Recollecting..

As a child, I longed to live in a hut, where windows were lotus shaped holes and the roof was sloping bright yellow hay; where in a cozy dimlit corner wood crackled in the fire, rice was cooked and the scent of smoke filled the house; I looked forward to the crazy cyclones just to see the six Ashoka trees in my compound sway without yielding. I waited for it to end to be able to pick the cotton and tamarind pods from my garden; I remember bragging to my dear friend that the day I came into this world, I was just the size of a pea; she swore she was no bigger than a mustard seed - I suddenly recollected that I was infact invisible the first few hours of my birth;  i remember making hammocks for my koala dolls using my sister's dupatta in the rear of our van during our long drives to hometown; how i always wanted to sip tea under the guava tree just like it said in my English lessons and never did; i told mom that the white water she saw coming into the garden from the washbasin pipe was soap water and not my glass of milk; my house had several welcome and unwelcome visitors, including cows, buffalos, goats, snakes, mongoose, pigs, dogs, cats and an occasional madman roaming around. (to be continued)

The third gender

The day I began to look forward to red traffic lights, I realised that my curiosity about the eunuchs (hijras/aruvaanis) was soon turning to be an obsession.

Confident with heads held high, the eunuchs plunge into the traffic day in and out, to make their living by demanding money and at nights adorn shady highways posing as sex workers. Their weapon against the society is their existence - a unique combination of body and soul - that for years have caused dis-belief, anguish, disgust, anger, interest, curiosity and sympathy but has rarely been understood or accepted.

According to a survey done in 2002 it was estimated that there were over 1 million eunuchs in India and only 5% were eunuchs by birth. The rest of them were castrated men. Men, who at a certain age realise that have always been different; that they are a woman's spirit trapped in a man's body; that they can no longer suppress their true nature and talk, dress or behave like a man to please their friends; that their parents are ashamed of accepting them for themselves; that they can in no way think of marrying a woman and pretend to be a father to the kids; that they are homosexuals in a way and are expected to be ashamed about it; that to be happy, understood, accepted and loved for who they really are they need to be away from the society and live with someone who knows what it is to be them.

Sadly, they are still humans who have needs, who are Outcasts in a society where the 'untouchables' are treated better - the price they pay for pursuing happiness and refusing a lifetime of pretense in a society that doesn't leave room for them. After generations of having been humiliated and ill treated, it is only natural that they have turned hostile towards the society, a feeling that that would have been amplified by traumatic personal experiences. Further, having been prey to researchers and NGOs who have manipulated their situation for self benefits, the eunuchs have built dangerous, cold walls that make sure that there is no space for an outsider. There have been several incidents where young boys have been kidnapped by eunuchs and castrated mercilessly, cases where men pretend to be eunuchs to mint money, cases where they inflict themselves on the society and offend its moral sensibilities . There will be much more in the years to come.

But before pointing fingers at them, for our own good in a way, I think it is about time we gear up to face the real issue. Nobody is born a thief. Nobody is a eunuch happily by choice. If we accept them as they are, there would be no reason why they would opt for a humiliating life on the streets far away from their own families.

I dream of a day when a eunuchs are no longer made to feel a minority, can walk with grace and dignity into a beauty salon, cinema hall or ice cream parlor, appear for aptitude examinations or avail bank loans, can be skilled carpenters or practicing lawyers. I dream of a day when they have the opportunity to earn their bread without losing their pride. I dream of a day when I can befriend them and love them as I love my friends. I dream that their dreams will come true. It is definitely not a change that can happen in a year, but a decade might be achievable if the people in power set their minds.

I think the answer lies realising that they are not "Men trying to be women". They are the Third gender.


Note:
These are my personal views and not intended to offend any sentiments. If this article makes you think or nod in agreement, I am glad to hear about it. If you can propose any activity that will go towards helping their cause, I am all ears. If you think otherwise, feel free to enlighten me.

peek into my head !!

Why is that in a bus,when the only person sitting right next to you close to the window vacates , you instinctively shift over to his seat? Is it the window view or is it about making room for more or is it no longer a conscious act?

