wait, and went down the bridge. I wondered why he was going there. Since I was from a village, I didn't get these things. In a while, a woman wearing flowers in her long hair came towards me. Once she came nearer, I realized that she was not a woman but a person like me. I immediately hugged her and wept. 'Take me with you,' I cried. She said, 'Come and join us. I will adopt you as my daughter in a ceremony of madikattuthal? She took me to her house. The next day I went back to the lodge and vacated my room.

Childhood and Schooling

15

Sundari I had learnt Bharatnatyam formally. My debut was held in the Thanjavur temple. It was only through dance that I revealed my true self of being a female. During my school Annual Day function, I would take my elder sister's clothes, dress up as a woman and dance. People at home would ask me, 'How come you are doing female parts always? The other boys play male roles.' I was 9 years old then. Once I danced for the song from the film Mythily Ennai Kadali which goes 'pon maanai thedi—thaka dhimi thorn' ('looking for a golden deer'). At home they scolded me for doing such dances and burnt my leg—left and right, and my thighs. You can still see eight scars on my legs. My father was a mechanic. He would pierce me with the screwdriver in his hand. I am not trying to blame my parents. I can only blame God Almighty for having created me thus. Not a single day passed in my life without my complaining to God for not having created me as either a male or female. Often they would say at home, 'Be like a man. Study as we ask you to. When people tease you, calling you "number nine" we feel ashamed. Why don't you just die!' While I was in the 8th standard I must have been 12 or 13 years old. I had good fluency in English. I was working at a pharmacy near my school. Since I was depressed, I stole sleeping pills from the shop and gobbled them up. But I was saved. Nothing happened to me. Then they took me to a place far away from home and admitted me into a hostel. I could not bear the tortures of my fellow students. The 12th standard students would come after me and look at my ass when I would pee. They would pinch my breast. During games period, boys would play kabbadi, cricket and ball games. I would play skipping rope. The sports master caught onto this point and forcefully had sex with me. My ears are deafened by the title ompathu or 'number nine'. It is a name given to no one else in the world. I was furious. I felt like

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

beating them up. But I calmed myself, thinking that it was because of

used to watch them come and go. But I did not mingle with anyone.

my being like this, that they are making fun of me. For four years I did not meet my parents. I stayed at the hostel like a prisoner. The

My sister told me that these hijras would abduct me and take me to Mumbai or Pune. I would not be able to come back and see my

warden at the hostel came to know that I was a hijra. He would order

akka's face, and I would become an orphan altogether. Those hijras

me to wash clothes, and reduced my quota of food. All of that was unbearable. Sometimes I used to feel like jumping off the terrace of the hostel.

would actually ask my sister, 'Why aren't letting us see your sister staying at your place?' They knew that I too was a hijra. My akka was worried that they might confuse me and take me with them. I only wanted to wear sarees and lead the life of a woman. I got the opportunity to do so at my house. So I did not leave my akka and go

Rajam

anywhere else. My amma was very dear to me. I used to miss her often and

Even when I was studying in the 5th standard, I used to dance and sing very well. I had a boy who was my friend in school. We used to play husband and wife games with toy crockery. I was the wife and he was the husband. My father would tell my mother, 'Can't you see? Our son is behaving like a girl. We already have eight daughters. With him like this, there would be nine. He is behaving like an ompathu\w can we survive with a boy like him?' My mother would soothe him saying, 'He is still a child. Let him play as he pleases. As he grows up, he'll learn for himself.'

weep at the smallest instance. When I see a mother character in cinema, I cry. My amma had 16 children in all. I was the last. She never detested me even once for behaving like a girl. She used to carry me around on her hips till I was 6 years old. People kept teasing her, 'What is this, woman! You have had so many children, and still you are so fond of them!' She replied saying, As if I am going to deliver any more children. He is my last child.' It seems she nursed me till I was 5. My eldest akka used to tell me so. I called my akka as 'amma'.

My father died when I was 10. My mother too died in a year's time. I could not go to school after that. My eldest sister took me with her saying, 'You need not stay with our brothers. They will not take care of you. So, come and stay with us.' I took care of akkas children; helped her with her cooking. She was doing flower vending. I would go along with her. I would wear half-trousers, string the flowers and sell them. At other times, I would be with women and wear women's clothes. My uncle would scold me for that. I did not like him chiding me. My third akka got me a skirt and half-saree. She made me wear that dress and took me to her house saying, 'Let me see who has the guts to abuse you there.' In this sister's house too, I sold flowers. Near our house, there was a hijra who used to be possessed by a deity and dance. Many saree-clad hijras would visit her house from Mumbai. I

T'\ and Schooling

17

Parents and Society

Parents and Society

Sudha Senthilkumar My father gave me a great deal of torture. My younger brother too joined him. Both of them would forever accuse me saying, 'Were you born to spoil our family honour and heritage by becoming a hijra? As soon as my mother left for the fields to work they would give me poison, and force me to have it before she returned. I was heartbroken. I thought to myself, 'The person who I trust wholeheartedly with love betrayed me, my own father and brother are torturing me; what use is my life if it is going to be like this!' I ground arali seeds into a paste and gobbled it down. Having done that, I just slept silently at home. Mypatti—grandmother—saw my mouth foaming and started wailing aloud, beating her breast and mouth. On hearing her screams and cries, my father said, 'Ayyo! Why did my boy take a decision like this?' They admitted me in the hospital. Ifmypatti hadn't seen me that day, I would have died. Even at the hospital, my father, brother or uncle never visited me. My mother, younger sister and a hijra took care of me. I was saved. After that I did not leave home for 8 months. I locked myself in and kept brooding over the past. I couldn't eat or sleep properly. My heart was broken into pieces. There was breath in me... that's all. Even at a time like that, when I was almost on the brink of death, my father and brother did not visit me. Nor did my husband visit me. (Of course, no one knew I had this relationship.) I am the eldest in my family. My brother was younger than me and my sister was the youngest. Both my brother and sister are married.

19

They tried to force me into marriage. I refused outright. In a short while, they came to know that I was a hijra. From the beginning I only wore female clothes like sarees when I went to functions in hijra families and in Koovagam. At other times, I wore male clothes. Hijras would come to our village to dance Karagattam during our village festivals. I wished I could become like them and talk like them. I would talk to them in secret. I was worried that if the others saw me with them, they would make fun of me. Also, since I was in male clothes, I was scared people would mistake the hijras of having an affair with me. Around the same time, 13 hijras were driven out of their homes in the Theni area. There was a building that belonged to Arockiam, a voluntary organization in a village called Aasarippatti. They wanted us to stay there, but the villagers would not allow it. They drove us out, saying that if we stayed there their village would get a bad reputation. We complained at the Rajapalayam and Andi Patti police stations. 27 hijras met the District Collector, along with members of Sudar Women's group and Arockiam. There was so much press coverage. Sun TV, Jaya TV and many others landed up. In the Theni district, this was the first struggle of the hijras. They kept interviewing me. 'How did you become like this? Where are your parents, home and village?' Initially I hesitated, wondering how I could talk openly about all these things. Then I made a resolve to speak to the media. I thought to myself that even if I die, people like me would be able to live with dignity from now on. So, I was frank in my interviews. Only after that did everyone get to know that I was a hijra. My parents and relatives got to know too. After that, when I went home, my mother waved the newspaper in which my interview had been published in front of me and asked, 'What's all this? Why have you given an interview like this?' I replied, 'Did I say that I had stolen things, or trafficked drugs or manufactured illegal liquor? I simply demanded the rights of my people. Accept me into the house,

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

if you like, or send me out. Do as you please.' She did not answer me. From then on they did not interfere with my ways. Now, I am working in Arockiam as an organizer ofhijras. My father bequeathed the land and house to my younger brother. He did not write a will or anything. He just gave it away. My mother called and told me the news. I went to our village and met the elders. I complained that my father had done an injustice to me by not giving me a share of the property, and handing over everything to my brother. I told them to look into the matter. 'Or else, I will have to resort to legal measures,' I said. They agreed to hold zpanchayat meeting. My father, mother, brother, uncle and everyone at the village assembled. I said, 'Till date I thought that this man was my father. Now I am not sure. Tell me who my father is, among you?' My father got wild and jumped in fury, 'How dare you?' I retorted saying, 'If you were my father, wouldn't you have given a share to me as well? What was the need to give the whole property to my younger brother?' He explained, 'I had a debt of Rs 80,000. My younger son paid back that loan. So I entrusted the property to him.' He never once told me of the loan nor asked me to repay the sum. 'Why did he have to confide only in my brother and not me?' I asked. 'I don't have to tell you anything. Do what you can,' my father said. I replied that I would do all I could. The villagers calmed me a little and arrived at a solution. They said that I must pay half of the loan amount, which was Rs 40,000. I too felt that it was the duty of a son to repay the loan taken by his father. I managed to raise Rs 40,000, and handed over the amount in the presence of the village elders. 'If you dare to write the will bequeathing the property to my brother, I will be your yama. I am ready to go to jail for killing you,' I warned him. So far, our property remains under the care of my parents. Our village elders are supporting my just demands. My father is upset that I am a hijra. That is why he did this. He is unable to understand me. My parents are still not aware of what it is to be a hijra. So I can't blame them. They brought me up as a boy.

21

They must be upset that all their dreams have collapsed. But how do we make them understand that it is not in our hands? Even now, my father accepts only my brother as his son. He says he has only one son. He never calls me his son. There is a constant nagging within me as to what wrong I committed to endure this. I am deeply depressed when I think of all this.

Aruna I met a hijra from our village in the Pune red light area. She was my friend. Both of us used to do sex work at the same house while we were in Pune. I had left my village four years before. My friend went back to the village. I had told her to check that my family was well. I was in Chennai when she left for our village. My family did not know that I had become a hijra or that I had done the ritualistic castration called nirvanam. My friend had sent her uncle to my house to check on the situation. When he went and enquired about me, my family members grilled him about my whereabouts. Unable to escape, he rang up my friend and asked her to come down. She blurted out the fact that I was in Chennai. After that, my father and younger brother came to Chennai to look for me. They traced the hijras in the city and came looking for me in Satya Nagar, where I was staying. My father started crying on seeing me. 'Let us go back home. It doesn't matter in what shape you are,' he said, and took me with my woman's clothes. They were very soft with me during the journey. I was quite scared. Before we reached the village, they took me to a nearby town. My chittappa had a lorry workshop in that town. Once we reached there, they beat me black and blue. They cut my hair. 'Why are you putting us to shame wearing a saree? You are a studious boy. It doesn't matter that you have lost four years. You can still join school,' they said, and took me home. I panicked on hearing my father say that I should go back to school. He did not know that I had been castrated. After cutting my hair, he

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

bought me a pair of pants and a shirt, and took me home. I felt ashamed to go to the hijras with cropped hair. I didn't have any cash with me to run away. I was in utter confusion. What else could I do? I agreed to their wishes. The scars from having pierced my ears and nose were still there. Many wondered how the boy had transformed into a girl. No one understood. I too did not reveal the fact that I was a hijra. They must have thought that my behaviour was such. They sought admission at a school for me to continue my studies. 'What were you doing these four years? You are 20 years old. How will you be able to study with young boys?' they asked. I had left school after having registered for a higher secondary course. My father somehow managed to get a medical certificate stating that I had a mental disorder for the past four years. Finally the school relented, and gave me admission. At school the tiffin break was at 11.30 am. It was a 10-minute break. I was afraid to go and urinate with the other boys. So I would wait till 11.40, and rush out when the bell rang for the boys to return. The teachers would scold me for coming back late after the break. Since my castration was done by the Thayamma, a traditional hijra doctor, I had problems in urinating. It would cause me a great deal of pain. At home there was a bathroom. I could lock the door. I locked the bathroom door when I bathed. I slept alone. My family thought that I lived wearing woman's clothes during my absence from home. They did not realize that I had actually become a woman. They couldn't even imagine such a thing. Perhaps they thought that a man dies if he is castrated. My father would get drunk and abuse me. 'I would have been happier if he had wiped the tables in some hotel or other. Of all things, should he have gone and roamed around in female clothes?' he would blabber. I completed my llth standard, and moved to the next class. My classmates would notice the scars on my earlobes and nostril and ask how they came about. I replied, 'I was the third child in the family, and so they pierced my ears and nose.' Since I was five years

Parents and Society

23

senior to them, they would not tease me. Moreover, I was branded as mentally disturbed. Everyone looked at me widi sympathy. The public exams started. That was when the horrible thing happened. I wonder if that teacher would ever live peacefully again! Let him go to hell! I was doing my chemistry exam when he came and stood in front of my desk to check if I had carried any 'bit' material to copy or cheat with. He made me stand up as he checked. He actually put his hand into my underwear. He was shocked. I started sweating. I left behind my answer scripts and ran out of the examination hall. I ran to my house. At that time, diere were problems in fixing my sister's marriage. I blamed my luck. 'Maybe it was because of my ill fate that my sister is not getting engaged,' I thought. I left home again. I did not take leave of anyone, and came back to the hijras.

