Who am I ? I was born in Tamil Nadu and grew up with the name Annadurai. Ever since I can remember, I would help my mother with housework. I would sweep the entrance clean and cover it with “kolam”. At times, I tried on my sister's clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. I usually kept company with girls of my age and played with them. My brothers, friends, neighbors-would call me names such as “ali”, “onbathu”, “pombalasatti”. My teacher would pinch me in the thigh and ask why do you act like a girl? Behave like a proper male child. That was when I understood that I was behaving like a girl. I was happy being that way.
When I turned fifteen I began experiencing various feminine desires. I began to feel shy and self-conscious when men were around and felt a growing need to dress up and look good like women did.
I was male but had female instincts. Was I the only one who felt this way? Questions and doubts such as these came up all the time. I simply could not understand what was happening. Since I was physically male, I concealed my femininity, my desires, and found myself deeply shaken by my inability to hide these things for long. I could not concentrate on my studies. I failed my tenth standard examination and spent a year studying at home because of this.
Could I find somebody who felt the way I did? I began to seek people like myself. I once visited a hill-fort close to where I lived. I met people like myself there. I spoke to them of how I felt. I learnt from them of men who had become women.
I would visit this hill-fort often to meet my new friends and to express myself freely. I would sing and dance and spend time with them happily. My family began to restrict me. They began asking questions about where I was going and what I was doing. I was ordered to work as a cleaner on the lorry we owned. They would scold me while the people who worked for us were around and leave me feeling humiliated. I was asked to do all the difficult jobs that men normally did. I was unable to bear the physical and emotional torment from my family and so I ran away from home in search of places where hijra’s lived.
I found refuge with a hijra community some 50 kilometers from my native place. For the first time, I met people who had been operated and dressed like women. They would dance in the “Karagattam”. They also made periodic visits to Bombay and Delhi. I wanted to become a woman. I wanted to become like them. I asked if I too could wear a “saree”. They said I needed to grow my hair and get my nose and ears pierced before I could wear a “saree”. How long would it take for my hair to grow sufficiently long? I would weep silently because I had to dress like a man till this happened. There, I did whatever work they gave me. I also learnt to cook and to dance. Three months later I traveled to Delhi.
I got my ears and nose pierced, wore women's clothes and lived the life of a woman in Delhi. A hijra adopted me as her daughter and I would accompany her when she visited the shops for money. I didn't like doing this. I accompanied her because there was simply no other option.
My family found out that I was living in Delhi as a hijra and visiting shops for money. I returned home, when I received a word that my mother was seriously ill. I took off my hijra clothes at a railway station and went home dressed in male attire. I was apprehensive about my mother's health taking a turn for the worse if she saw me dressed in any other way.
At home, I found my mother was in good health. My older brother began beating me up with a cricket bat not caring about whether he hurt my head or my limbs. I screamed in unbearable pain. My mother urged him more. “Break his legs” she said. Prevent him from going with hijras again. I began to bleed from the head. I wept uncontrollably my body was covered entirely with bruises. I did not have the courage to stand up to them and express my femininity. I could not get over the fear that they would beat me some more and perhaps kill me.
They took me to the temple the next day and shaved my head. They had struck me several times, but their blows did not hurt as much as losing my hair did.
I was at home for about three months and then I ran away to Bombay. I joined a hijra community . It was here that I learnt of hijra life, of our culture and our traditions. I learnt of relationships within the community such as guru, “Chela” and “Nani”. The hijra community has seven houses. Each house has its own “Nayak”. To become somebody's “chela”, it is necessary to bring the seven “nayaks” together in a “jamaat” and place a “reethu” in their presence.
I learnt the rules of hijra life, that we never cut our hair, that we touch the feet of our elders when we begin and end each day that we must be careful about even our clothes coming in contact with elders. I learnt of how I was supposed to conduct myself in the presence of my guru and my “nani”.
I would visit shops. I also helped with the housework. Six months passed in this fashion. They sent me to Tamil Nadu for my “Nirvanam”. I completed my “nirvanam” and returned to Bombay suffering much hardship. Forty days after the ceremony, they performed the milk ritual. I went back to visiting shops.
I was very happy after my “nirvanam” because I felt that I had finally become a woman. I wanted to marry somebody and have my own family. But who marries hijras? It was also not possible to live alone - that was against the rules of our community. Such a life, even if I attempted it, would be one without any security.
I began to desire sex with men. The rule in our house was that we shouldn't see men or speak to them. This was a difficult situation. I couldn't hold myself back for very long. I broke with my house and joined another group which was involved in sex-work as “chela” to another hijra in that house. Joining another house while you are still a “chela” can lead to fights and violence. The only way to avoid such a situation is to become a “chela” to another hijra in that house.
I began to seek sex-work. I was able to have sexual relations with men but it was not very satisfying. With customers, you have to do what they want if you want to get paid. I was forced to have sex even when I didn't feel like it because l needed the money. Even though I made good money and handed it all promptly to my guru, I was never given good clothes. And sometimes, local “goondas” would force me into sex without paying for it.
Once a “goonda” forced himself on me in a way that I found inappropriate. It hurt me in many ways than one. My guru did not lift a finger to help me. Sex-work was possible in our locality only if you did what the “goondas” asked you to do. I barely survived that experience. I didn't want to stay there any more. I wondered where I could go. Society looks down at us. We don't get jobs. We were treated badly. To add to all this the policemen and “goondas” add to the misery. After thinking about all these things I decided to return home to my native place.
