Less than Unusual

LESS THAN UNUSUAL edited by Mahima Pushkarna

for Gazal and the many others who identify with her.

LESS THAN UNUSUAL A dead phish/ Images India book (April 2008) First published in Bangalore, India by Dead Phish Copyright Š Mahima Pushkarna Srishti School of Art, Design and Technology mahimapushkarna@gmail.com Cover image, layout by Mahima Pushkarna All rights reserved.

Set in Bell Gothic STD and Calisto MT Printed and Bound at print-o

This is a compilation of 4 stories coming from 4 individuals who belong to different alternate sexuality groups.

These stories are not persona-based and they come from real people. This book does not intend on creating personas of people from alternate sexualities either.

Content 1. Because I wasn’t born female...

... Pg 1

2. Banalties

... Pg 9

3. Identity Fetishes

... Pg 13

4. Boy

... Pg 17

Gazal Dhaliwal

Because I wasn’t born female... trans·sex·u·al [trans-sek-shoo-uhl] n 1.A person having a strong desire to assume the physical characteristics and gender role of the opposite sex. 2.A person who has undergone hormone treatment and surgery to attain the physical characteristics of the opposite sex.

A

nd if you just re-examined my picture to gauge how manly I do or don’t look, I won’t blame you. That’s expectedly the most natural, the most common reaction in a social setup, which inherently, even unknowingly advocates a rigid line of distinction between the two genders. Any occurrence of a blur on this line is generally either laughable or ignorable – two conditions, that no human existence would want to be in – under ‘normal’ circumstances.

My circumstances were not ‘normal’ – by the standards of this very setup. But why, you may ask, do I need to tell YOU about them? I’m certainly not a Great Somebody, not an achiever by any of our ‘standards’. So, what’s there in my story except a certain curiosity angle? Why, then, should I be written about?

Maybe, because there are thousands like me amongst you, who’re trying to be invisible, because that’s the only way to acceptability? Maybe, because there are thousands others, still suspended in a polygon of rights and wrongs, uncertain of whether it’s right to feel and want what every single person around them finds wrong? Maybe, because I want the social circle of those thousands to know about my family, friends and colleagues? Or maybe, just maybe, because I’m proud that I was able to

survive twenty five years in an act with no ‘CUT’s – a role I didn’t choose for myself, yet lived day after day without any hope of the curtain falling.

‘Little’ Problems Clothes were nice if they were my mother’s or my cousin sister’s, rather than mine; long hair were alright if my mother tied them into plaits instead of my father tying my head with a turban; games were fun as long as they were like ‘Teacher Teacher’ and not cricket, and even more so when the companions were girls and not boys.

I was often told that I was girlish; and my feeling, in reaction, was that of utter confusion. The condescending tone of those voices would upset me, invoke a feeling of guilt deep down inside; but somewhere even deeper, there was a flash of happiness at the acknowledgement of my true self.

That happiness would then make me even guiltier, because I didn’t understand then, that it was alright to be happy.

One of my happy memories from childhood, by the way, is that of a small role in a school drama, wherein I got to play a girl character. All through the preparation, I was the most excited amongst all actors – forever ready to rehearse any number of times through the day. And then, while getting dressed in a pretty skirt on the morning of the final enactment, I asked my father whether I’d get the award for the Best Supporting Actress if my performance were good. No, he said, Best Supporting Actor! For long, I argued with him,

trying with all my might to make him see that he was wrong… All in vain. I’d never win the argument. Reason and logic were both on his side.

I only had a mess on mine – a mess in my head.

different, and would always be. For years to come, I was to think how unfair it was of God to make me Gay.

The Balance A transsexual child is forever trapped in these multi-dimensional circles, knowing not how to be like the rest of the world, how to merge with the ‘norm’, how to evade the mocking laughter, the derogatory names, the taunting peers. There’s a sinking feeling tugging along, all the time – “I don’t fit in” and worse, “I’ll never fit in”.

In all fairness, God didn’t leave me at the crossroads by many other worldly standards.

Today, personally, I don’t value Academics too much, but through my growing up years, I was a “bright child”, a “good orator” and a “very disciplined student”. For me, though, my worth was in my singing, my writing and my Dramatics.

The Vague Clarity Puberty is a tough time for everybody – the time when one tries to and gets to know oneself more, when sexuality becomes an important part of one’s being, and the mirror area becomes one of the most frequented in the house.