Devi I considered my mother and father as gods themselves. But those very same gods threw me into the toilet and sealed my life. My mother used to say, 'Don't ever leave me and go. After my death, go wherever you please. Only you will give me food to eat and water to drink. You will lift me if I become sick. Maybe even clean my shit. Daughtersin-law will not do all that.' The thought of having left those two human beings behind nagged me. So I came back at least twice each month from Mumbai. Though most hijras wore sarees, I stayed in a lungi and a shirt with my cropped hair, even though I had been castrated. I had done nirvanam over 13 years ago. If I had worn sarees and stayed in our place, I knew I would not be given my share of the property. They would deny me my rights. So I had to hide the truth and do play-acting. I served my mother as a son and daughter rolled into one. I washed clothes, cleaned her urine and shit, drove the cattle to the fields and cut bundles of grass. Once a fight broke out between us and a neighbour. She kept on teasing me aspottai or 'effeminate male'.

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

When I couldn't take it any more, I performed chatla by lifting up my lungi and revealing my castrated organ. 'See for yourself what a pottai has,' I said. My mother controlled me and scolded me, and I let down my clothes. But she did not enquire about when or why I did my nirvanam. She just thought, 'It's his desire, his destiny; let him be as he wants.' I stayed on at my native place for my own land and house. If we leave our place and stay somewhere else, what will people say? During April—May or the month of Chithirai, there is no water in our canal. If you shit outside, you have to get home to clean up. One day, I went out and came back home. My younger brother's wife was bathing then. She was taking really long to finish bathing. I kept knocking on the door. 'I am bathing now. I can't open the door. Why don't you wash outside?' she said. I was furious. I shouted back at her. 'I was born in this house. I am the eldest. Why should I go out? Did you bring anything from your father's house?' My brother came around at that time and started abusing me. 'What rights do you have here? You are a waste yourself! Stay if you want, or walk out of this house. All the documents have been registered in my name ages ago,' he said. I was completely devastated. I had waited in this male costume for all these years, and he had crushed everything. 'I was born a male before you. Today I am not a male; I have become a female. But the first share has to be mine. Only then you can lay hands on your share,' I shouted, and started fighting with him. He beat me. We were four brothers. I was the first one. The second brother did not interfere and went on with his life. My last brother had died three years before. So the fight was between me and the third-born. I was afraid to go to the police station alone to lodge a complaint. The other brother refused to accompany me. I gathered my courage and went to the police. I complained that my younger brother was not giving me my house. They said, 'Inspector is not present today. Come back tomorrow.' I went to our village elders and told them what

Parents and Society

25

happened. They advised me to write a complaint and submit it to the police station. I paid Rs 10 or Rs 20 to a man, and he wrote out a detailed report about how they were abusing me and refusing to give me my share of the property. Initially the constable at the station asked me for Rs 50 for petrol. When he saw me, he said, 'I won't take money from you.' The police came home and beat up my brother. They scolded him over not giving me the house. My father wept, saying, 'We had never seen the police station earlier. This boy has made us stand in front of them!' I bought 10,000 bricks and raised a wall almost as tall as my height. Then I covered up the ceiling with thatches. Even then I thought, 'This can last only as long as I am staying here. If I leave the place for somewhere else and return, they might drive me out.' So I went to the Registrar's office to find out how it could be registered in my name. The clerk working at that office was my schoolmate. He looked at the copy of the document and said, 'The house has already been registered in your younger brother's name. What were you doing all this while?' I asked him, 'You are my classmate. Why didn't you tell me this earlier?' The property had belonged to my grandfather. My grandfather had given it to my athai, my father's sister. My father and chittappa had forced her to hand over the house to them. After that my father had said that it was earned by my brother, and he had written it off to him. He said my brother had the right to give it to whom he pleases. I can stay there like a shadow as long as I live. But I cannot sell or mortgage the house. It belongs to my brother's children after my death. My dead brother had no children. I have filed a case in court for my house. Though I am a hijra, I want a piece of land to stay in. I want it to be my own. So I am living in this male clothing. For my livelihood I do the middleman's job called kothupidithal. I collect people and go for harvesting. If we work for 30 days, we get 10 sacks of paddy. I take people from our own street. Those who need work-hands in the fields come to me. Women call me as they

26

OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

would call other women. If they don't work properly I also address them as vaadi or podi, as women are usually called. Even while travelling by bullock-cart, women sit next to me. If their hands or legs touch me, I move away a little. I feel bad since I am in male clothes. Even though I am doing this supervisory-contractor's job, men often call to me to take me alone. 'Come let's go towards the riverside,' they say. Even when I have to go to the riverside for some personal needs, they follow me saying, 'Hey! Thepondukka (feminine chap) is going towards the river. Let's follow!' If I like, I go with them, or else tell them to buzz off, since there are 40-50 people working. Nowadays many hijras visit my house. Some people even wanted to drive me out of the village since all these different kinds of hijras were visiting me. I said, 'I was born and brought up here. Who are you to drive me out? I lead my life in my village with my own labour. Is anyone feeding me here? Hijras are coming to my house. Are they knocking at your doors? Or causing any bother to you?'

KokUa I wore a lungi and a shirt and went to work with women. I would speak only to women. I would always sit only with them. My elder brother was in the military. One day he got angry with me at a simple incident and said, 'Why are you doing these hijra-styles of works?' I did not understand Hindi then, but I have not forgotten that word. I went to another military man and asked him the meaning of the word. He laughed aloud and mocked me. 'Why do you laugh? What does it mean,' I persisted. 'Who gave you this word?' he asked. 'Someone called me that; you tell me the meaning now.' 'Hijra in hindi meanspottai in Tamil. That is what we call "number nine".' He repeatedly asked me who had called me by that name. How could I tell him it was my own brother? I refused. When I told my father that I was going to wear a saree and

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27

become an aravani, he took a promise from me. 'We have our kith and kin around. You wear a saree or whatever when you are outside. But when you come home, please come in a lungi and a shirt. Or else, we would become the laughing stalk of all our relatives. They will bad mouth our family. Please!' he said. Now I have broken that promise. My father is no more. There is no one to lay down conditions. When I came to the village in a saree for the first time, they called me by the male name given by my parents, and ogled at me. 'Ayyo! He has come back as a woman!' All of them gazed at me mockingly. Since I was called pottai from my young days, it did not bother me. I was only worried about what my classmates and others who had not known me would say. But now, whatever is being discussed in our village, I wear my saree and sit along with 10 other men in the crowd. The same crowd had once said that hijras should not come into the village. But I have changed all that. I speak my mind boldly. Whenever they plan something for the welfare of the village, they collect a share from all families. I give a share myself. Moreover, I treat them to a can of country liquor. I am now accepted as one of them. Today my status is beyond question. My sisters would never plan anything without my approval. They are quite scared of me. If I die, my whole family will be shaken up. I am 42 years old now. I was accepted as a hijra in my saree when I was 22.

Roja At the hamam in Bengaluru, people would come for a bath. I would be asked to do various kinds of work—filling water for the bath, applying soap, washing the customers' backs and massage. I would boil water, cook food, clean the house and do sex work. People came to me for sex since I was a hijra. I went back home after a year and a half. I belong to Kerala. There was an event that was supposed to have taken place there, where a hijra returning to Kerala from Mumbai was arrested by the

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

police on suspicion. "Who are you? Why are you in a saree?' they asked, and harassed her. They shaved her head and put her in jail. Since I had heard this story and I was scared to go in a saree to my place, I went in male clothes. I had long hair when I went home. I had covered it with a cap. The villagers asked me, 'Why have you grown so much hair?' I told them a lie—that I was acting in plays and therefore had to grow my hair. Since I had left home long ago, my family thought that I was dead. Only a letter I wrote a few days before made them realize that I was still alive. One of our relatives lived in Bengaluru. My younger brother had come to Bengaluru to visit them. Through my letter they got to know I was in Bengaluru, and he came looking for me at that address. I saw him on the road and knew he had come looking for me. I did not feel like him letting him go away like that. I went and stood in front of him. He could not identify me. I called him by his name and said, 'I am your brother.' He stood spell bound and gaped at me in wonder. 'How come you are here?' I asked. He said, 'I came looking for you. And here I find you in female clothes.' 'I am on my way to perform in a play,' I said, and took him to the hamam. There were about 10 or more hijras there. Then he realized that I was a hijra. 'What is this place, a public bath?' he asked, I said, 'Yes,' and he said he wanted to bathe. I gave him a bath. He asked me, 'Will you be staying here always from now on?" I did not want to hide any more. I told him everything, and told him not to tell anyone anything. He did not reveal the truth to anyone. I would wear male clothes at home. But even if we had a tiny quarrel, my younger brother used to threaten me, saying, 'I will tell the truth to people.' He used to blackmail me for money. Now he is married and has kids, so he does not threaten me any more. My elder sister lived in Bengaluru as well. She did tailoring. Her husband had died. She had a son to take care of. She stayed in Bengaluru till he finished Higher Secondary education. Even when I went to visit her, I went in male clothes. She also knows that I am a hijra. My mother thinks I am behaving like a

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hijra, but does not know that I wear sarees. No one in our village knows. But they comment on how I don't keep a moustache and how I grow my hair. I don't go out much. If I need to, I go out in the evenings to the town. I had a Voter ID card in Bengaluru, but the Government of Karnataka did not help us much. In Tamil Nadu, hijras have got houses and loans. In Karnataka, during election times, they would come seeking our votes. They would call us endearingly 'Auntie, Auntie'. Once in Oodi, hijras had collectively demanded housing from the MLA of that area. He showed us vacant land and asked us to build huts there. Hijras, poor men and women built their huts and started staying there. We had to spend money for wood and thatches. Since they said that we must cook and stay there to get the land registered, we all stayed at that place. There was no power. So we got lamps, vessels and other essentials and stayed for over a week. We spent more than Rs 2,500 each for the huts. Hijras came to the hamam every now and then to mind their business. One day they set fire to the whole settlement. In my hut I had even put a cot. We lost our money and did not get the place or hut either. Even a child died in one hut. When we asked who had set the fire, we were told that it was not purambokku land.3 It belonged to the owner of a bakery. So he had set fire to the land, I believe. Though we complained, we neither got our compensation nor alternative land. No one took up our case either. I had been offering prayers to Lord Ayappa from a very young age. It was a prayer of my mother's. Even while I was in Bengaluru, I used to observe the rituals for a week in male clothes and go to the temple to make my offerings. Whenever I sang the bhajan during prayers, people would turn to see where the female voice came from. Once in our village they had arranged an Ayappa bhajan. I sang.

' Common land that is not claimed by any one.

