The Girl I want to be…

The diary of a transgendered Indian

Ahana Bannerjie

I don’t know if it is wrong to dream. I’m a dreamer since childhood. I dream every now and then, about everything around my life. I feel safe when I dream. It’s the only place on this earth where I feel safe, independent and care free. There my people love for who I am and what I’ve become in life. There, the men praise me and my sisters love me. Men treat me like a princess, admire my beauty, eulogize my dress and play my servant, when required. I go shopping with my mother and my sister and my aunties, to get clothes of my choice. There, my mother gifts me jewellery and accessories, overlooking the cost of the gold, as my sister looks on with an envious eye. Daddy pampers me with soft toys and Barbie dolls and chocolates, and loves me like never before. This is a place where I feel like living for the rest of my life. But it’s a dream, and dreams are dreams always.

The day I was born, was a great moment for my parents. When the baby first came out, as my folks say, he was shocked. When the second baby was out, he was even more shocked, yet happy. It was twins for them, identical or Siamese twins, as many would say. Both were male. The first kid is me. My parents were informed that it would be a girl and a boy. But, to their dismay, both were boys and still that made my father smiling. He never treated us differently. As a kid he gave me whatever I asked for. I liked playing with dolls. I liked wearing my elder sister’s dresses and make-up. Brother was different. He played with macho toys- like guns, balls, bats and sometimes, destroying whatever he found within his reach. He was my father’s favourite and I, my mother’s. They sent us to the same school. At school, things got more different. I went crazy with colors, sprinkling them everywhere. I shied away from the boys, and hated sitting with them in their row. It was my brother, who then came to my help. Once the teacher, as a punishment, asked my brother to sit in the girls’ row for a month. I shifted undoubtedly. And I felt blessed. Months went by, the teacher forgot about the whole thing. Year after year, I kept sitting in that row and although, they laughed at me, never asked me to change my row nor complained to any teacher against my unofficial space in the class. New students came and left, some became very good friends. My elder brothers were the school marshals (head-captains as they were known in my school), so making fun of me or even ragging me was seen as throwing a challenge to them. My twin was very protective of me. I had the privilege of visiting and sometimes living in the girls’ hostel owing to my closeness to them. I was the envy of many boys.

I swished when I walked, kept long nails, had somewhat a long hair, wore kajal in the eyes and was the only fellow, apart from the girls to color my toe nails. But that again was hidden under the leather, my shoes. I was a joke among my friends in the boys’ hostel. To change or wear clothes, I used the bathrooms. Somehow I always felt ashamed of dressing in front of the boys. After my tenth standard, my parents frustrated and angry with me, ordered me to complete rest of my studies from home. Again, this too did not work out as they were too concerned about their self respect in the society and their circle. My cousins somewhat accepted me for what I am but could not gather the courage of supporting me in front of their parents. Family engagements were fun and frivolous, but then often turned out to be very atrocious for my parents when I was asked by my uncles to dance like a girl with them laughing at me. Mom kept a strong watch on me for these reasons. There, for the first time in my life, I felt goose bumps in my body whenever I saw this tall and fair man with short hair, with stubble walking in the house or talking with my mother and the others. I turned red out of shame when he spoke to me for the first time. We are good friends till date, even though he know about me very well and still admires me the way I am.

Realization about my complete self, came late to me. As a kid I kept on thinking, “Why only me?” Why do I feel so good dressed up as a girl? Why being a boy I like wearing make-up? Why I can’t manage to walk like a guy or shy away from men? Why do I crave for a man’s warmth? Why don’t I get attracted to girls or envy them when they are being treated well by a man? The big question for me all these years was a ‘Why’. During college, I considered myself ‘gay’. But was I gay? I kept on mingling with many people, since my teenage years, especially with men, trying to discover my inner self. The five to six hours of long conversation with different men kept me on the look for the answer. If I’m a gay, then how come I’m not comfortable with my own body? Why do I put up artificial breasts when I don the clothes of my roommates who were biological female? It was simply the way I wanted myself to be. I liked it when an autowala or a bus conductor addressed me as beti, didi or madamji. I liked when a guy would stop his motorbike to give me his compliment about how beautiful I’m in the dress. Internet and doctors made me realize that I’m not gay, but transgender. The doctors didn’t say it directly, but I came to know about this when a junior doctor came asking about my case and the physician replied by saying I’m suffering from ‘Gender Identity Disorder’. A search about it in the internet, and lo! It was all there before me. Through it I made number of friends from different parts of the world. I came to know about a surgery whereby I can alter my biological sex. Somewhere down the line, I felt confident about my true identity. I felt I too can be the one who I’ve dreamed of being since childhood. Since then, I started my life afresh with a dream to be the girl I want to be…