Why do invariably most of the ads on soft drinks bank on captions that are suggestive of spirit and attitude...taste the thunder..jo chaho ho jaayae....baaki sab bakwaas...cool drink to hang out with?

Why is it that sometimes the one pervert whom you hate enough to kill, ends up being someone whom you are indebted for the rest of your life, leaving you with no choice in the matter and only mixed feelings?

(...)

Nature at play

There was a spot where the stairway took a turn, exactly where the sun chose to shine in through the window. That was where two young hearts pounded heavily each noon. The first day they met and every day then on. For a moment, when her hair glistened and her silhoutte was framed against the sunshine before she turned and continued down the stairs. She was seemingly oblivious to the blatant attention. She had been conscious of his presence behind her as she went down the stairs. Her outward poise and gait totally belied how she felt within. She knew he would be watching her closely as she turned . "Again today?" her bouncy eager friends would ask in the evening, as soon as she jumped onto their cots back in the hostel. And she would act out the moment that had seemed an hour to her. Coming to think of it, the reason she took an hour to decide her kurta, flicked her friend's earrings, added on the hint of rouge was all for that single moment. Each day she devised a little scheme to tease him. Once she had looked right into his eyes and just when his heart skipped a leap at this unusual turn of events, she looked away as if he was transparent. She enjoyed the attention. The power.
Signals were wired out through invisible antennas. Glances spead into bold looks. She smiled a 'hi' and he signalled his mobile number. Late night sms spree ran into months. While he struggled to cross the fine line that stopped the relationship from progressing, she playfully kept balancing it. Till one day, he could take no more fooling around. The words were spelt out. He was in love and She was done. She knew it was time to find her way back the famous rabbit hole. It was beggining to suffocate her. Suddenly the attention put her off. Sms count ran down. Her friends heard less of him. The magic was over to her. But the sun still shone down on a empty spot in the stairway where a lone heart ached each noon.

Chennai local

22Sep08

Tirusulam,Chennai

The sun at its peak , the gypsy lady gets off the train to relieve her body from the  embrace of combs, colourful bangles and stringed beads on to the steaming cement bench. Sweat glistening away on her wrinkled dark skin, she glances at me through the window without interest. As the local train sped me along with it, she  blurred into the white nebula of rays. Dimnishing to a speck that she must have matched the size of the smallest bead she had held.

Blinded by brightness, my eyes drift away into the packed chaos of the 'ladies' coach, which was an extension of the 'Ist class' coach, only physically separated by a 3feet high wall. I was travelling during the peak time. A time when office-goers checked watches hoping that it wasn't one of those days when their boss turned up earlier. A time when school kids struggled to balance themselves on their feet as their school bags, almost a huge extension on their slender backs got caught between impatient people. A time when kids who were lucky enough to find a seat pored through sheets of xeroxed chapters, mugging away calculus formulae, benzene reactions and scientific names of their favourite fruits for the papers they would have to sit for in less than an hour. A time when tiffin boxes were opened and the smell of freshly ground chutney filled the coach. My eyes hunted down the aroma. I had missed breakfast. It was 10.15 a.m.

In front of me, a lady who had been dictating reciepes in Tamil over the mobile ever since I got in, shifted her position to avoid the middle aged lady who was dozing away occasionally leaning to her sides. To my left there was a young girl studying intently. I peeked over her book and saw "haemostasis" in bold black letters. To my right, someone was shifting and I saw a girl of my age feeling her way next to me. She was hard of sight and I moved a bit for her to sit in comfortably. I wondered where she was off to unaccompanied. She wore a drab salwar and her hair was oiled into a neat plait.

Minambakkam,Chennai

The next halt. Sellers flocked into the over packed compartment. This time it was flowers and vegetables. Bannanas and bindis. Purses and salwar 'nadas'( the thread that secures salwars to your waist). Face towels and safety pins. Haggling and advertising. Raised eyebrows and approving smiles. Clatter of coins and grumbles. Pushing and swearing. Headache and interest.