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

Someone turned and asked, 'Is this the Malikapuram Deity singing?' She was a goddess, a virgin goddess. The belief is that the year when no devotee visits Ayappan, the consummation of marriage between the Malikapuram goddess and Ayappan would take place. But people keep visiting the Lord each year and the Goddess keeps waiting for marriage! People made that comment to make fun of me. In Bengaluru, when we went to vote we would stand in the women's queues. Some women would giggle and wonder if hijras too have the right to vote. I used to get very angry and shout at them, Are we cattle? Why shouldn't we have the right to vote?' Once I had a fit and fell down on the hamam floor. People wondered what happened to the one who had gone for a bath, and found me lying down. They took me to Nimhans hospital. Admission was refused. After much struggle I was taken in. They treated me for three hours. The doctors and nurses there gaped at me as if I was a sight! They did not look at me as a human being. I told them openly, 'I am not a woman but a hijra.' They asked about my mother tongue. Then they explained that I should not engage in sex work because of the disease I have. They gave me tablets for a month. I am eager to have my nirvanam done like everyone else. But since I get fits, I can't risk it. Even now I keep wondering if I should undergo nirvanam or not. I would go everywhere in a saree without any hesitation. Sometimes in trains or elsewhere, people would ask me why I was like this and what work I do for a living. I would say that I was a hijra. But when you are in male clothes you can't boldly say that you are a hijra. Whenever I travelled home, I would change my clothes at the hamam. I would get the auto to the doorstep and leave without anyone noticing. I was afraid that I would be teased if I was spotted in male clothes. We lived in perennial fear of rowdies. If we got money from two customers for sex work, we had to do sex work free of cost for 10

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rowdies. They would force us to do things we didn't like to do. They would beat or threaten us with knifes. Once we were sleeping inside the hamam. Some people came and banged the door. We didn't open it. They threw a stone at the roof. A tile broke and fell on my nose. My nose started bleeding. I was taken to Boris Hospital. I had to get a few stitches. Once I was sleeping next to my Kaala Guru (sister of my Guru). A man entered the house through the tiled roof. We handed him over to the police. These things have happened so many times, over and over again. Rowdies would throw stones at the roof or door. Sometimes this would happen from 12 midnight to 3 am. But since we have been in this area for many years, the neighbours respect us. They support us during problems.

Vanitha I was almost about to do my nirvanam. But I gave the money I had saved for it to another kothi and helped her get the surgery done. My mother asked me, 'Can you beget children if you undergo this surgery?' I had seen many hijras suffer after the nirvanam. I lost my desire to go through nirvanam. I sometimes wear a pant and a shirt and sometimes a saree or a churidar. I have no problem. I am not worried about what others will say. So what if I have not done nirvanam? We were not well-off. My father was a drunkard. He got almost paralyzed. For three years he was bedridden. We needed over Rs 200300 each day for his treatment. Our family did not have such luxury. There were only two or three kotkis where we stayed. I had not revealed my identity. I did not want to become prey to the mad dogs who did not know our situation. I did not want to be enticed by all kinds of pleasures. My family conditions drove me to it. Though I do sex work, I don't want to go far away from home. I keep thinking, 'If I leave, the family would split up. Our family should not be at the

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mercy of our relatives. My younger brother would not be able to manage the family. I can surmount the difficulties. I can survive.' I have been doing sex work for the past five years. I have been called at 12 in the night or at 2 am. Whatever the time, I have gone. An experience in the past made me choose this job. In my adolescence, three of us were going somewhere. We saw a male and a female having sex in a public place. I was very angry that they were doing this in public. I tried to drag the other two away from that scene. Those two boys asked me, 'It seems you are not like us. Are you different?' Even as I was explaining to them that it was not so, they forced me into having sex. I started expecting sex from them after that incident. I was quite scared. I was worried someone would see us. Though I felt happy doing it, I was worried about what the others would say. Even if people teased me, I kept quiet. I did not retort. I joined my community only to share my emotions. Initially I did sex work grudgingly, since there was no other way. I did not enjoy doing it. I had to do it for my family's sake. Since I am a kothi, I don't have any glamourous dresses. I will wear a lungi, apply powder and lipstick and draw my eyebrows. If anyone asks me, 'Will you do this?' I agree. The situation of my family is my priority. I have had sex with men of 52, 24, 15 and 14 years of age. I do not want my family to starve; to beg for Rs 10. I got into sex work for their welfare. They still don't know that I do sex work. They think I dance for money. The most horrible incident occurred in my life when I was 16. Even today, it keeps haunting me. One day I was returning from a film show. Three policemen came together. They had anal sex with me forcefully and tortured me. I had to get stitches. At that tender age of 16, three 30-year old men did this to me at 1 am on the side of a main road near a fence. People saw me standing there panic-stricken. They took pity on me and admitted me to hospital. When I came home, I was scared to tell them about this. They asked me what

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happened. I replied, A street dog chased me and I fell into a ditch.' When I told this to my mother, I couldn't express the agony I felt. Many aravanis live outside their families, leaving behind their parents, brothers and sisters. In some families they are accepted as aravanis. But all that the family expects from them is money. As long as there is money, brother or sister is kind towards them. Aravanis also give away gold and cash to them for the sake of love and affection. Even as the family takes the money, they ask, Aren't you a pottai? How did you get these earnings?' I have seen many things like these with my own eyes; I have heard similar stories umpteen number of times. Please listen to me. One is not a son or a daughter because one is born as male or female. Aravanis are also born of pregnancy. Give us our due in families. When you expect our money, understand our affections as well. We give money and love. Once you receive the money, how come your affections vanish? If anyone is calling you an ompathu, you should not care about it. If you retort, he will say more things. If you create problems today, he will come with two more persons the next day and cause trouble. If you keep quiet for two days, will he open his mouth again? He won't. But I would not keep mum when another hijra is abused in front of me.

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karagam dance. I did not know how to balance the pot on my head and dance. I had to return to my native place—Erode—from Salem. My Periappa had sold our lands to our relatives. He literally made us paupers. My mother and I had to stay at some friend's house. We went for construction work. I could not go for dancing. I was wearing a kurta-like top called kamsu, and an under-skirt over which I tied the lungi. Hijras should be in skirts or sarees. What is important is wearing a skirt. Only then our community respects us. It is not the government that gives approval. It is our own system.

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Santhi Amma All renowned beedi

Traditionally, our community members had lived under utter poverty, with no support, no place to stay and no other means of livelihood. They stayed in common places like choultries,4 singing songs they knew in shops and collecting money. They had not been able to save any property or gold. They lived and died poor.

OurAkbar beedi High class beedi Chellamma, For my sake buy one, my dear! We used to compose songs like these, play the 'tape' and harmonium and roam the streets. As part of the beedi advertisement, we carried bundles of beedis in our hands and danced in market places in skirts and half-sarees. We were paid Rs 15 as wages. We had to do the work even if they paid us only Rs 10. We had to manage our food, clothes, cosmetics and transport with that. In those days, we had to dance even if it was a remote village, or the ground was uneven and full of stones and thorns. If there was a village festival, there would be a drama. We would dance on stage there. On those occasions we were paid Rs 25. All traversing soap 'A' class soap Our dear Muthu soap Used by all is our soap. This was die song for die Mudiu soap advertisement. Our Gurus would dance the karagam during various rituals, and for temple and marriage processions. I watched them eagerly. I wanted to do the

_.

When we leave our homes and native places, there is no anchor in the new place, like Salem for me. Some of us thought that it was difficult to survive in Tamil Nadu. We learnt that in the north there was respect for us. So we went and joined thejamaats in the north. We would go to houses that had new born babies or new shops that had opened, and collect money. Even to this day that's how they live in the north. Once we saved up some money, we thought we would return to Tamil Nadu, spend the money and go back. I had to return as my mother fell ill. She laid down a condition that I should not go to Mumbai. I am the only child in the family. Amma had no one to take care of her. We rented a hut and lived there. A hijra named Ramu had come to dance in a festival at Chithodu. The organizers had wanted two hijras dancing the karagam. She called me. I told her that I didn't know how to dance the karagam well. 'I am sure you will,' she said, and took me along. She placed the karagam on my head first. Naiyandi melam was the accompaniment 4

Inns or resting places, usually run by charitable institutions.

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for kamgam. I was 21. I was paid Rs 15. After that many parties invited me to dance. Many hijras came looking for me. Who else but hijras would come looking for me? Would men come seeking me? However much we slogged, our income was just enough to make ends meet. So, I went to Mumbai again. I cooked in the households of hijras. Once I had saved some cash I came back to Erode. In order to survive, I took part in the Cycle Ride programme. In that, a man had to ride a cycle non-stop for 10-15 days. In the evenings, hijras would perform folk dances, Subban-Suthi drama, Mango Grove drama and the Arogara Doctor play. They would also dance at these events. The group would choose a village, get permission from the village head, take police permission and do this programme. We had to pay for the electricity. If we earned well we would donate something to the temple in that village when we left. Once I got older, I taught the karagam dance to my chela, and granddaughters. If an organizer booked us, I would send them with different teams. My students are now visiting all the places I had danced in. Because of my reputation, they are also treated with respect. When we send them dancing, there are various incidents that have occurred. Some people pull their hands, tease them, or poke them unnecessarily. But one should not get angry with all that. We must be patient when we do artistic work. We should not hurt anyone. That is art. One cannot dance as one pleases. There are specific methods of dancing. We must follow them. Our focus should be on the art. Only if we keep that in mind and dance with devotion will people seek us out. I always give this advice to my disciples. In those days we used to tie the saree the way bharatha natyam dancers do. We would wear a cloth waistband on our hips. As time went on, we had to wear short skirts that revealed our legs. In those days, if one danced revealing the ankle, people commented, 'Why is she showing her thighs!' We had to wear a soruvadu—a cloth tied up like pants covering the legs on both sides—as an inner garment so that our legs would not show even if we danced whirling round.

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Later, it changed to a full skirt. Then slowly it came up to the thighs. Now the underwear has to be shown. People want glamour. They enjoy only such dancing. The village temples had different kinds of people managing their affairs then. Today it is in the hands of a different sort. This is the time of cinema. See how people have changed over the years! What can we poor hijras do? We have started tailoring our clothes as per the demands. When they come to book programmes they stipulate their demands, 'Costumes should be attractive. Dancers should be fair with beautiful figure.' They would not accept a dancer with dark complexion. I tell them, 'Don't go for colour; look at the dance.' Anyhow, I feel that the attitude of looking at dance as an art has become rare. People demand obscene dances. Some would give us the money we ask. With people who may not pay properly, we take 50 percent in advance and tell them to pay the rest after the programme. With trusted people however, we don't demand an advance. Once, a group had booked us for a programme in which they had agreed to bring women dancers. When the villagers saw us, they started a quarrel. 'Why have you brought hijras? they asked. We said, 'We too dance well. We have skills. Let us dance. If you like it, pay us. Or else, we won't take payment.' Some musicians would lie to organizers saying that they would bring women and then take us instead, but we always said openly that we were hijras and performed. It is compliment to hear people appreciate us and say, 'These hijras danced like women!' We dance with men and women. We remain as one family of artists. We do not quarrel. We are not jealous of each other. We do not make fun of anyone. They pay men, women and hijras differently. We do demand equal pay. Sometimes men and women take a break for a while in the middle of dancing. But we never stop for a single second. The poor may not be able to pay us well. But if they appreciate good art, we accept what little they give us and perform for them. If we are asked to dance in temples we even dance for free. Even when

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we were starving we have danced. We have sincerity in our work. There have been many unforgettable incidents in my dance career. Let me share just one such with you. We missed a bus one day. So we took another bus, got off at the main road and walked five kilometres to the village on Itteri road, carrying our make-up kit and costumes. We almost ran to be there on time. On seeing the audience waiting for us, we hurried through our make-up and did our dance. People enjoyed the dance that day. I cannot forget that joy! Some hijras in this area are in vegetable vending. They sell greens and coconuts. They do only wholesale marketing. Even if they get Rs 50 profit, they give it to me. Nowadays people want to buy only the vegetables packed in plastic bags in big shopping malls. Retail sale has become impossible. Only the poor come to us. Vendors like us suffer in this process. Earlier they used to book us for cooking. Now, they have started ordering from hotels. We don't get a permanent income. They can only give us jobs as sweepers in government offices, hospitals and railway stations. Why can't we get jobs matching our qualifications?