My mirror, however, stopped being my friend soon after thirteen. The school uniform added a compulsory turban to my head, and nature added relentless hair to my face. “It’s all wrong, wrong, WRONG” – I knew that, but remained laden with the guilt of Being that wrong myself, hoping tirelessly for a miracle each morning… “May be God would decide to listen to my prayers tonight, may be He would turn me into a girl tomorrow morning…”

Today, I know God had reasons to not work that miracle. But the teenaged Gunraj didn’t. (S)he knew but one thing – that the single question in her head, “Why me?”, would never be answered.

In that age of unanswered questions, I distinctly remember the day when I got goose flesh while watching a rather provocative music video of a male pop singer. And in the numerous sleepless nights that followed, it dawned on me for the first time with a sense of absoluteness, that I was

[Recently, when I came out to my ex-schoolmates and teachers, it felt strange to hear some things they said – “Gunraj, I used to think it so unfair that you had every enviable quality in you”, “It was like you were so perfect, you had nothing to worry about”, “I wouldn’t have imagined you as anything but a truly happy child”] I give my family the entire credit for this balance, for who I was and am, especially for still having been able to retain a sane mind. My stress found an equal opposition in the love I constantly got from my parents, my extended family and later, my friends.

– as a girl, they didn’t even come close to slapping me. I ran away from home before my Boards, they brought me back – and loved me even more. My brother, my sister, my relatives stood right with me through that darkest of times – my parents holding me tight when I was just an inch away from falling, from collapsing.

curricular abilities and… freedom. I’d sing, I’d debate, I’d direct college plays, I’d watch late night movies, I’d go out on trips with friends, and I’d have so much fun that sometimes, I’d get scared of my own joy – What if all this turned out to be a dream?

The ‘Real World’ The Boys’ Hostel And so, I managed the Boards, the Competitive exams and the admission to a reputed Engineering college. But that meant that I’d be staying in a hostel. That was a very scary thought; all the same, I knew I had to be up to the challenge. I couldn’t stay wrapped in the comfort of home, forever. “If I HAVE a life, I must make something of it”. Besides that, I’ve always had an innate faith in the goodness of the world, and that faith held my hand as I went on to spend four years of my life… in a Boys’ Hostel.

I was prepared to be an oddity there, ready for the remarks – “Always goes to the bathroom to change!”, “Speaks so effeminately!”, “Walk is so girly!” and much worse. I also knew that I’d be a source of entertainment for everybody out there.

I wasn’t prepared, however, for the severe ragging which is common in engineering colleges.

Initially, my parents admitted helplessness in comprehending how ‘a boy could feel like a girl’, yet they never gave up trying to understand, and never gave up on me. There were times when they’d ask me to try and “change the way you think”, but they’d also listen patiently to my yells and wails – “It’s not about the way I THINK, it’s about the way I AM”. “I don’t CHOOSE to be like this Papa, I was BORN this way”. “Why don’t YOU go and try live in the opposite gender? Then, you’ll know!”

Despite all that… thankfully, I remember those four years simply as the most beautiful time of my life.

In the cacophony of mocking voices and laughter, there were a few precious faces that became my friends – people who knew me, understood me, loved me for just the person I was. I’d never felt as light as that, before. I think it was in those years that I started realizing that it was alright to be happy.

I screamed, they listened. They found out that I used to speak at length over the phone to strangers,

I hadn’t ever been bad at studies, but my college life gave me the chance to truly explore my extra-

When the dream got over, I found myself gazing at a computer screen, sitting in the massive establishment of a software giant. A studio apartment, the company bus, the office desk and the office dormitory summed up my entire world. I was one of the 10% best employees among the 20,000+ work force. That should not be surprising… I had never objected to an average work day of eighteen hours – week after week, month after month – because at the very least, it kept me away from myself, and from the jeers which had turned from loud name-calling to whispers in the corporate world.

I don’t really know why, but I never attempted to make new friends there. Maybe, because the business environment had suddenly pulled the shutters down on my carefree days. It was hard to trust now. My fear of rejection kept me from accepting anybody new in my life. I desperately wanted to run away again, but day after day, I realized that the only thing to run away from was my own self.

There were times, however, when I couldn’t do that – days when the pangs of loneliness were so acute that I’d look for companions on gay websites.

I’d also get myself to meet a one-off guy at times, but yet again, the same old gloom confronted me – “I don’t fit in”. They looked for a MAN in me, while my whole life had been about not being one.

Gradually, I understood that Gender Dysphoria is not the same as being gay. While the causes of

stress in both conditions might be similar to an extent, the conditions themselves are quite different.

