The only memory I have before stepping in that house is that
of the raincoat I had worn on that dark rainy day. I was lost; I could not see
any familiar faces around me. I was hoping someone could differentiate my tears
from the raindrops and understand my pain of not having my parents around. I
was just 4 years old.
Entering that house had changed my life forever. Suman was
my care taker, a blessing in disguise. He held me in his
arms and I knew that I was in the right hands. He brought me gifts,
chocolates and clothes. He always left home in the evening and came back early
in the morning when I was asleep. In his absence, I used to sleep with his
roommates. All were very cheerful and happy people.
I was about 15 yrs old when Suman took me with him to
his evening job for the first time. I always stayed in the protected environment of my house. He
looked sad that day. When we left
home, I was excited to know where does Suman work but as we neared his work
place as he called it, there was fear rising in me. It was a dark evening; we
walked for 10 minutes and reached a spot under the flyover. It was a highway
connecting Thane to other places like Airoli, Bhiwandi and Kalyan. There
were relatively less people and more noise of vehicles around. There was a huge
pipeline behind and the growth of plants there looked wild to me. We stood
there silent, I held his hand tightly. I was too scared to stand there. I was worried;
I would be bitten by some insect. I wished to be home. Suman was all decked up
with bright red top and brown pants. He had worn a huge pair of bling earrings.
I saw Suman talking to a young guy, he looked handsome.
Suman asked me to follow him in the car. We went inside the car and there were
2 other men. Suddenly everything was clear to me. I started shivering but
Suman held me tight. “You will be fine”, he said. I wanted to run away but I
guess this was it. This was the life I was meant to live.
It started raining heavily outside and I wished to have my
raincoat back, I wished to have that day back in my life.
It’s been 15 years now. My work place is the same as Suman. I don’t remember my parents anymore but I
see my parents face in each person who has negotiated with me.
Suman has died and we have some different additions now in
the house. I have tried to enroll them in schools but failed each time. We are
not left with too many options to survive.
There is nothing I love in this world except my secret box
of things which contains my raincoat with the smiling cartoon characters, Suman’s
letter of apology to me and his personal diary. His dream was to be treated equal.
“You call me a HIJRA or the THIRD GENDER or a TRANSGENDER
but please treat me equal.”
•Because there is no count
of Hijras in the census and they are so mobile, it is difficult to get
headcounts for them in India.
•Hijras have mostly lost
their ritual roles in harems and temples and have taken to sex work or as
brothel keepers.