Rajini If the dance is not good enough, the audience might shout and threaten to throw stones at us. Or they would comment, 'Are we spending money for nothing? We should not call this group again.' We have to adjust to all kinds of situations. Only if you hug, kiss and roll on each other and dance do they appreciate your dance. If the dance is sexy, everyone will appreciate it. They would also pay us a little extra. I would wear half-trousers inside, dress up glamourously. I would dance revealing my thighs. Once I wore my costume, I would transform into a young glamourous woman. In some places they would tell us in advance that they didn't want dances like that. I have danced in many groups. Now, I am with one particular group. In cinema, they need many days to shoot a song. I would dance for the

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same song in exactly the same way in five minutes. The audience cannot recognize me as a hijra. Only our group members know that. The women in our group change in front of me. I help them hook up their blouses. They treat me as a woman. The men get jealous and comment, 'He was born a male and underwent surgery to become a female. He is earning Rs 1000-2000. He is earning more than an actual woman. What is there in him to be so popular? May be we should also castrate ourselves and then come to dance.' Do they pay me for nothing? I have to dance in all kinds of ways: hug men tight, roll down with them and get kissed in all parts of the body whatsoever. I have to dance and bear all this. When they would book me in more than one place, I would go to the place where I was booked first. But then someone would backbite and tell the organizers, 'He is a hijra; not a woman.' But our group would stand by me and say, 'Let it be. We need his dance.' People who watch my dance never know that I am a hijra. They get to know if I talk. So, I do not open my mouth at all. Even women dance sexily. But people will condemn only my dance. Nowadays, the number of shows is reducing. Some group members felt it might be because of my sexy dancing. So, I had stopped such dancing for a few days. But I have started to do my usual kind of dance again. In some villages, women in the audience comment, 'How come she is dancing like this? Is she a woman or a prostitute?' But only if we dance like that we are called. People enjoy only such dances. I have done dances for film songs with overt sexual overtones like 'My aim will not be missed' or 'Come! Come and hit the stick' 10 times on the same stage upon request, over and over again. The song from the film Oomai Vizhigal, 'Rathiri near poojaiyil' ('In the prayer at night'), is always requested for a repeat. Sometimes there are just two women in the group. It is then difficult to change for each song. If they play 30 songs a day, I might have to do at least 20 or 25. So I wear three dresses on top of one other and dance. When they play a male dance in between, I change into

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another dress. When we dance continuously, our hair gets entangled and it becomes difficult to have die appropriate make-up for die dance. When we change in a hurry, pins in the dress sometimes prick us. Not all places would have facilities to change clothes. Only some places would have it. We would have to create a makeshift green room for ourselves. It would make us very uneasy to see how many people would peep through gaps. I used to make suitable costumes for each dance. I had not taken any special training for dance. The men would learn a new song, and I would learn dancing with them. Sometimes I would learn from the T.V. If we have shows continuously, there is no time to rest. Only our travel time in the van would be our rest time. Even in the van we don't get comfortable seating. We have to squeeze ourselves in and travel. In some villages there won't be bathing facilities. We have to bathe in the open fields. I would feel uneasy that people might get to know that I don't have breasts. The women would say, 'Why don't you bathe like us—remove the blouse and tie up the skirt up to your chest and bathe?' I would avoid it. Though we can dance even if we get old, no one will invite us then. So I must earn as much as possible before I become older.

Sundari I was studying at a computer centre at Uthamapalayam. I got to know the owner of that centre well. He had another centre at Chinnamanur. He told me, 'There is a vacancy at that centre. Would you take up that job? I can pay you Rs 1500 as salary.' At that time I used to look like a kothi. I would draw my eyebrows and grow my nails. Maybe he employed me because of that. After a week he started torturing me. He would insist I stay till 9.30 pm when all the other workers had left. Everyday, he would do that. He was married and had three children. I had a boy friend then. One day the owner saw a wedding invitation I had designed in the computer system. I had put our names

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in it. He blackmailed me, saying he would divulge this to my house. He forced me to have sex with him. For two years I slaved under him. To speak plainly, he wanted me to do oral sex. Even if I shouted in pain, he would close my mouth and have anal sex. He would ask me to lick his body all over. He behaved like a cruel demon. I could not tell anyone about this. If I told anyone at home, I know they would be angry with me. For two years I endured this torture, and then I left the centre. Even after that, he came home and showed the wedding invitation I had designed in the computer. Only then did I reveal how he tortured me. My father told my mother, 'Only your daughter would have done something like this!' He told me to go somewhere and die. No one believed me. Then I left home for Mumbai. I started begging in shops. I felt bad doing it. A kothi explained to me, 'The belief is that if the shop keeper gives us money, his business will flourish. This is a practice that has existed from our forefathers' times.' That eased me a little. I used to earn Rs 300-500 through sex work. I had to give everything I earned to the place I stayed in. They would feed me, and buy me clothes. In the morning, I went begging. From 8-10 at night I went for sex work. I had to do the dishes and wash the clothes before I slept each day. A kothi from our place visited me. She had been cheated of the money she had kept aside for nirvanam. So I got scared that I might face the same plight and left for Pune. I was begging there with no money to return home. I earned some money doing sex work with older men, and came back to Tamil Nadu with that money. I knew they wouldn't let me into the house if I went without a moustache, so I stayed at a kothi s place till my moustache grew. When I went home they asked, 'Where were you all this while?' I told them a lie, that I was with a company in Tiruppur. I stay at home even now. They feed me. They insist I keep my beard and moustache. They have confiscated my certificates. Since I have nowhere else to go, I am staying on here. Now I feel that I should not have left Mumbai.

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his company. He used to send me to buy tea, coffee or meals from the shop as there was no one appointed specifically for that. I would oblige. He would give me food as well. He was like a father to me. In the previous company, the manager was heading five departments. No one could oppose him. Even the owner could not send him out that easily. But workers like us can be dismissed any time. After I joined bhafs company, I felt that there were some good people in this bad world too. My primary fear in the old company was that the manager might get to know that I was a hijra. That's why I left that job.

I was working in a big company producing scooter spare-parts in Chennai. We were three women working among 500 men. I had hair up to my neck. I used to wear skirts and half-sarees. My job was to apply grease to the parts and pack them and send them to different places. I learnt my work well and was good at it. The manager taught me how to fix the nuts and bolts. I would fit the vehicle as taught. No one knew I was a hijra. Everyone saw me as a woman. I too behaved as one. I was around 15 or 16. I looked beautiful. The manager got interested in me. I was avoiding his advances for over a year. But one day he tried to lay hands on me. There was a separate paint room in the company. He would send me to that room very often. He would not send anyone else but me. There he would try all his mischief, like hugging and touching. One day when he hugged and rolled me down, my saree got smudged with paint. A supervisor who passed that way asked him, 'This is not right. Why do you treat that girl like this? After all they come for a livelihood. Look! Her whole saree is smudged. Even if your dress gets into paint, it is just one lungi. That girl's hair is full of paint.' The manager did not heed his intervention. 'This is my department. Mind your own business,' he said. I cried and left. I could not share it with anyone. I decided to quit the job. The next day I told my elder sister with whom I was staying then, 'I am not going for work anymore.' 'Who asked you to go for work? You don't have to. Just stay with me and string flowers,' she said. There was a Muslim bhaiwho was running a company. He had seen me go for work earlier. Seeing me stay at home he asked, 'Why did you leave your job?' I told him that I had asked for a raise and was not given one. He asked me how much I was getting in that company. I told him, 'I was given Rs 300 per week. But I wanted Rs 350. They did not raise my salary. So I quit the job.' 'In that case I will give you Rs 350. Come and join my company,' he said. I joined

Aruna We can buy used clothes in the Moor market. I bought two sets of skirts and blouses, and a wig. I joined the hijras who stood at the Military quarters in the evenings. Since I was a young and beautiful hijra, they would call me 'Ladukki'. A military man paid Rs 100 for me and took me under a bridge close by. He lifted my clothes and got to know I was not a girl. He started beating me and the hijras who were with me. Only then did the other hijras teach me that I should be very careful till I had gone in for nirvanam. I learnt to do sex work. Initially I could not accept that sex work was a job at all. But I realized that for hijras there was not much of an option. I was quite happy at other times anyway. After a while, an elderly 'woman' came from Mumbai. She looked exactly like a woman. 'If you come to Mumbai, you can become like an actual woman,' she said. I was quite keen, and went with her. She put me in a prostitution centre to fetch water. The women there would earn a lot of money. The older hijras would be idling around. I was appointed as a guard to accompany the women to the bathroom or hospital. They gave me Rs 2 per day. I did not like to stay there. I returned to Chennai without informing anyone. There I did sex work, but the police became a big nuisance. So I went to Pune. I earned

w-

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well for six months there. But a fight broke out between me and a kothi. She broke my head with a wooden ladle used to mash dual. I tried to stab her with a broken beer bottle. Then they drove me out,

Love and Family Life

saying, 'This Chennai hijra is a fighter-cock.' I came back to Chennai with my savings. I spent my time here and there. I did nirvanam as well.

Magudi

Gopal Amma

I worked as a construction labourer at a site near my aunt's house. I

I was living with my cousin—my aunt's son. We were inseparable.

did the work of a female helper. I carried bricks and walked like the

Both of us would go to the market together. He sold chillies and

women did. The leader of the place saw me and recognized me. 'Aren't you the boy from that house? Why have you pierced your ears and

onion, and I sold pepper and cumin seeds. We took up a house and were happy living together. My aunt, who is also like my mother-in-

nose?' The engineer also asked, 'Why are you putting on all these on

law, would complain to everyone that the effeminate boy was spoiling

your ears and nose? Aren't you a boy?' I replied saying, 'Sir, it is none of your business. I am working. You are paying me for the work.

her son. She was dishonouring us in all possible ways. My brothers

That's all. How does it affect you if I have pierced my ears?' I got Rs 25 per day. We had to carry bricks, stones and sand.

"keeping" her son. She wants to have a grandchild to continue their lineage. It would be better if you leave him and find a girl and let him

We had to break the bricks into smaller pieces. There were men and women working together. One of the men was attracted to me. He

get married.' If we get him married, his wife and children could block him

kept saying, 'You look very beautiful.' I told him, 'There are houses

from coming to me. If he listened to them and stopped meeting me, it would be fine. But what if he said to his new wife, 'We will continue

around in the neighbourhood. And I don't like to do such things.' He would give me money and say, 'Just keep it. I love you so much.'

and sisters started fighting with me. 'His mother is accusing you of

to be like this. You came just yesterday. I have lived with thepottai for

I used to drive him away and say, 'I don't need money. I am scared.

so long. She was the one who took care of me and did all the necessary

Leave me alone. Or I'll complain to the supervisor.' I tried to avoid him. But in a few days, I got interested in him. I slept with him. He

things. She was the one who conducted the marriage. Am I staying widi her completely? Am I going to neglect you? We have been together

gave me Rs 50.1 accepted it.

so long... I don't want to forget those times. So I will go there once in

The supervisor would call me for sex as and when he pleased. We could not oppose him and survive at die site. I could not do anything against him. On the day of Holi, the supervisor had sex with me as usual. When I said it was painful, he left. 'Why should I

a while. What is wrong in that? It is better that way. She would buy clothes, get jewelry, and be taken care of. You behave in such a way not to offend her.' What if things get out of our hands? If his wife

be scared of these people and stay here?' I thought, and left for

leaves him and goes back to her family home, it would be a disgrace to us! I should not be the cause for the break-up of a family. With

Mumbai. I joined the hijras there and did sex work.

umpteen thoughts crowding my mind, I got him married.

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His wife left him for another man after she had delivered two children. He brought them to me and said, 'I don't know what you would do with these two. You take charge.' The elder one was 3 years old and the younger one was 1 year and 6 months old. I brought them up. I married them to two women who were sisters. I set up a bangle shop for the first son inside the bus stand. The second one sells groundnuts and puffed rice. Both families are doing well. Both of them have a son and a daughter each. I take care of their wellbeing still. The daughter of the elder one was married in a grand fashion recently. I managed all the expenses related to ritualistic gifts and dowry. She is happy. If we understand die husband's mind, everything will be smooth. Never did I grudge his getting married to another woman. I wanted his lineage to flourish. His official wife has not turned around to find out about her children so far. She lives some place else. For the children I am everything!