A homosexual man, for instance, (and I’m not saying this categorically) might have no problem in wearing a formal shirt and tie to office every day, while that particular dressing rule of my company was one of the three main reasons I decided to quit!

My place of posting being extremely peaceful and dull (for me), was the second. In those two endless years, the silences had started getting to me…

moment when my friends raised their hands was perhaps the most important moment of my life.

Soon enough, three more friends joined in, and the group was complete! We now needed a title for the film, and what immediately came to my mind was – ‘To Be… or Not To Be’. It sounded perfect, and yet, that night, something inside me said – ‘This is not it’. This title represented my state of mind; it didn’t take me forward. And the next morning, I knew what the title had to be…

To Be… ME The Relief The third reason was the most important – it was an attempt to ‘fit in’, at least somewhere.

At the risk of sounding clichéd, Bombay IS, after all, a city of dreams. I wasn’t aware when I arrived there that the deepest of my dreams would see life in Bombay, but the energy and pace of the city had me charged up in no time. The vigour of the college days was back, so were the college days themselves!

I was doing a one-year Diploma course in filmmaking – writing, shooting, directing AND making friends! Not only was I happy that I had made the right career choice, the excitement of filmmaking was also a sedative to the pain I could never completely learn to live with.

A year passed away in an instant, and it was time to choose subjects for our Final Documentary films (which had to be made in groups of six).

I had no idea of how I would go about it, yet I proposed “Transsexuality” to the class – a subject, not welcomed by most. However, two friends who were aware of my condition raised their hands in support of the subject. It was one of the most ordinary days, but today as I look back, the

I had never had any plans of coming out of my closet for the film, but as we met more and more transgendered people through our research, I realized that nobody wanted to. They all preferred invisibility.

The research was fruitless day after day, none of our contacts being ready to face the camera; but I was sure of one thing – we were not going to interview someone with their face hidden in shadows. This film HAD to be about light, about courage, about pride.

And then, somewhere along the way, I realized that I was being dishonest to myself. If I expected others to face the world, I couldn’t choose shadows for my own self. I realized that at the end of the day, I was not as scared of the world, as I was of myself. It was not about ‘them’, it was about ‘me’ all along. And it was time now to confront that fear; it was time to accept myself, to love myself, to celebrate myself.

Almost magically, the day I decided to face the camera, we started discovering others who were not only willing, but even excited to share their stories! In my heart, I knew it was God’s way to tell me that He supported my decision.

‘To Be… ME’ turned out to be the best film of the year, and my Coming Out brought sheer positive energy to my life, from both without and within.

I had been reading about Sex Reassignment Surgery (SRS) for many years now, but it was my first-hand research through the making of this film that reassured me that it was not only alright to be happy. It was my right to be happy.

This period has been a time of Absolute Wonder!

It’s magical to see my inner self slowly but surely taking its form in the mirror, amazing to notice the little changes big enough to make my day, thrilling to get compliments that I have always pined for, and musical to hear the taxi walla ask, “Madam, kahaan jaana hai?”

Bangkok and Beyond Becoming… ME “So, when are you going for it?” – That’s the first thing my father said, on seeing the film. And ever since that question, there’s been no looking back.

A year-and-a-half ago, I started my Gender Reassignment procedure, which will probably go on for another year or so. Frankly, this period of transformation is not one of the most convenient – socially, physically or emotionally. One has to pull out every thread of strength and will power from within; but looking at the positive side, it’s not that difficult when one knows that this WILL get over, that there IS bright sunlight beyond the dark.

During that stormy time, I luckily discovered a lighthouse – in the form of a Yahoo e-group for transsexuals (called Sampoorna - sampoorna@ yahoogroups.com). I made wonderful friends there – men and women who had been caught in a game of hide-and-seek with their own selves – a few who had won the game and found out themselves, and others, who like me, were going to win soon.

I was also fortunate to find a job of a writer, assistant director particularly because the staff at my office is truly a godsend. Not only did they do their best to understand my issues, they also went out of their way to ensure my comfort through this period of transition. My faith in the goodness of the world has only deepened in the last 20 months.

On October 19, 2007, my male genitals were replaced by female genitalia, the surgery being called ‘Vaginoplasty’. The miracle-maker in my case was Dr. Chettawut of Bangkok (www. chet-plasticsurgery.com), who I came to know of through a friend from Sampoorna.

Thailand is a place renowned for Male-to-Female (MTF) SRS. In my three-week long stay under the excellent care of my doctor, I saw patients coming to him from different nationalities, races and ages.