I looked on in awe as the flower lady stopped beside my seat. The visually challenged girl held out her hand and the lady placed 2 'mozhams' of jasmine in it. I saw her cross checking the 'mozhams' by stretching it from the tip of her middle finger to the joint of her elbow. Twice. Satisfied, she laced it together and wore it behind her head, checking it consciously if it sat well. I could feel her body relax. I related to it. I knew she felt beautiful. I wished I could see her the way she saw herself in her mind then. Through her eyes.

Meanwhile, stations  crossed. Tracks heated up. A quick scan and I found two open Sidney Sheldons. Two woman in the far right of the coach talking in hushed whispers. It wasn't hard to guess from their expressions that they were bitching about someone . The other ladies had started comparing their little shopping purchases. Bindis and bannanas. Colourful and ripe. Just like the 'ladies'  coach, I was a part of. A couple of romeos hung out from the train that sped by my window.

Suddenly I noticed a woman in her mid-thirties. Her face yellow with turmeric. Open hair, curly and long, parted at the centre. A huge red round kumkum bindi in the middle of her forehead. But it was the angle that she held her head in and the way her mouth mumbled something that made me uneasy. I'm not proud to admit that I hoped I would not be left alone with her in the coach.

Park station, Chennai

Over ten stations had crossed me. I have been travelling for more than 30 minutes. The visually challenged girl was getting ready to leave. A few minutes earlier in response to my query to another woman as to how many stations far 'beach' was, she had replied it was next to 'Park' and the last stop. Suddenly I noticed, the coach was roomy and peaceful. I stretched my feet onto the seat across. Sunlight poured in and the fresh blue paint of the walls shone. It had escaped love proclamations and swearing scribbles that ususally ornate local train interiors. I could see till the end of the 'Ist class' coach. A gentleman, with dignified greys pored over the English daily. I got up as the next station approached. I saw the grey haired gentleman leering from his coach. In my girly head his respect fator did a stunning dive.

My backpack as I stood near the exit, held dear scribbles of my journey from Chromepet to Beach.

Beach Station, Chennai.

Goodbye rails.

s no..

As the mobile beeps away desperate to grab his attention, I attempt to be patient...not to be the victim of whimsical acts. In a bit,I could either be dancing with the daffodils or sinking with the sun .But atleast one way or the other, Life would resume.

'Follow your heart'. If only it were as simple as that, when many a times, in retrospect, I have been thankful for the good sense I had to follow my mind. Attimes the heart sends such weird messages which the mind vetoes after infinite scrutinies.

I have this heart and mind that play poker all the time. And any game wagered with a clear head ,a sane mind, focussed drive and a bit of luck is a tough gamble to lose. But as rare as they are true, there are these times when all those take a back seat paving way for magic.

A chaotic silence. My mobile has been mute for long. It was a 'no'. This particular time I had wanted a 's'. But I knew from experience that Wants could be very deceptive. Wants could turn around and make a mock of you tomorrow. But my mobile had made the sound of silence. This time apparently 'no' was the sensible thing to follow. 'no' was the truth I was refusing to accept. I had my answer and it was time to be happy.Then i got one missed call...Out of nowhere, the daffodils sprung and bloomed its way to the sky. It was a 's'.

For the past few years, times when foresight failed and tiny decisions and predictions had to be done, times when I had the courage to hand over control of my life , I would frame up a question for which the answer could be only 'yes' or 'no'. Miles away, my friend , with whom i was only occasionally in touch, who had no clue as to what my question was, what answer would make me happy( 's' is not what I always want)... made a decision for me. On no basis. Crazy as it sounds, I challenged destiny to prove me wrong and destiny accepted. I knew exactly what had to be done but refused to recognise it. But I must say, looking back am happy for all the choices I made.

If this has cocked up eyebrows, I have to add that I have found that not all random choices have been great. But with him, somehow it has always been magically right.

Gowtham...This post is dedicated to that split second which you take to pick a 's or no', inspite of me leaving you in the dark about what it was all about. They may not be life turning choices, but in its own little ways, your responses have reassured my faith in my own judgement and given me the strength to do what has to be done!!

Thanks natpu;)

P.S: Don't get biased with this post. The rules of the game will never change:)

Wisecrack 1

"So which hurts more: labor or getting kicked in the nuts?guess we'll never know..coz nobody gets to experience both.."

courtesy: Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

:)hmmm..