Rajini Once a hijra brought zpanthi — a man— to my house. After that he started calling me often. He said he was in love with me. He said, 'I have been with many hijras. From now on I promise to stay only with you. I'll take care of you till the end.' I agreed, and for a month we moved in with each other. I became deeply interested in him. We had many fights, but always came together again. He told me that I should not move in with anyone else apart from him. Since I was an artist, there were many fans who would call me often. Many would also fall in love with me when I went to perform in different places. Some would address me as 'Madam'; some others would call me 'Laila'; and still others would say that my image stayed with them. I would receive many such calls. Whoever picked up the phone, me or him, a fight would ensue. 'Give up your art. I will marry you,' he said. 'I can't get a child for you. Marry someone your family chooses,' I told

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him. I also said, 'If you want to meet me some time, call me. I will come. You can take me out. Let us continue our relationship like this.' He does not bother me for money nor does he treat me badly. He runs a travel agency. I earn well in my field of art. So I don't depend on him. I expect only his love. If he comes home, he stays for at least two days. One evening we wanted to go for a movie. Suddenly he stopped at the jewelry store, got a thali and at around 8 pm tied it to my neck inside the auto rickshaw, in front of the Meenakshi temple. We went to the Hotel Saravana Bhavan and had our dinner. He left for his house and I returned to my place. After two days he came to me and wept in despair. He felt he had transgressed his limits. Usually the nuptial would be at night. For me it was on a Sunday afternoon. I was not aware of how I should behave. He taught me everything. He had to take care of his family and me. He told me that I should remain loyal to him, and should be well-behaved so that there was no room for anyone else to comment on my behaviour. He had already confessed to me openly about his earlier affairs with women and hijras before he met me. He also promised that he had given up all such affairs. 'I will not think of anyone else apart from you, I promise,' he said. I am hopeful that he will keep his word. He had not divulged our marriage to anyone. He says he can not face the world if people get to know about this. He says he doesn't mind unknown people who know that I am a hijra. He is worried about how it would affect his parents. 'To me, you don't seem to be a hijra. You are the most loveable woman I have known. I have fallen in love with many women. But I had not burnt myself or cut myself with a blade for any of them. But for your sake I have done all these things. I know you can't give me a child. But I have nothing else to complain about,' he says. I very much want to live as a daughter-in-law in his house. But they will not accept me. I want to be with him always. I am even

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my death and she should perform the rituals for me.' His father got wind of the fact that his son was seeing a flower vendor's sister. But he did not know that I was a hijra. He decided to arrange the marriage of his son elsewhere. My lover came to me and asked, 'What do you say?' I said, 'As you wish! I don't want you blaming me later. Let me face my fate. You go ahead.' He left with his father. Before he left he said, 'Wait for me for eight days. If I do not return, take it that my marriage has taken place.' I said, 'If you are married, don't ever come here to my house. If you want you can come back to the hotel for work. But don't visit my house.' He left on a Thursday. The next Wednesday he came back. He had not informed anyone at his place. After three days, his father came looking for us. We were lying down in the house. I addressed him as 'Uncle' and welcomed him inside our house. I prepared breakfast and served him. He ate well. Then he said, 'I had taken this boy to our place and he left without telling any of us. What if he runs away like this after his marriage? What will happen to the woman married to him?' I kept quiet. He continued, 'What is your name?' 'Rajam,' I replied. 'Alright. He has come here. I am not going to take him back. I will ask his younger brother to marry that bride. You come along with me now,' he said. My elder sister, uncle, their children and another sister of mine came along with me. Since he took me for a woman, no one informed him that I was a hijra. He too did not discuss anything with anyone. Three days before his younger brother's wedding they wanted to conduct our marriage. They took us to a temple and tied the thali. On the third day, his brother's wedding took place. We stayed there for a week. My father-in-law said, 'Why don't the two of you live here? Why should you go to Madras and live alone? We have land here. Why don't you take care of it?' My husband declined, and told him that his brother's family would take care of the land.

ready to cut my hair and wear a pant and shirt to stay with him. But he says, 'Be as you are. You just have to give me a call and I will be with you the next minute.' I have been living with him for the past three years. Now his family has come to know about us. They do not approve of our relationship. They say, 'If she is a woman, she will get you a child. Tell us if you are with some woman. "We will accept her. Who will give you a bride if you stay with this kind of a good-for-nothing person? It will bring disgrace to our family.' They tease him and stop him from visiting me. I really wish he could be with me. Let them get him married to a woman. If they permit him to visit me now and then till the end, I will be satisfied. He has not married yet. He is 23 years old. I am 21 years now. Who knows what's going to happen in the future?

Raj am While I was working in a company that produces scooter spare-parts, I would go to a near-by hotel to buy tea or meals. I used to be in a skirt or a half-saree. There was a young man working as a server in that hotel. We became friends and soon the relationship grew strong enough to develop into a marriage proposal. He said, 'You give up this job. I will earn enough for both of us and take care of you.' I informed my elder sister with whom I was staying that I was in love with this man and expressed my desire to get married to him. She asked me to bring him home. I took him home and she met him and asked him bluntly, 'What is your intention? Do you want to spend a few days with her and cheat on her? Did she inform you of everything, including the fact that she is a hijra! If you betray her and leave her in a few days, she will die of misery. Do you want that to happen?' He was 21 and I was 18 at that time. He replied, 'I have no such thoughts. I don't have a mother. I have only my father. I have no one else. I want to be with Rajam till

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My in-laws never asked me about my caste or my jewels or dowry. They were quite surprised to see me. Perhaps they thought, 'She has the looks of an upper caste girl. "We belong to a lower caste. Compared to our boy, the Madras girl looks beautiful!' So, they did not ask me anything. I was not worried. Why should I, since my husband knew the facts? I married him as a woman. I am determined to be a woman. I stood by that. My sister-in-law, a married woman, would lean on me with affection calling me Anni, wife of the elder brother. She would lie down next to me. She loved me dearly. Even I did not think for a moment that I was a bijra and she was a woman. She was a woman and I was a woman too. I behaved that way. But one thing haunted my thoughts. That was castration. My husband would not leave me alone even for a while. Apart from his work, he spent all his time with me. As soon as work got over, he came home. I would have to wait for him when he returned. If I went to the bathroom or somewhere close by, he would say, 'Where did you go? Couldn't you have gone before I returned?' I would tease him saying, 'How can one predict when one has to go to the toilet!' 'I want you in front of me when I get back, that's all,' he would say. I would have to stay with him till he left for work, and give him a send-

off. I love his character. He has amazingly good habits. He behaves with me as a husband and treats me as his wife. He has never considered me as a hijra. He hasn't even told his friends about that. We live in a rented house. We have been married for three years now. One day I met a hijra in the market. She told me, 'Now that you are married, get the operation done at the earliest.' I told her, 'How do I know the procedure? I don't know anyone.' Once my uncle was admitted in the Stella Hospital. I took care of him during the day. My sister stayed with him during nights. I met a ward boy there and asked him if they would perform the surgery for me. He took me to a doctor. The doctor said, 'We do the surgery in Anna Nagar. Would you do it there?' I asked him about the expenses.

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He said it might cost around Rs 3000.1 asked my husband whether I could do the operation. He agreed. We did all the tests—blood, urine, ECG, and Scan. Everything was normal. They fixed the surgery at the Anna Nagar Padmini Hospital and admitted me on a Saturday. I stayed in the hospital for two days. Monday morning, enema was given. Surgery was performed that evening. At 6 pm they changed my clothes to take me to the theatre. My husband started crying. He was scared I might die. I consoled him. At 8.30 pm, the operation was over. My husband woke me up and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was well and told him not to worry. After seven days, the stitches were removed and I was sent home. My husband' took care of me carefully for over a month. He never allowed me to carry water. To this day, I don't carry water so much. Once, my husband became very sick. He started vomiting blood. Everyone said, 'Take him home. He will not survive.' My husband said, 'Even if I die, you perform the rituals. Don't send me home.' I prayed to God. Even if we have 1000 sisters, it is not the same as having a husband. He is a rich treasure. Not many would be blessed with such a man. There are many men in this world who would spend four days with a woman and then leave her. He was not like that. I was his very life; his very world. I wanted to hold on to him till the end. 'Oh God! Keep him safe. I will spend my lifetime at your feet!' I begged. The doctor told me, 'You can not engage in a sexual relationship with him. His disease will worsen and that will be fatal. It will also infect the wife. You have to refrain from sex at any cost.' 'I want him alive. It doesn't matter that he does not provide any pleasure. The respect one gets as a woman living with a husband is unique,' I said. Till date I live with him without any quarrel. One day the doctor said, 'He is very young. Take him home now. He is in his last breath. If we keep him here, we might have to do a post mortem.' I prayed to the family deity of my husband's family. 'I will offer my thali at your sanctum,' I prayed. I kept my

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much make-up, lipstick or hair dressing. I gave up all these for him. I had given up sex work as well. I desperately wanted to stay with him permanently. When I asked him, he agreed. He took me to a hotel in Chennai. 'When can we get married?' I asked. He took me to Coimbatore and married me in a temple in front of his friends. Then he rented a house in Vadalur near Neyveli and set up a household. He provided all die comforts. He would come home by 6 pm everyday. My happiest days were those spent with him. That was the greatest joy in my life, much more than when I started earning, or when my parents accepted me even after knowing that I was a hijra, or when I continued my studies. I took him to my house. But I introduced him as a friend. Only my elder sister and uncle suspected that there was something beyond friendship in our relationship. But they did not ask us anything. He would visit our house on his own. He would buy clothes for my family members. He would help them with money. 'I feel odd to be alone here in Vadalur. Why don't you take me to your house?' I asked. We went to his place. No one knew I was a hijra. His family was a joint family. They were rich landlords. He had two elder brothers and one elder sister. Along with his parents and the children of his brothers' families, the household had over 15 people. He introduced me as his wife. They were quite happy that he had decided to live with someone after 36 years. I was very contented with a good family and good husband. They asked me only about my place. They did not bother about caste differences. I would work from dawn. I would cook for the family members and workers. Our life went on like this for over a year. They would let me visit my parents once in three months. My husband started a private business and gave up his partnership. That's when my problems started. He appointed a lady as his Personal Assistant. They started having a relationship. The man who used to return home by 6 pm started coming back at 10 at night. I was indifferent to this delay, thinking that his business would have held him back. Slowly our sexual relationship started reducing.

word. When he got well, we went to the temple and paid our offering. He tied another thali to me at the same temple. He gives his salary in my hands. Out of that, I give him Rs 200 for pocket money. He buys me my favourite biryani with that money. If his parents visit us, I am very hospitable to them. I also give them around Rs 500 in hand. When we go to the village, we take daal, rice, tamarind and other provisions. I sell flowers; make idlis for sales and earn some money from such jobs. We are living happily without any hassles.

Aruna While I was doing sex work in Poona, I visited my native place every now and then. I had taken a dealership for Abirami Masala. I had taken the contracts of Coimbatore and Salem. I met him during one such business trip. He had come to take the dealership for his place. Initially he had thought that I was a woman. But I told him frankly that I was a hijra. He started loving me. He appreciated how even though I was a hijra I was so talented. Whenever I left for Poona, I would entrust the business to my cousin brother. Since I had to travel often, I could not take care of the business. Finally I gave it to someone else. He would call me even when I was in Poona. I would also call him from there. Usually I came to visit my parents once in six months. After our love affair began, I would find excuses to come home every three months. For two years we roamed around in Ooty and Kodaikanal. We were the happiest couple on earth. We had even gone on a pilgrimage to different temples with his friends. But, apart from him, no one knew I was a hijra. I too did not reveal the truth. He was my world, next only to my birth family. He refused to get married to anyone else. He said, 'I don't want to get married.' This made me fall madly in love with him. I did everything to please him. He told me not to apply so

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It became once a month or even once in two months. I felt he was distancing himself from me. But I did not show it. I thought these are common occurrences within a family, and remained patient. After a while, he brought her home. People at home did not make an issue out of it. They thought that she might have needed a place to stay. I too did not ask him why he had brought her here. It was almost midnight one day. I went into the kitchen to drink water. Then I saw him in her room. My heart broke into pieces. I saw them lying together. I could not say anything. I could not tell any one at home. If I told them, I was scared that he would reveal the fact that I was a hijra. The next morning I told him I was leaving. He did not stop me. People at home did not even know that I was leaving home. They had been considering me as a woman living in their household. I did not want that thought to change. So I did not take leave of them. Even if I had complained, would I have received justice? We blossomed as jasmine flowers—now We lay strewn around on streets! No one can lend us a loving hand—now Except God and heavens'. God! Was it your experiment?—or Part of your leisure time creation? Is there no place for your creation in thepooja? Grant us a place in your offering— And bless us to reign over the world.