My nurse told me that the doctor undertakes 15-20 SRS patients every month. Considering that Dr. Chettawut is just one of the many SRS surgeons in Thailand (and the world), I was surprised by the number of people struggling with transsexuality across the globe.

Among the patients there, it melted my heart to see a middle-aged woman accompanying her ‘husband’ for ‘his’ surgery. The ‘husband’ was a transsexual woman. I had read on the internet about such cases where a spouse turns into a companion/friend for a transsexual person, but to actually see such human beings was like witnessing the purest form of love – a love beyond all boundaries and ‘man-made’ definitions of relationships…

I really wanted to connect with all those other patients, but I wasn’t sure whether they’d welcome it. One is on an emotional roller coaster at such

at such a time and may not want to know a stranger. But one fine day, somebody just walked up to me and we spoke as if we’d known each other for eternity.

The Vivid Clarity A certificate given to me by my surgeon identifies me now, as an “infertile female”. Both are strong words. For most, the first might be stronger; for me, it’s the second one. Being a mother, after all, is not just about the ability to give birth.

Being transsexual, also, is not just about LOOKING masculine or feminine. If we were not living in a world, which so loves to categorize, demarcate and idealize, transsexuality would not have been a problem at all. Even now, it’s not the condition itself that’s a psychological problem, but the amount of social pressure and emotional stress it causes, often leads many towards suicide.

The bottomline is that Gender Dysphoria needs a biological, a medical correction. An SRS is only as unnatural as a cancer surgery or any other surgery, for that matter.

The sooner a transsexual person can start their Gender Reassignment procedure, the easier is the transition, and better, the visible results. At times, I do find myself wishing I had started my transition soon after puberty. Not only would I have had to undergo fewer years of emotional and psychological distress, I would also be spared the physical pain and time of transitioning from a male body to a female one.

But at the same time, one must be mature enough to understand oneself and one’s priorities, and sometimes (not always), age is necessary for that maturity. For instance, if ‘infertile’ is the stronger word for you, or if you’re doing this for

ANYBODY except YOURSELF, you must think again! I’ve heard of homosexuals who undergo SRS to be able to live a socially acceptable life with their partners, and then regret the decision, all their lives. When one has to make a decision, the keyword has to be – ME!

Being… ME! I still have a lot of catching up to do! I badly need to get some humour, some spontaneity in my life; then, there’s an urgent need to catch up on shopping – clothes, shoes, ear-rings, makeup, and the list goes on.

But there’s this one thing I caught up with, recently and not many people do that – Life! It’s precious, it’s beautiful, and if you truly love it, it gives you wings! Tell me… how many people in the world know how it feels to grow wings!

I’ll leave you to the counting, with the closing line of our film – “The question is not whether To Be… or Not To Be! The question is – Who decides my Being?

A faceless entity called Society? Or me, myself!”n

Malika Gupta

Banalities? trans·gen·der [trans-jen-der, tranz] n. A person who identifies to be one of the opposite sex. adj. Someone who lives as a person from the opposite sex .

I am not who I want to be. But I am a woman.

At age 5, I realized I was not who I seemed to be.

I did not fit in the social construct of a “boy”. I would rather play with the girls; we used to play doll and dress up as ladies. My memories of our games are filled with my mother’s make up, bindis and dupattas.The boys used to laugh at me, and would call me a girl and hurt me. I grew up to become, what was socially “female”.There were mainly men in the family, and my mother grew to enjoy my “female” company. I would help her with the cooking and entertaining.

Soon, I reached puberty. My girlfriends were going through physical and mental changes different from my own. All but one- like the girls, I started getting attracted towards boys. My parents sent me to an all-boys school.My increasingly “female” conditions were kind of tolerated at home. And then, I fell in love.

We had gone to Delhi for an inter-school drama competition. He started following me around, as I walked around in pretty wigs and maxi dresses.

Every night we sat on the terrace, laughing chatting smiling and talking. And then we kissed. I felt light headed. That night, i gave myself to him. I gave him everything I had to offer. We made love. I lay

in his arms all night. I was in love, I wanted to be pregnant, I wanted to have his child. But my fairy tale came to an end before it had even started. I had to go back to Mumbai.

I cried on my way back on the train. The other boys laughed and jeered at me. I was all alone.

Conditions were getting worse. My schoolmates started to exploit me. They would sneak in alcohol, and would rag me and call me names. As I dressed up in sarees, and danced an performed “mujras” to hindi film songs, they pleasured themselves.

The womanhood trapped in my male body was humiliated. But looking back now, I find it almost funny.

