I write in beautiful handwriting "female", on a piece of white blank paper. Maybe, i want validation from this paper. Maybe i want to exist and sleep forever between the 'f' and the 'e’.
The alphabets on the paper look angrily at me. I am a bit shocked by the middle finger they are pointing at me and i am very shocked by what they are saying in their "female" voice.
"Don’t you dare write me, with your hijra, khusra, khwaja sara hands. You are not one of us. You never were. You never will be."
It’s strange that the ordered alphabets I write with such love and care, in order to be validated, loved and accepted, end up spitting on my "hijra, khusra, khwaja sara" face.
The ordered alphabets, especially the 'f' and the 'e’, have a mysterious beauty and elegance. But i can only window shop. I am too poor to purchase my own gender. The owners of this shop have made my gender exclusive and elitist. Only the rich freaks who unfreak themselves with expensive surgeries can purchase this elegantly and mysteriously beautiful product.
However there are other "female" who are window shopping for other "female" who are shopping for other "female" who are shopping for other "female"...and the oppressive cycle does not stop until the most expensive, elitist product is seen by those who can perhaps purchase it. But perhaps, not. The last product seems to be the epitome of "female"ness. A white, thin, "female" with western nose and western eyes, with not even a small tea spoon of subcontinentality.
Maybe, i am not alone.