Rati For the first time in my life a customer spent half an hour with me considering me a woman and paid me money. After that he called me and said that he wanted my friendship. I too agreed. We met daily and, in a fortnight, we became very close. I knew he loved me but he never said that. One day I was chatting with another friend. He saw us together

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and beat me. 'Who are you to hit me?' I asked. He said, 'I love you.' I told him not to love me. I knew that there would be complications from his family if we fell in love with each other. 'I am not a woman but a hijra. My lifestyle is different from yours,' I explained to him. He got my point. We were friends for almost two years. He took me to his house and introduced me as a friend. But they got to know that he was in love with me. They did not directly ask me anything. But I was scared. The family would have nurtured so many dreams for their son's future. They would want an heir. It would be a big issue if they knew that I was a hijra. We blissfully put aside all these thoughts and went to a temple with friends and got married. My family knew about it. He would come to my house now and then. I am staying at my mother's house now. My husband's family is a joint family. There are many people living there with children. He has not got a job of his own. Once he finds a job, we will keep a separate family. I don't mind if he gets married again. I would not block his way. But I would move out from then on. I would not even meet him. We would have to mind our own ways after that. But on my own, I would never ask him to get married to a woman. He has to decide if that is what he wants. If his parents force him, I would not let go. We got married at a temple. I am keen on registering our marriage.

Hijra Mothers

Hijra Mothers

Rajam 'You were married along with the younger brother. His wife is pregnant. What about you?' my mother-in-law kept asking me. lAthaf. It stays for two months and keeps getting aborted,' I replied each time. I kept saying the same thing for a long time. Meanwhile my elder brother had a baby girl and could not bring her up due to poverty. They brought the 10-day old baby to me. A lady in the neighbourhood said that the child looked sickly and may not survive. 'Let's try. If the child survives, it's for our good. If not, it is fate. They have handed over the baby to us since they can't bring her up,' I thought, and kept her with me. I asked my husband if we could bring her up. He agreed. I insisted, 'It's not enough if you have agreed verbally. If I don't listen to the baby cry in the nights, you must feed her. You must clean her when she shits or urinates. If you are ready to treat her as our own child, I'll take her. Instead if you feel, "What do I care? It is after all her elder brothers child", then I will not pursue.' After that, my brother and his wife gave us the child and left. 'We will not reveal the fact that we are her biological parents even after she grows up. Even if you tell her the truth, we will not claim any rights over her as parents,' they said. For 15 years I had been lying to my in-laws, saying that the foetus was not developing fully because of a weak uterus that caused abortions. I would say that the doctors had warned me against child birth. Now that we had the baby, I wrote them a letter. 'The reason

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for not having visited the village for two years was due to my health condition. I conceived in the meantime and doctors had advised against long distance bus travel. Since I was having frequent abortions, I felt shy telling you about my pregnancy. We decided to inform you after the child birth. Now the child is born. She is two days old.' My in-laws visited us and saw the baby. None of our neighbours let the cat out of the bag. We bottle-fed her. All the necessary immunizations were given. There was an injection to be given even when she was five. When she was 2 months old, she had severe diarrhea. Allopathic treatment at the hospital did not cure her. I took her to a dargab at dawn. That helped. She became alright. She had dysentery even when her teeth were coming out. I made tooth-shaped rice pudding and offered it to the goddess. For common cold and fever, I would give her home medicines. She has crossed all that, and is 14 years old now. When we admitted her at school, they wanted her birth certificate. We didn't have one. They told us to get one from the Saidapet court. I met a lawyer and paid Rs 100 to get a certificate. I brought that certificate and got her admission at the school done. We named her Sakuntala. When she was studying in the 9th standard, we could not manage her fees, stationery and uniform expenses. I pledged my jewelry and sent her to school. One day, she came home crying from school. In between sobs she said she was bleeding. For a second I thought she was hurt. Then she said, 'I did not get any wound. I had a stomach ache. And there was blood on my thighs.' I made her sit in a corner, according to the custom. An older woman from the neighbourhood was with her. I informed all the relatives about her puberty. My brother and his wife came. Since I could not make their boys do the customary rites (as they were her biological brothers), I made my sister's sons do the rituals. They built the hut usually built by the maternal uncle's family. My in-laws did not probe into anything even at that time. After the function, they went back to their homes. I borrowed money and printed invitations.

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The function was held in a hall. My elder brother gifted a chain and a ring. My brother-in-law gave Rs 10,000. She received 15 sarees and 4 sovereigns of gold as gifts. My brother's family wept in joy, saying that even they would not have done the function with so much pomp. Once she attained puberty, I bought her a churidhar set and sent her to school. She failed twice in the 9th standard. Then she refused to go to school as she was feeling ashamed. She stayed home, helping me with the household chores. After about 3 months she wanted to go and work outside. There were other girls who were going for work. Initially I refused. She said, 'It is easy work, Amma. We have to stick marriage invitations, banners or visiting cards.' I permitted it. She earns anything between Rs 700 to Rs 1000 with overtime duty. It has been four years since she attained puberty. I am looking for a groom, since I cannot keep her long at home. We are seeking a groom who will stay with us. I am 45 years old now. Both of us cannot live without her around. I have saved upto 5 sovereigns of gold and some vessels. Even if we starve, we should get her married happily.

Cultural Practices

Flower-vending Ayah5 (Chennai) Daughter and Daughter-in-law Relationship This practice came down to us from the devadasi practice. In those days, dash would dance and lead the procession when there was a procession of deities brought on a chariot in the streets. Hijras would be the nattuvanaars guiding the tal. Sometimes they would also join the dance. Three dasis of three different temples adopted three hijras as their daughters. My mother Jayamma was adopted by the dasi of the Padavettu Amman temple. Later she adopted me. Then I adopted Chandra and Suresh. We used to have long hair. We coiled it up and wore earrings and nose studs. We wore lungis and kurtas. My mother Jayamma thought that it might get confusing if hijras were generally addressed as elder sister or younger sister. So, she brought in this method of adopting a daughter. We are keeping up her tradition and fulfilling her desire to live as family. My daughter would be given as a daughter-in-law to another hijra through the ritual of madikattuthal. Therefore these two families become related by marriage. In Mumbai, the hijras have seven houses. They decide among

5 Ayah died in her 85th year on 14 October 2005.1 came to know about her death only when I came to Chennai. I pray for her soul to rest in peace and thank her for sharing her experiences with the world at large.

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themselves who should adopt whom. That method is called reethu. All the seven Nayaks, the heads of each household, sit together and decide on the adoption ofchelas, or daughters. Here, both the daughter and daughter-in-law's families sit together to decide such matters. In Mumbai, there is an insistence that they should have their noses pierced before getting adopted. In Chennai, we do not have such rules. We leave it to them to decide if they want their nose pierced. Even niravanam is left to their choice. Only recently people harp on getting the nirvanam done in order to become women. In our days, we did not think so. We were made thus by the Creator and we lived thus. Why castrate? The Mind is the major arbitrator. You do not become a hijra only after changing into a saree or performing nirvanam. I live in the shape given to me. Whether you castrate or not, if you are a hijra, you are one! Once Rajaji came to power they passed a resolution against the devadasi system. Where could the hijras go? Some began to do household chores. Some others rented a house and got into sex work. Those who went to homes became servants. They survived on the wages given to them. Some are still doing sex work on the beach. I too went to Mumbai and became a chela. My Guru (mother) is no more. I did not want to be with any other Guru. I am with the group of members who are in the lineage of Padavetta Amman temple dasi. Hijras identify hijras and seek solidarity. 'I am like this. Let me come and stay with you,' they say and become my daughters or daughters-in-law. I am 84 years old. None of my elder or younger sisters—Gurubayi—are alive. All the surviving ones are my daughters or daughters-in-law. To this day, they are identified by the name of the dasi of the Padavettu Amman temple. During the ritual of adoption, a plate of flowers, fruits and betel leaves is placed in the middle. A public announcement of adoption as a daughter or daughter-in-law is made. After two weeks there is a feast. The inlaw's family then serves meat or fish.

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Santhi Amma South Indian Jamaat — Guru, Chela, Gurubayi, andNani relationships Jamaat was the common platform where the Muslims and Hindus met and discussed matters during the Nawab of Arcot's regime. We had Muslim rule then. Hijras would also take part in thejamaat. One of our forefathers was a converted Muslim from the Brahmin community. He was in Nagoor. He formed a. jamaat in south India as well. But the Nawab's rule came to an end, and the Nayakkars took over. They saw ^ns. jamaat functioning and wondered, 'How come! They look like men but are wearing sarees. Are they human beings at all? Are they born normally? How were they born? How did they grow up?' They dissolved the jamaat. The system stopped for a while. Some held underground meetings among themselves. It was all done amongst us. There was no state recognition for any of this. We had Krisnaveni Ayah living in Nagoor then. In Salem, my Guru Anippamma along with Maivelamma, Mariamma, Latha Amma and Singari Amma were there. Initially, there was only onejamaat in Tamil Nadu. There was a. Jamaat leader. If we wanted to recruit any hijra into the jamaat we had to pay Re 1 and a quarter. We would hand over that money to Nagoor Krishnaveni Ayah. She would enquire of our whereabouts and whether we were functioning together. The Guru is the mother to all of us who leave behind our parents and family. The Guru would also teach us the profession. The situation in the northern states or Hyderabad is different. Hijras are respected there. They give us badhai or gifts for blessing them. In the north it has existed since Gandhi's time. In Tamil Nadu, the story is entirely different. There is no badhai system here. We are organizing the hijras at our own initiative. Here they think, 'We give birth to them. But they choose to join hijras and leave us. Why should we support them?' Even if we ask them, they reply, Aren't you healthy enough? Why don't you earn a livelihood?' That is why hijras go to the north and become daughters of Gurus there and get badhai.

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Jamaat meets are held in Salem, Trichy, Madurai, Erode, Thanjavur and Theni. Only at thejamaat meetings do we announce the daughters, granddaughters or sisters called gurubayis. But we do not insist on the hijras staying with us. We advise them to take care of their biological parents. Our parents bring us up with the hope of bringing up a son. They don't understand our feelings. But we do understand theirs. They would beat, kick and abuse us. They would insist that we were born male and should remain so. Unable to bear the violence, we leave home. Parents would come searching for their sons. If the son tells them that he is with the hijras and is dancing, they beat him up. 'How could you join them?' they would threaten. We would go and explain to them. Some families would accept them. Some would just leave, cursing them to get lost. Even those who join their birth families prefer to live with us. The routine of the family does not suit the behaviour of hijras. Here, they can sing and dance. At home, this is not possible. No one will permit them to do such things. So the hijras leave them in peace, and come away. We accept them into the jamaat only if they are attracted to men. If they are attracted to women, we don't let them in. We observe their dress and behaviour and decide if they are males or hijras. There is no chance of a male cheating us and getting into thejamaat. Hijras can adopt daughters or sons. If men who know our principles come to us seeking adoption, we oblige. 'We are like this. You should not tease us. You should respect us,' we explain to them, before adopting them as sons. Once they agree, they pay Rs 25 to the jamaat and become our sons. We get these sons married, and take care of their children as our grandchildren. This is how we can enjoy motherhood. Even if we want to have children of our own, we can't. So, we satisfy our desires like this. I have 21 sons. Most of them are well settled, with a house and property of their own. Some are auto-drivers. If they come to us with respect, we respect them. We visit them and offer our blessings.

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If a hijra wants to become a chela she must decide on her Guru. Even if the Guru is not present at the jamaat, the chela should be present. 'Have you been a chela to any one earlier? How many Gurus have you had so far? How many families have you been part of? Whose lineage do you hail from? Why did you quit? Have you taken any goods from there? In which family were you while you had your nirvanarrff These are all the questions that might be raised. These are asked to check if a chela has run away widi debts, or having disrespected any Guru in that family. Thejamaat solves diese issues first. Supposing I had conducted the function ofPaal Urruthal(& ritual done after the nirvanam to the chela by the Guru) to my chela and had incurred a huge debt, it falls on my head if she runs away to another Guru. No Guru should be cheated upon. It is to make sure that these questions are raised in public. As a chela, when I leave one family and move to anodier, whatever loan I have incurred becomes the responsibility of my new Guru. I can also take care of that. But if I can't, it will be my Guru's responsibility. If I have taken a loan of Rs 500,1 have to pay it at the jamaat. It will reach the family I owe it to. Sometimes for a loan of Rs 500, they charge Rs 1000. Not all Gurus do such things. Some would ignore the matter out of affection. These rules are executed at the jamaats. These are not written down in any law book. But we live according to these rules. Some hijras flout these rules and it is left to them to account for that.