I joined a prestigious college with arts, Sociology and French as my subjects. They never really did me any good. I grew more confident. It was the early 80s and Mumbai was witnessing the birth of the Gay revolution. Dodo Bhujwala and James Ferrera would dress up and go out.I had a few boyfriends, whom I met at gay parties. My family had grown used to me wearing saris at home. I considered SRS (Sexual Re-assignment Surgery), but I couldn’t afford it. So there I was, a woman trapped in her male body. Yes, there I was, a transgender, who was also now a homosexual and a transvestite.

After college, thanks to my gay contacts, I got a job as an assistant stylist in a production house. I was involved with a married man; i was his mistress.I could have considered SRS again, but my age was

not in favor of me. My male hormones were starting to kick in. Also, I started to feel SRS was artificial. Medical procedures could only fashion a vagina for me, but not a womb. I could never feel fully woman. I was not who I wanted to be, and I had no choice.

When my lover went away, he left me with the flat I now live in. I have had the sufferings of a middle class woman. I have always upheld my respect and I have never been pornographically active.

People with alternate sexualities are considered to be freaks all over the world. But it’s not about what sex I am. That’s merely the physical component to me. In my mind, heart and soul, I am a woman.

That is my true gender. Encased within my male woman, I am a transexual, someone who is trapped in the body of the opposite sex.

I, Malika, am on my journey, to be and to remain a woman.n

Saima Khan

Identity Fetishes trans·ves·tite [trans-ves-tahyt, tranz-] n. person who gets sexual pleasure from dressing in the clothes of the opposite sex (may or may not be a homosexual or a transsexual)

T

he clock in the hall chimed 4am. Another 3 hours to daylight. I twisted and Turned in my bed, wide awake. I’m guessing I’ve been awake for almost two hours now.

Today is the big day. Zorah, Hanaa and I have been planning this for almost 3 weeks now. I met Zorah and Hanaa online, in 2003. They are just like mewe all share our keen interest in feminine clothes.

While Zorah is still a bachelor, Hanaa is the father of two children. He’s one courageous person, he intends on coming out sometime next month, and insha allah all goes well, he may begin his transition a few months after that!

It’s all about luck. I would dare not even think about it, I’ve hardly been lucky in these matters.

I’m not sure how my wife will react, especially after marrying her after almost 8 years pf courtship.

Will she accept me, or not? And what about my 5-month old son? How will he survive in this society? The other boys will tease him no end; he’ll be the son of a transvestite, a man who dresses up like a woman, someone who has a fetish for female clothes.

It’s six am. I can probably get up now, it’s getting hard to stay in bed. It’s an hour before my alarm clock will ring. I doubt the family will suspect. I’ve

been waking up early for the past few days. The anxiety caused in planning today’s session has me restless for the past few day. Zorah, Hanaa and I’ve been planning this meticulously, down to every detail. I run a checklist through my brain, in case something is left.

Leave from office- done Bookings at Hotel- done CLothes- packed and ready New Makeup- ready Jewlry- done.

Cameras, screeens and lights- done.

Transportation- done.

Instructions to new people- sent out.

Orders for brunch- done.

I’m hoping nothing goes wrong! Last time around, the electricity went off and I couldnt even get out to turn on the generator. I was wearing a pretty yellow sari, and turning on the generator would mean crossing the hall- where everyone was sitting. So there I was, stuck in my room all night, till the sun rose and the eloectricity came back, and I could finally change out of my sari.

Breakfast done, I chose to wear a full sleeved shirt. I usually wear a kurta, but today something different will do. I drop my sister to her Islamic Banking class at 8 am. Still another one hour to go before the office opens. I have a nice job. I’ve always liked the feel of fabric and different kinds of cloth material. And now, I have a job as a textile production unit manager. The job is something very close to my cross-dresser alter ego, my other half, Saima.

The hotel is in the opposite direction, but I advance towards the office. I’m usually the first one to get there and open the place up, but today, I’ll just go there, grab my bags with all my clothes and jewlry, and lock the place up again, as if no one was ever there.

9am. I reach the hotel on time. As always, Zorah and Hanaa are also present in the lounge. There’s a new person who joins us today, Farah.Farah met us through the CDs in Bangalore. They’re really nice people, they’re especially good in helping out first-timers. That’s how I met Zorah and Hanaa.

Through them. OVer the years, the Crossdressing community here has grown. From about 7 members, we now have about 40 members or so. I walked over to the counter and handed the woman there cash. The bellboy came to take our luggage up to our VIP suite. He’s a new boy, I havn’t seen him around here before. The booking is confirmed in my company’s name and we procceed to our lounge.

