Author's Note:
Beyond Black and White

Breasts and long hair - is this a woman? Beard and moustache - is this a man? But what of the soul, which is neither man nor woman?

-Devara Dasimayya, tenth century mystic and Kannada poet

Fear. I was scared to walk on the road for fear of people recognizing me. I was worried someone might mock me while I walked on the road. I was afraid the police might arrest me. I held back from taking the bus because I wasn't sure who I could sit next to. I was scared to use the public toilet for fear that people might know I was different. I was scared that rotten tomatoes might be thrown at me in the market. I was scared of falling in love for fear of being punished hard. Fear of everything and anything. Why am I so scared? This question haunted me.1

Was I afraid because I knew my life would be difficult now that I had become a hijra? Because I was raised as a boy and now wore female clothes? Was it because of the way I lived - cast aside by parents, unrecognized by society, penalized by law and begging or doing sex work for a livelihood? What mistake had I made? Didn't my mother carry me for ten months like she did my siblings? Why did I have to suffer this fate? Why should I live in perennial fear all my life? Can't people understand how much I am suffering - I'm like the curd churned by the ladle or the worm burnt in the heat of the sun?

Is there a God at all, one who created us with male bodies but gave us female feelings? Are my parents responsible for this? Am I simply impudent to put on this garb? Who am I? Which gender do I belong to? Is it right or wrong to be like this? Where will I find answers to my questions?

In India, Ardhanareeswara, the half-male and half-female form of Shiva, is worshipped. But why would such a country abuse hijras? How could those of you who have read the story of Shikandin in the Mahabharatha refuse to understand hijras? Are basic human rights meant only for males and females? Aren't hijras human enough to enjoy those rights? Aren't we citizens of this country? Don't we deserve to get voting rights, passports, driving licenses, ration cards and property rights? How justified is it to say that since I was born a male, I can get access to all these 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 due to a woman. This plea for equality and human rights for transgender people has been the pivotal point of my transgender activism.

Myths and misconceptions about gender and sexuality have spread like poison in our society. We urgently need an antidote for this. I am a trans woman. This simply means that although I was seen as a male, even as a child I always felt that I was female. In India, we belong to the hijra community. In Tamil Nadu, we are known as Aravani or Thirunangai.

Several years back, I underwent surgical castration, sex change and hormone therapy to transition to womanhood. Since then, I have never looked back. But life as a woman has been a series of challenges. Even today, my greatest challenge is to live as a woman with respect and dignity.

People like me, whose experience of gender is different from what has been imposed on us at birth, face widespread stigma and discrimination. It begins in childhood because we are 'different' from the other children. For example, I loved to draw kolams, the beautiful floral and geometric rice flour designs women drew outside their homes in South India, to help my mother in the kitchen, I preferred to play with girls and to dress up as a girl. It seemed most 'natural' for me to do so. My family thought that this was just a passing phase. However, to their horror, when they realized that it was not, they began to punish me severely to make me behave like a 'normal' boy. At school, teachers and students made fun of me. I was called 'ombodu', 'ali' and 'pottai', all derogatory terms used to describe trans women and kothis.

Like me, every other hijra across caste goes through immense pain, sorrow, anguish, sexual violence and human rights violations. We are isolated and shunned by society.

For the past seventeen years, I have been spearheading a campaign to address such issues through my role as a researcher and independent activist for the rights of gender minorities in South India. Unarvum Uruvamum was my first book. It was written in Tamil and later translated into English and Hindi. After the book was released, I attended a number of conferences in South India. I also met several ministers and VVIPs and gave them copies of the book in the hope that they would read it and do something for our transgender community. Unfortunately, as I realized later, they did not even open the book. But even if they did not, others did. Indeed, I feel humbled to acknowledge that some of the welcome developments related to gender and sexuality have sprung from my earlier book, The Truth about Me (2010),2 which has currently been translated into seven Indian languages.

Today, people ask us why the transgender community is involved in street-based sex work and begging. They ask us why we can't do other work. But who will give us jobs? For instance, I don't get a consultation fee in universities where I'm invited to speak, although they pay for my travel when I am an invited speaker. Most members of the transgender community have low levels of education as we are thrown out of our homes and forced to discontinue schooling. Then how can you tell us not to do sex work? What choice do we have?

It is now sixty-nine years since India became independent. Despite the nearly seven decades, trans women like me, and trans men (people who are assigned female at birth but identify themselves as men) have not yet achieved full freedom. This is the truth. The Truth about Me, later published in Tamil as Vellai Mozhi (2010), has also been translated into Kannada, Malayalam and Telugu. These books have been stocked in libraries of more than 300 colleges and universities in the country. Together, the books create awareness among students about gender and sexuality. As far as I know, the books form part of the prescribed syllabus in twenty universities and colleges.

The overwhelming public response for my books is a source of great satisfaction for me. I feel that the reason I took to writing has been validated. I can now see the fruits of my labour. It is a victory that is most meaningful for me. Ten years back, there was no such discussion among students about gender and sexuality. This was because of a general lack of awareness, and besides, there were not many books about the transgender community. The first autobiography to be written by a transgender person in India is Living Smile Vidya's I am Vidya. Originally written in Tamil, it has now been translated into English and several other Indian languages. The Truth about Me, an autobiographical account of my personal journey as a trans woman published in 2010, was an eye-opener for the general public.

My life has been one long struggle to express and experience my identity as a woman. In my quest as a person born physiologically male, but who always desired to live as a woman, I experienced multiple oppressions from many sides - family, society, and in education, law, culture and caste. Although it has been uphill all the way, I emerged triumphant as a trans woman. There is no better teacher than one's lived experience. Today I speak frankly and fearlessly about the human rights violations, stigma and discrimination, and the rights of a trans woman to live like any other person.

In the last seventeen years, I have been advocating for the rights of not only trans women but also that of other gender and sexual minorities such as trans men, queers, gays, lesbians, bisexuals, kothis (trans people on the feminine end of the spectrum) and intersex individuals. Besides, as an activist, I support other marginalized communities such as dalits and adivasis. I am thankful that my voice is being heard through several spaces that are supportive of my activism. These include NGOs, colleges, universities, public meetings, media, theatre and writing.

The challenges, the triumphs and difficulties in my arduous journey as an activist form the core of this book. An unusual feature of this book is that it captures the narratives of trans men (female to male trans individuals), a highly invisiblised and marginalized gender minority. Most people are not even aware that such a group exists. And sadly, even most members of the hijra community do not accept them.

In 2012, supported by a one-year fellowship from Samvada, a Bengaluru-based youth sensitization and empowerment organization, I undertook a research project on female to male trans persons in South India. I had then resigned from Sangama, a Bengaluru-based organization for the rights of sexual and gender minorities, where I had been working for the past decade. However, I was unable to write my research-based stories on trans men because, by then, I had developed a nagging back problem. Conventional methods of treatment were not helpful. I did try to write, although my writing progress was slow.

I wanted the stories of the trans men to form an important part of this book. As a trans woman, I identify myself as a woman. Likewise,...