Niravanam

Niravanam

Radha My native place is Namakkal. I lived in the Mumbai red light area for almost 15 years. The area was in Kamatipura Payalahalli. I used to help fetch water and run errands for the women of that house, like going to shops to buy their requirements. Eight months after I reached Mumbai, plans were made to send me for nirvanam. One day my nani, Ayah, called me and asked, 'My dear! Do you prefer doing nirvanam by the Thayamma or the doctor?' I replied that I prefer Thayamma since there was a belief that Thayamma's nirvanam would make one look exactly like a woman. Even body hair would be like women, they used to say! My nani said, 'You need extraordinary courage to undergo Thayamma nirvanam! I replied, 'I am quite courageous.' The Thayamma was present right there. She was also a hijra. People used to say that this Thayamma performed her own nirvanam. She took me aside and saw my penis. She said that it was 'see-saw' or good enough to undergo nirvanam. My nani sent another gurubayi and myself with her for our nirvanams. We performed Matapuja and offered our respect to the elders before leaving home. All the elders blessed us. Thayamma took us to a village near Ulundurpettai in Tamil Nadu. We stayed there for almost a month. There was no move to do our nirvanam. Then I went to her directly and asked, 'Why have you kept us idly here? Either do the nirvanam for us or send us back to Mumbai.' After that she took us to Athur. We stayed at a hijra's house in Athur for five days. Then on a Thursday, they told us that they

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would do the nirvanam. On the previous day, they bought us all our favourite food items and fed us well. They sent us to a movie. When we came back from the cinema, they took us to a room inside the house. It was around 2.30 am. They tied our penises with a jute rope. We were too excited and scared. We couldn't get a wink of sleep. Our hearts beat fast. We kept praying to Mata to give us courage. Thayamma came to wake us up at around 4 in the morning. We were anyway wide-awake. My gurubayis nirvanam was fixed first. They took her to the next room. It was set-up as a puja room. There was the smell of camphor and incense sticks. In a while I heard her scream. I started shivering. I almost wanted to run out. But I stayed on, leaving my fate to Mata. I was the next to go in. My gurubayi was seated in a corner. She smiled at me. Thayamma and the other Thayamma who holds you from behind—Pin Thayamma—were there. The other hijra was a temple priestess. My fears multiplied on entering the room. They removed my nose stud, earrings, bangles, other ornaments, saree and blouse. I was shivering from head to toe. I stood naked in front of a photograph of Goddess Mata. They put strands of my hair into my mouth and asked me to keep uttering the name of Mata. Since there was hair in my mouth, I uttered Mata's name within myself. As I was doing it, Thayamma pulled my penis and cut it in one blow with a knife. It was not painful when she cut it. After cutting she made me sit. It was burning like hell. It was like sitting on burning fire. I could not do anything. I fainted. They took the oozing blood and rubbed it all over my body. It is believed that if we rub this blood all over the body, all the body-hair will drop off. I did not look down. They sat me up with spread legs onto a wall. My eyes were dizzy. Thayamma slapped me hard on my cheeks and woke me up. We should not sleep at that time. When she slapped I screamed, 'Amma\' She asked me to scream 'Mata instead. I could not bear the burning sensation. After a while, hot sesame oil was applied on the operated spot. It felt good when they applied it. But after a while there was a prickly pain. Again I

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cried, 'Amma. Again I was told to cry 'Mata instead. They made sure we did not sleep till 7 am by beating us every now and then. Even when we begged for water, they gave me dried ginger. It was spicy and I could not munch it. So they gave me black tea. I drank it and fainted into a sleep. Around 10 am, Thayamma woke us up and congratulated us on having become women. She told us to get up and stand. We could not. They made us get up by supporting us, and made us sit against the wall. She asked me if I had passed urine. I said no. She gave us an idli and black tea. In a while I called her and said I needed to urinate. She put some sand near my leg and told me to pass urine there. My urine fell like nail polish onto the sand. For five days, they kept us like that, without baths. On the fifth day they washed us clean with hot water. That night Thayamma said we could go to Mumbai. Blood was still oozing out. At least I could get up and walk. My gurubayi was still suffering. They applied oil on a betel leaf and placed it on the wound. Then a cloth was wound like a loincloth over it. Over that, three skirts were tied. And then a saree was worn. From Athur to Chennai, there was no train. So we were taken by bus. By the time we reached Chennai, the jerky bus travel had made the oozing of blood severe and one of my skirts became soiled. Once we reached the central station, I had to pass urine. I got into a train that was stationed there and used the toilet in that carriage. I threw away the dirty in-skirt and came back to the platform to sit quietly. Passers by made fun of us and called us katta vandi. We got into the Mumbai train. It was too crowded. We slept near the toilet. At Renikunta men came to beat us up, saying that we were blocking the way. Left with no other option, Thayamma lifted up her saree and created a commotion there. They were military men. After that they kept referring to us as kochavadu or 'number nine', a derogatory way of addressing us. Thayamma left us alone and sat in another compartment along with the women. She did not take care of us during the travel. We could not swallow the tamarind rice we had

Niravanam

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packed for the way. With great difficulty we reached Dadar. I could not even walk properly. We got into a taxi with great difficulty and reached our place. Everyone came to see us. They immediately told us to go to nani's house. So, we went to Kodkuppar from there. They made us stand at the entrance, lit camphor, broke a coconut after circling it over us, and then let us into the house. On the seventh day after our arrival in Mumbai, they heated water to a boil. They removed our clothes. They made us sit in the bath space with legs apart. Steaming hot water was splashed on the wound. It was painful when they splashed it, but after that I longed for it. It was soothing to the itching and burning sensation in the operated spot. Then they bathed us well and served us food with brinjal and dry fish curry. Next day the wound started itching heavily. They cleaned the wound with lifebuoy soap. Again they splashed hot water. All the dry skin, blood clots and dirt around the wound were washed away. Then they wiped the wound with a white cotton cloth. After that, smoke was created and sison seeds and garlic skin were thrown in. The belief is that bad liquids would dry up because of this smoke. Once again they wiped the wound and poured lukewarm oil over it. It was soothing when they poured it. But when it touched the urine hole, it would cause a shooting pain. This process continued for 30 days. They would give us chappathi, bitter gourd, black tea and ghee as food. The rims of the chappathi would be removed before serving us. The wound is supposed to heal from the rim of the chappathi being served. That was true. The wound healed. They would add ghee in black tea and give us. It was supposed to strengthen the body. We were not supposed have milk till the 40th day. We were given a full bath including a hair wash on the 11th, 20th and 30th days. On those days we were served the head of a goat. The hijras, young and old, visited us. They gifted us money by circling it over our heads. They brought us wheat flour, jaggery, tea and ghee. Till the 40th day, we were not to see a man's face or a mirror. We had to remove our

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facial hair. If we looked at men we might desire them. It was bad to have such desires at that time. After Mata puja, we had to carry the milk container on our head and pour it in some water—a pond or a river; then we had to look at a picture of Goddess Mata. And only then could we look at one's own face. It said that if we did it exactly like that we would be as beautiful as Mata herself. Thus 39 days passed. On the 40th day they did the kappu for me. It is a system by which facial hair is removed from its very roots. That night at 2 am, they sat us on a wooden plank with just our skirt. This function was called haldi mehndi. They brought turmeric, mehndi and sugar. All the hijras, young and old, applied turmeric and mehndi; served sugar to us and circled the plate ofaarti, the auspicious water,

Niravanam

69

Today, I feel like swooning if I see some blood. I am scared to death. But at that time, I was hell-bent on becoming a woman. And Mata gave me the strength to face it without fear. When they splashed water, sometimes it would be soothing. Sometimes it would hit hard. If I folded my legs or cried in pain, the elders would beat me. They would scold me, saying that it was not easy to become a woman. Only after 40 days did I realize the worth of their abuses and thrashings. Water, oil and smoke have healed the wound properly. I can pass urine freely. I feel these are wonders of the Goddess. I am scared even to imagine Thayamma's nirvanam to this date.

which was red in colour, over us; and then each one of them poured water over our heads. At the auspicious time, at around 4 am, my Guru gave me a green saree, blouse, skirt, green bangles, nose stud, earrings, anklets, toe rings and the black beeds called lajja and asked me to wear them. We were not supposed to look at anyone after decking ourselves. Once thejok—saree, blouse, skirt, toe rings and nose stud—was on, the face was covered with a burqua. Songs were sung in praise of Mata and the milk container was loaded on our heads. We went in a procession, poured the milk into the sea and came back carrying seawater in the container. Once we reached home, the burqa was removed and we were asked to look at the picture of Mata first. Then they told me to pick up a favourite dish from the offerings. I looked at the goddess. She dazzled gorgeously. They had lit a lamp near the picture and served coconuts, fruits and sweets like kesari. On the kesari was drawn an 'Om', which is Mata's symbol. As I looked at it, I took a small portion of the kesari and ate it. They blessed me saying, 'Good. You have taken a sweet and your life will be as sweet.' Only after that did they show me my face in a mirror. After that I did the pombadathi—p&idi obeisance to the elders. I am leading a happy life till date, thanks to Mata's blessings.

Kokila I had my nirvanam done when I was 27. I went to Dr Meera in Dindugal. It was a rebirth. The night before, they gave me enema and told me not to eat anything. They shaved my genital area. Next day, at around noon, they took me to the operation theatre. Anesthetic injection was given in my spinal cord. The lower part of my body became numb. I did not feel any pain when the surgery was done. Then they laid me down on a bed. Once I regained consciousness, the pain was excruciating. They had fixed a urinary tube. On the third day, the tube was removed. I felt suffocated. My eyes were bulging out. I felt I would not survive. I thought that if I die, I should die at my place. So I got myself discharged, and boarded a train to Katpadi. I should have stayed at the hospital for 7 days, and removed the stitches before I left. But I got scared and left halfway. I was not with my parents then. I would visit them every now and then. I had my own place. People at our village believed that I had already done my nirvanam. I did not feel like going and telling them that I had done my nirvanam only now. So, I did not visit them for 4 months. I did not consult a doctor for a fortnight after I returned. I was scared. I had 16 stitches. I kept applying the ointment given by the doctor. Hair started growing at the operated spot and hid the

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Niravanam

OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

stitches. I went to a lady doctor in our town. She said that the stitches did not need to be removed manually and that they would dissolve on their own. Soon pus started forming and there was a swelling as big as a bun. 20 or 22 days had passed. The stitches did not dissolve. Blood and pus started oozing out, and there was a foul smell. No one would even sit next to me because of the stench. It was unbearable. I went to another doctor. Since the hair had grown so much, the stitches were not visible at all. He scolded me saying, 'Why didn't you remove the stitches earlier? If you had done that on the seventh day and kept the wound clean, the wound would have healed by now.' He told me to come at 10 pm to remove the stitches. The clinic was too crowded before that. I went at about 9 pm. He had removed only half the stitches. I could not bear the pain. I kept screaming. He advised me to come the next day. The next day, he removed the rest of the stitches and gave me medicines. He did not take any fee from me. I wondered as to how a private practitioner could be so sympathetic in diese days! He was a gem of a person. May his good deeds bless him! If only I had stayed on for seven days at the Dindugal Hospital, it would have healed well. I neither had a Guru or Gosha (community) then. I bought a green saree for myself, and did the milk pouring ceremony on my own. No one adorned me with the black beads or shaved my head. These rituals have to be done for the chela by a Guru. But my Guru was no more. I did not want to seek anyone else's help. So, I went ahead and did the rituals myself. My chela took care of me. I underwent nirvanam only after joining thejamaat. For a year my wound did not heal. Before the surgery I was bent on becoming a woman like the other hijras. But after the surgery I regretted venturing into that process. Most hijras undergo various difficulties due to the lack of monetary facilities, space to stay and other human assistance. The doctors have no proper equipment to perform these surgeries. They are done in secrecy. Since these operations are considered illegal and

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hijras have no family support, there are numerous difficulties. Still, all the rituals done for a Thayamma nirvanam are also done for the clinical nirvanam.

Sudha Sendhilkumar No one in the Theni district comments about my not having gone in for nirvanam. When I travel, hijras ask me why I have not done my nirvanam yet. Some hijras say, 'Don't ever make the mistake we did. Let our troubles end with us.' Deep in my heart I want to become a woman. But it causes difficulties sometimes. When I am in male clothing without having gone through castration, I am scared to travel alone. I am teased all the time. But my mother and younger sister insist that I remain a male as long as they live. I am in a terrible dilemma. Hijras have formed a separate culture for us from earlier on. It is a commendable tradition. But the culture of the olden days does not suit us always today. The younger generation has different points of view. I agree, the older generation of hijras suffered more than us. But today we can demand our rights. We can seek employment. The senior hijras dictate terms to us: 'I am the nani (Guru). Do as we tell you to. Sit down. Press my legs.' This kind of ordering-about hinders our struggle for human rights. We understand their lifestyle. Therefore, they should also pay heed to our views. I have seen a hijra from a Muslim family visiting a Hindu temple wearing a bindi. In the same way, a hijra born of Hindu family visits a mosque or a dargah. Hijras from other religions pray in churches. Even if they are born into families observing different religions and they have different gods as their favourite ones, once they have undergone nirvanam, the rituals are conducted in ways followed by the hijra community. Pothraja Mata riding on a cock is the only Goddess of all hijras.