We go there, and we dress up. We help each other out, and put on our female clothes- salwar kameeze, wigs, saris, lehngas, earrings, necklaces, makeup. We sit down, discuss new makeup, new saris, enjoy a brunch, chatting, talking about our problems,advicing each other, taking pictures of each other, behaving the way ladies do, enjoying a brunch,and the entire day goes by without us even realizing.

Sometimes I wonder why does it have to be such a secret affair. We’ve always been dreaming about going out, and walking around the streets freely in our female attire. But the risk is far too high.

Crossdressing makes me feel complete. It’s the best of both worlds that I’m getting, the life of a family man and the life of a pretty woman. I would not want to risk either. Not now.

When I was younger, I had applied for admission to a university in Canada for my graduation. I wanted to immigrate there. I got through, with a 70% scholarship. I had chosen the place where my transition would begin and end..

My family would hear that I had married there, while I would have become a woman, Saima. Of course, they would not hear about the transition.

A few months after my transition, Saima would return home, telling my family that their son had died in an accident.Saima, was the widowed bride..

I would be my own bride and a woman. Most importantly, I would be accepted by my own family and I would live with them happily ever after.

It sounds dramatic, but I was desperate. Till my father fell ill. It all happened so fast.

I had to quickly get a job. My father’s hospital bills, medicine expenditure, family expenditure.

My new role as the family’s bread provider got the better (or worse) of me and I could not immigrate.

I had to sacrifice my hopes for my family and my responsibilities as a son and a man.

My father wanted to see his children married before he died. He would tell us that he didn’t have much time left on earth. I got married to an accquaintance of mine. We had been good friends for almost 8 years, and she was a distant cousin. It was a good match, and the nikah happened.

Six months later, my father passed away. His three children were married. And a few months later, his eldest son’s bride, my wife, had given birth to a son.

I gave up my dreams of realizing myself for my family, but crossdresing isn’t that bad either. Infact, I don’t mind it or regret my decisions. And though I may never be able to come out, I cherisht the fact that I have the best of both worlds now!n

Siddharth Datye

Boy ho·mo·sex·u·al [hoh-m uh-sek-shoo-uhl adj. relating to or characterized by sexual attraction to members of the same sex n. one who is sexually attracted to members of the same sex Typical Beginnings I was born on 13th October 1987.

I was born an “Elton”.. ..But obviously my parents just couldn’t see it! They named me Siddharth Datye. Born in a typical Maharashtrian family consisting of my ajji (grand-mother), aai-baba (mother-father) and dada (elder brother). I lived in a typical house too. By typical house of course I mean a fairly large house which had a lovely sprawling garden with mango, coconut, jamun and custard apple trees, lovely rose bushes which were complemented by jasmine shrubs. This garden would be, for they next four years my haven where I would go to places no one had heard of.

The garden was my playground and I would be in it for hours together. Here I didn’t need friend. I loved creating a fantasy world and using this green patch as my canvas to paint it on. Moments of glory were felt here, when King Pudmunky defeated the evil King Vetaksh and saved the people of Itholesio. I played for hours on end creating imaginary cities.

I would hide behind the mango trees to avoid the enemy’s prying eyes. I would hang from the jamun tree and run behind bees.

By about age three, I found the most interesting things in the garden. Magical orbs, swords

with mysterious powers and stones that healed.

Everything in my garden had a use. I could, with the powers vested in me conjure greater purpose out of these lifeless objects. These enchanted objects would assist me in my battles against evil in Itholesio.

Yes, I thought I led a typical life but then again, life isn’t this short now, is it? More was yet to come. It wouldn’t be typical.. It would be weird or maybe queer even..

The Dinosaur’s Victory Continuing on my journey of the typical, I came to hate my elder brother Salil. Since I was my ajji’s laadka (favorite) I suffered my brother’s wrath. Plus to add to my woes my brother couldn’t stand the fact that I wouldn’t play Cricket with him and his buddies. He thought I was behaving like a sissy.

But I preferred swimming; it was such a wonderful sport. To feel like a fish and skim through the chlorinated water, the joy!

Salil of course did not see things my way. So we continued to remain on each others’ wrong side for the next couple of years.

When I was about four, I was introduced to the joys of Hot-wheels.

Ahh! Bliss!

Some fast moving toy cars and an old Dinosaur skeleton were enough to take my imagination to new heights. I would create a story-line where the dinosaur would attack a city during traffic hours.