I went home as a woman for the first time. My brother tried to beat me again. I yelled that I was a woman. That I would go to the police if he laid a hand on me. I displayed the result of my “nirvanam” to them. They told me that I must wear men’s clothes. I declared that I couldn’t do all that any longer. My father who understood my feelings said let him be as he wishes. I was however not allowed to step out of the house. I could not take part in public functions on occasions. My relatives and acquaintances visited me as they would visit somebody who was ill. They began to look at me in a strange way. Everyone began gossiping about me.
I did not wish to continue living there. I left home and joined a hijra group in Bangalore. I became a sex-worker in my new guru’s “hammam”. I realized that I would get respect only if I had money. I worked in Bangalore for five years and saved the hard earned money.
I gave my guru and my family money occasionally. I got treated with respect only when I did this, both by my family and within my hijra group. I would go home now and then and give my father the money I had saved. I told him that I had begun dancing, and that my earnings came from this activity. I did not tell them anything about my sex-work. These visits home would sometimes last as long as ten days. They let me move about freely and did not try to restrict me in any way.
When I traveled by bus, women would not sit next to me if they guessed that I was a hijra. People in the bus would tease me mercilessly. Some men would try to grope me too. My life went this way every day, fearing society, “goondas” and the police. I would venture out of the “hammam” into the streets of Bangalore for sex-work. I pretended to be a woman while seeking customers. Nobody would have come to me if I had let the fact that I was hijra. People in cars would pick me up. On several occasions we were chased by policemen who were following me in “mufti”. They would slap me around and chase me away before getting money from my customers. The fear would make me give them money.
I’ve been dragged into their vans while walking the streets. At the station they would beat me and kick me and humiliate me with questions like “How do you have a woman’s body? show us.” They would keep me there for two days and torture me no case was ever registered. They would then drag me to court. At the entrance, they would make me give them money, say two hundred rupees, and then tell me to go away. I would live in constant fear of the police while seeking sex work. Whether I went out for sex work or not, I had to give my guru a hundred rupees every day. Only then could I stay at their house.
Once while I was looking for customers, some policemen stopped me and forced me trap people for them. They were waiting to collare the customers who approached me to discuss my rate. A few people who stopped to ask for directions also got arrested. They caught some ten people this way and then beat me up and said “Get lost, if we see you here again, we’ll put you in jail for six months.”
Once, at a police station I was beaten up, tortured, and forced to eat off the floor on a cold winter day. I was made to sweep the entire station clean. Whenever something like this happened I would ask myself “Why am I suffering like this? And whether the cause for the trouble was because I did sex-work. If working elsewhere was possible, I could live like other women. I would weep bitterly because I knew that these options didn't exist.
Once, while walking by some street two men stopped me and tried to take me along with them. When I refused, one of them pulled out a knife and tried to stick it in my face. I warded off the jab with my hand-bag and the knife landed on my hand. I yelled ‘police, police’ loudly and they ran away. I have to live with my heart in my mouth from the moment I step out of the house till the moment I returned home.
I decided not to do sex-work. How long could anybody deal with all these things? Police, “goondas”, everybody. I returned to my native place. At home, I helped my parents around the house. My strongest desire was to live the life of a woman, to marry the man I liked, to find a job I could do. In trying to become a woman I had ended up living the life of a hijra among other hijras. I needed money to live with respect in society, to wear nice clothes, and to meet my daily needs. Having no real option, I was forced to take up sex-work to make enough money for my needs. I had to buy the love of those around me with money. I had to deal with policemen and their torture. This society does not look at me favorably. The legal system refuses to provide facilities or assistance. My family treats me well only if l give them money. I was sick of life, thinking of all this and wanted to do something to end my life.
Seeing me in this state, my mother asked “Why are you like this, why are you in this state of collapse?” “This is why we beat you, because we didn't want you to become a hijra.” “What is the use of being depressed now?” “ Are you now unhappy in this woman's guise? I said it's not what you think. “I want to live the life of a woman.” I am being what I want to be. I am unhappy because I can't find a decent job or get married. My mother said “Marriage for you? With a man? Can you bear a child for him? Your being a hijra is enough humiliation for us. If you get married the little dignity we have will also go.”
Even if my dreams had to be bundled up into a gunny bag and forgotten, I felt that others like me should not end up the way I did. What could I do to ensure that? And how? I didn't know. At this point I found a job in an organization in Bangalore.
An organization that fights for the rights of sexual minorities. I am now able to work for my people because of this organization. I am not at fault for the way I am today. I think it is society and its laws that look at me in a prejudiced manner. I shared my experiences - of hijra life and police atrocities – with various organisations and spoke of them at public functions. I am thus bringing about some awareness about what it is to be hijra .
I got married, but it broke up in about a year. I wanted to live like a woman but was not allowed the rights of a woman by my husband. He wanted his freedom. We parted ways because of these things. It may be more correct to say that I was divorced by my husband rather than to say that I divorced him.
I am now writing an autobiography. I will soon publish it in English, Kannada and Tamil. After a long struggle, I have taken a passport as a woman. I take pleasure in describing myself as a woman. I desire to see our society and its legal system accept us as women, and accept the entire hijra community.
