A Fictional Letter by a Transgender
Hello, my name is Ratna Rajat Mistiri. Many fears to share their names, they feel ashamed or frustrated. But what have I to be afraid, or to be ashamed and disgusted for? Absolute nothing! Nobody will recognise me, well, nobody ever did. Everyone notices my sexual identity but not my true self or name. This doesn’t mean I am not popular; if you look for a tall, slim and fair “kinnar” or “hijra” (transgender) near the Selimpur slum area and the places near it, everyone will point their finger here and there. Their fingers will search for me just as their eyes, but their brains know me too well. Just like the One (well, how can I say One? When in Hinduism, there is no such term as One; there are whole of Thirty-Three Crore Gods) above us, who is believed to be our Father, I belong to everywhere. It is not that my existence is omnipotence. It is the proof that nobody bothers to know my whereabouts. But, they will certainly, without any second thought, describe my physical structure with blindfolded eyes. If you ask them where I live, about my home, parents or my family, they will just shrug in a nonchalant way as if I am an alien to have a proper home and a loving family. Well, the former is truth though the latter will promisingly remain my dream forever. The story starts with my very own family. Many of us have them yet some are more unlucky than those orphans. The age of fourteen is a broad red flag in a human’s life; it is when someone begins to dig through the feelings buried beneath a thick layer of one’s childhood. The warm spring of puberty and the rough winter of being a transgender. That was the first time I sensed my true nature, my strong desires while my family smelled it too. I got raped for liking my best friend, Bishu, who happened to be a straight guy. My uncle first convinced me by all means to open up, to share my deepest secret with him. I did, and as a punishment, he covered me with blood. Yes, my uncle first raped me for being a nature’s abnormality. I died nearly that day inside out, yet I managed to run for my life, leaping ferociously with pain and ache. Later, gathering an amount of courage, I revealed his devilish deed to my mother. Mothers are the creature whom one can trust and on whom one can depend on blindly. I was a looser here too. She hushed me by saying, “Beta, tum ek kinnar ho, aur kinnar hone ki yahin sazayein hote hein.” (Son, you are a transgender, you desrerve this as a punishment for being that.”) Her sickeningly sweet voice was ringing in my ears. I learned the word, “kinnar” that day. It sounded unearthly to me. ‘I am a human being; I can breathe, run, laugh and cry like everybody else, so why does she call me a “kinnar?”’ I asked myself. There was only one answer from the opposite side, ‘accept who you are’. I never really get used to this term still now. I believe myself to be a man, a beautiful and kind person. Such term like, “hijra’ and “kinnar” cannot offend or describe me. Years passed by befriending melancholic depression and late night pains. I could not live though I could not die. And I grew as an adult in a blink of an eye. My mother died, and I became a part of our local transgender community. The first days went by doing make over and learning their ways to deal with customers and society simultaneously. I wanted to learn, not this, but a genuine course of education. Government would not let it happen. I accepted my fortune and blended in with the crowd of unfortunates. Our Guruji was a respected transgender, and she had a permanent dealer with her who supposed to follow and maintain her orders. The dealer was a male, and I, a trans. So, as expected, one night when our Guruji was out for work, the creepy dealer came into my room and beat me severely. Then he sexually harassed me without MY permission, while almost reciting the words, ‘Tu kinnar hai, samjhi? Teri yahin awkad hain! Meri marzi se tu mujhe woh sab degin jo tu un customer logon ko denewali hain. Tu paidaishin randi hain.” (You are a transgender, you get that? You deserve to be treated like this. You have to give me those that you are gonna give to the customers, according to my orders. You are a born slut!” Those words pierced through my mind like spears, and reality crashed on me. I didn’t realize till then that everyone on this earth had the right to decide what I deserve expect me. Later on, my Guruji shipped and asked me about the cursed night and I told her about the truth. She beat the monster and kicked him out of the area along with a devious threat to kill him if he ever showed his face again. From that day, I sell my body in order to earn my living, to the “men” who are also bi-sexual, they have wives and children in their homes yet they fear to accept their sexuality. Nature made me like this, and I accepted it without ever being afraid. So, people come to me with their fake stubbornness and I give them what they want without caring anymore. My dreams to become a teacher is now washed off and renewed with a desire to become a mother in future. Society would not allow it, they would do whatever they have to do to stop me, but I will remain as a rock, rooted to my ground against the floods of insults, abuses and barriers. I am a transgender, my name is Ratna Mistiri and nobody will recognize me. Well, nobody ever cared to know. I can be a hijra, a kinnar, a randi to the world, but deep down I am alive, I am a human. I deserve what I want and what I want is a happy life, a normal job and a peaceful old age. I will snatch that from the God above us. That is all I had to say, hope the message will reach to all those transgender, bisexuals, and homosexuals out there who won’t acknowledge me. I am a victim of rape, assault and criticism. This is my story.
Thank you for your kind decision to know my story.