Some of the people would get out of their cars and some of them would stay in the Hot-wheels and fight the dinosaur. But THE DINOSAUR ALWAYS WON!

Birthday Routes Who would have ever guessed that old scrapped Urban Planning Ammonia prints would create a lifetime’s passion in a five year old kid’s mind?

Well these old blue prints fascinated me. My baba had got me some of these scrapped sheets from his office, since he was a Civil Engineer. I took them and colored in each and every one of them with great enthusiasm. Suddenly I was like Picasso and the artist in me “blossomed”. Years later I would develop a full fledged love for creating maps of imaginary cities.

This of course led my relatives to firmly believe that ‘Every time Siddharth’s birthday is round the corner, we can just buy him a coloring book and some art materials.’ I thought this was alright at first but in the due course of time I got bored of the same birthday gifts. Also I was getting jealous of all the awesome presents my dada was getting for his birthday.

Surfing Channels Television by the age of five or six had me completely enticed. I often like to refer to myself as a “T.V. Person” these days. Anyway, I enjoyed all those cartoons kids my age do, The Flintstones, The Jetsons, The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest, Tom and Jerry, Dink the Little Dinosaur, Big Bag and Yogi Bear. But maybe I was drawn to Bollywood even more. I loved the drama, song and dance. All those elaborate sets seemed so exciting.

How did they do it?

And all those actors, all looking extremely handsome.

I still remember watching this movie which consisted of three heroes and a villain. It was brilliant watching these three men fight, what amazing fight sequence! How I wished I was a part of their entourage! Maybe after we had defeated the villain one of the heroes would give me a warm, tight hug.. That’s all I wanted so badly!

Come to think of it, I really didn’t care if I was a hero or a heroine in this movie but I just wanted that hug. I played this mind game for hours on end.

I never seemed to tire of it.

I don’t have the foggiest idea as to how long this went on, but I had enjoyed every minute of it.

Maybe I wasn’t so typical after all..

Barbie meets Darwin Boys and Barbies I guess are two things that don’t seem to go together too well. But I explored this realm that seemed to fascinate every girl.

When I was about ten, I was sent to my uncle’s house to baby-sit his two young daughters. I sat in their hall watching the two girls play with their Barbies and I was thoroughly intrigued by what these plastic figures had that maybe fast racing miniature cars didn’t seem to have. I picked up one of these “Pink Pretties” and all I could see was their delicately done make-up and beautiful dresses.

How could anyone have come up with something so..so..exquisite? However, I enjoyed those twothree hours playing with the dolls along with my cousins.

Later during the week, me and my cousins made little dresses for the Barbies out of pieces of cloth we had collected. Of course the clothes we made didn’t fit too well and that left my aunt slightly mortified. But, it had been so much fun to create dresses for the Barbie we had fondly named Madonna.

I think maybe delving into the world of dictionaries and encyclopedias was the more “Guy Thing to Do”. Maybe not as much as playing football or basketball, but better then playing with dolls. If my friends had ever found out I would have been the biggest joke of this millennium.

Back to the point, I really loved reading encyclopedias. I turned into a voracious reader; I was learning something new everyday. I absorbed everything like a sponge, right from Darwin’s ‘Origin of Species’ to Bill Gates ‘Microsoft’. The atlases I went through showed me so much of the world that I hadn’t seen, I was waiting to explore the world. I suddenly realized that there was so much that I was yet to discover about the world and even about myself.

Switch School was of course as normal and boring as it could ever be for any eleven year old. The only thing that seemed to excite my buddies was the fairer sex. All they could talk about was which ‘chick’ was cute and which one wasn’t.

I think I was living in some sort of a parallel universe though. I wasn’t thinking of girls, I was thinking ‘What if I was a girl?’ I haven’t a clue as to why I felt that way but it almost felt normal to think like that. My friends had no idea about this crazy feeling. How in the world was I going to explain to them that I thought of myself to be in the girls place and then me liking me(when I am in that girls place).

Maybe I was just a little self-centered?

Maybe I was being a narcissist? Or maybe not?!

Private-Eye By 7th grade the ‘silly phase’ had passed. But now I was confused. I mean, I thought Orlando Bloom

was cute and not Elizabeth Hurley; I thought Hrithik Roshan was cute and not Aishwarya Rai! Could there be something wrong with me?

There had to be?

Could I ask my friends if they felt the same way?