Activism

Activism

Sudha Sendhilkumar Men use hijras only for sex. Only at that time do they treat hijras as women. Not in any other matter. Some men get married to hijras. Perhaps we can feel proud saying that I am married, and am wearing a thali. But do these men give the hijras a decent life in society? Even if they marry a hijra, that does not last long. They leave behind that affair and get married to a woman. And the hijras thus cast aside have nothing else to do but commit suicide or move to another place. With no other option to survive within the family or society, hijras become sex workers. Some end up suffering with HIV or AIDS. The sexual morality of the hijras is usually under question. But in the Theni district we have changed that image of hijras. Here we do not resort to sex work. We sell vegetables. We work with various NGOs, among the people. The image of hijras among common people is changing gradually. In ancient times, hijras had been appointed as friends of queens. They had enjoyed a dignified position in society. But they did not organize themselves as a community. Today our problems have become a lot more complex. We have started thinking about our welfare and our rights. We have started voicing our demands. Voluntary agencies have played a crucial role in bringing about these changes. Though many of us have property, family support and education, we have remained foolish so far. There are many hijras who are illiterate. We have to make them feel part of our community and the society at large. Therefore, we have formed an organization

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called ThenmavattaAravanigal Urimai marrum Membattu Maiyam— Centre for the Rights and Development of Aravanis of Southern Districts. There are 35 members in that organization. We have two self-help groups in our organization. One is called Samudmm (Ocean). We honour the memory of the Tamil novelist by that name who wrote the first novel called Vadamalli. The second group is called Agalvilakku (Dhiya). It signifies that we spread light. Although we live as part of the society, hijras are a separate community. We would never have Hindu-Muslim riots of the kind found in mainstream society, or caste riots. We would never have room for such riots even if we live thus for seven generations. The rest of society keeps issuing proud statements about eradicating untouchability or communal clashes. But they remain empty words in reality. The hijra community does not have such things. There is no caste or religious discrimination among us. If at all there is discrimination, it is about those who have undergone nirvanam and those who haven't. The former is considered respectable while the latter is looked down upon. Tamil cinema has always portrayed hijras as die butt of humour. Society too imbibes the same values, and makes fun of us. This trend should change at all costs. A family should treat male, female or hijra equally. There should be legal amendments brought about for the welfare of hijras. There should be specific development projects geared to advance the social status of hijras. Hijras should be entitled to homes and other loan facilities.

Aruna Nineteen years ago when I came to Chennai, rogues would take away my clothes and drive me out on the road. But today, they call me Akka and inquire after me. I was scoffed at as an object then; today I am treated as a human being. I think society has changed quite a lot. Media like TV. and newspapers have played a crucial role in bringing about this change. But that is not enough. There is no total change.

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

Activism

75

Only when that occurs can hijras live peacefully. Otherwise, violence

and that we have rights, a status and dignity. We should be treated as

will continue. We need laws for hijras separately, like they have for

part of society. We should not be marginalized. When I board a bus, I would sit in the women's seat where two

other marginal groups. Hijras should have access to basic amenities. The rent for the house I stay in at Chennai would normally be Rs

other women might be seated already. Those women would keep

500. But they charge Rs 800 from me as I am a hijra. The house

gazing at me. We do feel that they look at us like this because we are

owners insist on us paying more electricity charges as well. The tailors

hijras. Some even get up and leave that seat. I buy vegetables from the wholesale market. In the beginning

charge four times their nominal rate to make a blouse for us. Thus we end up spending multifold for every basic need. We are therefore forced to take up sex work to make ends meet. If we have our own

would tease me. I used to feel very hurt. I would explain to them in

house, we can survive even with Rs 30 as the wages per day for doing

detail, 'We are hijras. The government has given us a loan to start a

coolie work. Our body and mind would be spared. Unfortunately, such a situation does not exist.

business. If you tease me I will lodge a complaint. We have the support

My parents have accepted me. I visit them whenever I can. If I

us, you will be in deep trouble!' Nowadays, no one dares to tease me.

travel for 10 days, I start missing my home. But when I am with the family, I keep thinking of the hijra community. I feel as if I am far

They call me 'Kokila, by my name. They even advise me to come

away from them. We have our biological mother and father and

markets to get provisions. I bargain with them and get a cheaper

children of our siblings at home. Similarly the hijra community also

price for each sack. A sack quoted at Rs 25,1 get for Rs 20.1 buy 5-

has mothers, grandmothers, elder sisters and younger sisters. It has its own circle of kith and kin. We can't give up either. In the family,

10 sacks. Since I buy in such large quantities, the vendors reduce the price for my sake. Today, I am sure that they would give me products

we will be supported only as long as the parents are alive. But in the

worth Rs 1 lakh as loan. The public also understands the changes.

hijra community we would always be welcome. Once our parents

They think, 'The hijras are coming into this business for the first time. They have chosen to sell vegetables instead of going the wrong

die, we would be alienated at home. But hijra relationships are lifelong. Having thought over all these factors, I am determined to be with the hijras and do my best for that community.

there were catcalls. They made fun of me. Even the coolie workers

of the collector and the police. Beware! If you cause any difficulty to

early to buy vegetables and open the shop early. I go to the wholesale

way. They want to lead a dignified life.' So they encourage us. But some hijras still do sex work. When people see them they tell me, 'You are leading a respectable life selling vegetables. But there are

Kokila

some others standing in bus-stands, waiting for customers.' Why should we give people room to comment on us? Would

We got our voting rights in Vellore stating that we were hijras; we got

they say a word against us, if we didn't do sex work or begged? We should get our demands sanctioned by the State. We can start our

our houses and loans too like that. We confessed that our parents and society ignored us. We were not born women. We were males by

own enterprises. We have to unite together without giving room for

birth. We were given male names. When we became hijras, we gave

jealousies and quarrels. Many who were closeted till today are forming

ourselves a new name. The society should know that we are hijras

themselves into associations. People hesitate to have anything to do

Activism

76

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with us. They are worried as to what we would do. Earlier, hijras had an inferiority complex and felt that no one would value them or respect them. Today, we have united together, with hope. We fought for our rights and won. Half the public is also changing.

Santhi Amma If we have a house of our own, we can manage with a limited income. We can lead our lives by selling ginger sweets, vegetables or by going to dance programmes. When we demand loans the collector asks us for bank accounts. They insist that we show bank accounts, whether we are dalits or hijras. We explain, 'We have lived by begging on the streets so far. There is no way for us to open an account and save money.' They ask us if we have not saved out of beggary. We say that it is not possible at all. They further ask, 'How can we build a house when you have no savings at all? How can we give you loans?' We plead with them to offer help to us somehow. They quote laws to deny us any help. More and more hijras are migrating to the north in search of livelihood. Whatever they earn there, they bring it here and spend it all. Again they go back to the north. Even in our families, we can get things done only if we remain males. This will not work. We have to struggle. Though we have a kinship structure and an organizational pattern, some hijras are going against them. We are advising them to stick together. Our Association was started two years ago. We participate in government programmes. We are creating awareness among hijras living in the various districts of Tamil Nadu and getting them to form associations. We are demanding flats for hijras. We have formed self-help groups. We have plans to give skill-training through those groups. We also want to fight for social justice of all kinds. Our community members do not run after money or pleasure like before. We listen to the advice given to us by resource people. I should say our community is developing quite well.

For social service groups, we perform our arts for free. The money we collect through our dances, we donate to child-labourers and the blind.

Change

Change

Roja When we first came to Bengaluru, there was an agraharam6 next to our oodi.1 There was also a touring talkies close by. When we went to watch movies, young boys used to tease us all the way through. They were all very young boys, aged anywhere from 5 to 12. We felt hurt. Some of us would get angry and beat our hands, or lift up our dress. When we went to the market they would throw tornatoes, eggs and vegetables at us. It would be such a task to go out and come back. Today, when we visit the same market, they call out to us, 'Auntie, what do you want?' We have increased in number. We are out in the open. People have come to know that we work in offices and other places. Therefore, society is changing its attitudes towards us. Earlier, our house owner would lay down conditions about our dress. He would say that we should not wear skirts and half-sarees or modern clothes. Even thegoondas used to threaten us against wearing modern clothes. Now, we wear all kinds of dresses like pants and shirt, churidars, or nighties. We were about 50 of us then. Now we are over 1000 in number. We stayed at the hamams then. We would apply soap and bathe people who would visit there. Sex work would happen in secret. No one would go out to do sex work. We had to face the goondas and the police if we went out. Now, hijras do sex work openly. Such hijras 6

Brahmin quarters; here, predominantly brahmin locality. Area.

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have difficulties in getting houses to stay. Hijras rent separate houses nowadays. I used to bring the reservation slips home and have them filled. Now I have learnt to fill the form myself. I book the tickets for all the hijras at the hamam. I mention that we are female in form. I buy dresses wholesale from Chickpet in Bengaluru and sell them to hijras. I sell them with a profit margin of Rs 30-50. Neighbourhood women actually place orders with me for some sarees. When I went to buy wholesale for the first time, I was hesitant. I was not sure what people would think. I was scared that they might think I have come to beg. Actually, when I was looking at a churidar at a shop, a boy gave me a Re 1 coin. I did not accept it. When they saw me buy clothes worth Rs 5000 from another shop, they came to know that hijras can also do business. Now, they compete with each other in welcoming me into their shops. They call me respectfully, 'Please come, Aunty or Maji.'

Ranjitha Things are changing in society. Families that were together are splitting up; and those that separated, unite together. Earlier, we were living separately. Now, we have united together. There are many hijras who are educated. They give us guidance. They advise us about how to lead our lives and our behaviour in society. We live like anyone else in society. In those days, hijras were treated as bonded labour. Today, we are free individuals. I like the present times. Earlier, I was in Sonapur, Mumbai, in the red-light area. While I was in school, I would fall asleep by 8 pm. But in Mumbai, I couldn't sleep till 2 in the morning. I had to fetch pots and pots of water, wash the clothes and do the dishes and clean big houses. It was a difficult task. Sometimes I cried out of dismay. Some of the older hijras there would scold me saying, Ask your mother or sister to come here. If they earn an income, they would also scold you like this.' I felt hurt. 'Why should they come? It

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OUR LIVES, OUR WORDS

was I who became a hijra and joined this community,' I thought. If we said a word, they would double their abuses. Today, hijras don't behave like that. We have to respect our elders. At other times, we move around as friends. We would always respect thejamaatno matter what. But we are friendly with each other. Today, we speak openly about all matters. We should give up sex work completely. Women do not respect us because of that. Society is also not ready to accept us because of that. Why does everyone accept hijras from Vellore? Because they know that we don't do sex work. Some people think, 'Hijras are sex workers. If we let them in they will spoil our men-folk.' They fear that the men would become friendly with us by the way we behave. I strongly think that hijras should quit sex work. In those days, we had no other choice. We had to enter into sex work. But now, there are good shows on TV. about hijras. They portray us in good light in the radio and newspapers. The common public has begun to accept us.

Vanitha In those days we were not educated. Hijras had to bear all kinds of sufferings. No one returned home once they had left. If they had done nirvanam, they never re-entered their homes. Most hijras ended their lives in places where they went to earn their livelihood. Nowadays, there are hijras staying with their own families with or without having done nirvanam. Some leave home for 4-5 years, and rejoin their families after that. People never revealed themselves as hijnts then. Now they are open about it. Still there are quite a few hijras who are suffering like in the olden days. We have to unite all of them and create awareness among them. I work in an association now. We have submitted a charter of demands to the government. We have asked for welfare schemes and loans for starting businesses. We have also got a loan through our selfhelp group. I think Vellore remains the number one district in terms of the welfare of hijras. This is just the beginning. We have miles to go.

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