I was struggling to answer even one of these questions and my mum’s prying eyes weren’t helping. You know that stage during your early teens when mums become more like detectives and less like mums? I had my inner turmoil to deal with but with my mum hovering over me like a hawk I could do nothing.

Finally I decided to go to my safest source of verified information, the Encyclopedia. I read up on how chimpanzees and certain species of baboons felt the same way as I did. Well, if boy baboons could like boy baboons could it apply for humans? If it was okay for them, then it had to be okay for us right, I mean after all they are our ancestors?

If I was sure that the information was valid for the primitive world then I had to be sure that it was valid for the so called “Developed Homo Sapien Sapiens” ?

If I remember correctly I was almost convinced or I had convinced myself into thinking so.

But I think that I thought I was alright!

Lost and Found By the time I reached 9th grade all that research was forgotten. Actually, she made me forget it..

Saloni Arora.

She had just joined school and I thought she was like a Goddess who had descended from the Heavens.

I made myself like her.

I came to believe that I did like her. But this liking,

lead to nothing. She was an introvert and I was the ‘Class Clown’, we were at opposite ends. How would I get her to talk to me? All the other girls in class were already extremely good friends with me but how was I to get her to trust me?

I spent the next entire year trying to get her to get to know her and try and like her a little more then a friend.But all that was just water under the bridge, because after the 10th grade exams she left school.

Perhaps her leaving was a bad thing, or maybe a good thing.

After those two years of trying to be in love with a girl I realized something..

Isn’t it weird that guys like girls? The whole point of being ‘opposite’ is that it’s just bad, like Good vs. Evil or Right vs. Wrong? So shouldn’t boys just like their boy friends and girls their girl friends?

It would make life easier for everyone.Well, I don’t know if it made life easier for everyone but it made me come to terms with how I felt.

Ultimate Medicines Doubt.

That was the word that could have described my 16th birthday.

My aai-baba had forced to me to take up Science in college instead of Humanities and I totally hated it. Not that I didn’t understand what was that was being taught, but I could have cared less.

going to say to him anyway?

The answer was Technology.

Internet had been all over the place and finally we had Cyber Cafes in town. All my answers were just a ‘Click’ away. Yes! They actually were.

I started researching certain aspects of my behavior and it turned out I wasn’t the only one that felt that way! It was a miracle! People all over the world thought the same stuff. I read a few online journal entries (blogs) and I couldn’t have been happier.

I finally felt accepted and comfortable in my own skin. There wasn’t a thing wrong with me and I didn’t have some pathological disease!

I wanted to talk to my brother, who was on good terms with me since my teens. But what was I

But sometimes, questions arise in my head as they did before.

Will people ever accept me for the who I am?

Will I ever be considered normal?

How long will I have to hide this fact from my parents?

The list of questions seems endless. The only encouraging answer I have for myself is that, Life has it’s uncertainties and I will have to deal with them.

Only time will tell what is in store for me.

Till then all I can do is live my life, the way it isn

I listened to the online radio and learnt more about myself. I learnt more than what I could have ever learnt about myself in a lifetime, in those 2 glorious months.

Only glitch was that I could tell NO ONE about how I felt.

NO ONE!

Society at large thought ‘we’ were ‘queer’. Society thought we weren’t meant to be the way we are.

But if felt so right! How could society be so cruel towards my feelings?

That I failed to comprehend. But at the same time I made a firm resolve to stand by my beliefs.

I WOULD NOT BE APOLOGETIC.

Well that’s one aspect of the confusion I faced. The other was my liking guys. I knew what this meant but at the same time I couldn’t imagine how two boys could be together. You know hold hands and all? Possible?

Actually I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I am doing what I like and I have some one to share my happiness with.

Deciding Questions Two years down the row and here I am, in Art school. I feel normal and no one here looks at me like I am a freak. I am okay the way I am.

Can life get any better than this?

Transgenderism is usually a biological difference. It is caused usually when an expecting mother goes through unexpected stress levels. An imbalanced hormonal discharge occurs, that effects the physical and mental development of the foetus.

The sex is usually the phsyical component of sexuality, that is determined by physical genetelia, whereas the gender is the mental and emotional component of sexuality.

While transgenderism is a clash between the sex and the gender, transexuality is a state when an indivual undergoes surgery to ensure that his/her sex and gender are compatible.

Gazal Dhaliwal. Malika Gupta. Saima Khan. Siddharth Datye.

Four people- from different backgrounds, placed in different spaces and time. Lots of differences, but one similarity. They all belong to different alternate sexualities.

A compilation of four stories in the firsthand. All with one purpose- to tell the world that they exist.