CHENNAI : Through the narrow alley beside a canal, strewn with garbage and plastics, Lily* ushered me to her house in Mylapore. She lives in a single room that is surrounded by other houses. Her place is usually frequented by her friends, and when I stepped inside, Lily introduced Arun* and Rithu*. She distinctly stressed that they are educated. There was pride in her tone when she said Arun is a graduate and Rithu has enrolled her name in a college to pursue BA Tamil.
Lily, who is now in her early twenties, also went to school, but she knows that school education cannot earn her a desired life and job. Lily was in class 8 when she realised that she was a woman — she began to see changes in her interests. She says, “I started wearing t-shirts, started growing my hair, started applying kohl, started wearing paavadai (skirt).” This transition, she says, created a lot of problems for her. People’s perceptions about her also started changing, which forced to leave home and school after class 9.
She then joined the trans community where she could live a trouble-free life. But to sustain herself, she had to look for jobs. She says, “I had worked in small companies. But they would tease me, pass vulgar comments, and make me uncomfortable with their gaze, and so, I had to leave those jobs.” Lack of higher education surfaced our conversation every now and then. She laments, “Government’s aid benefits the educated. What do we do?”
Not just educational background, one’s gender also determines if one gets a job or not. A lot of places they have sought for jobs look for a cis man or cis woman. LiIy says, “I don’t understand why we are driven away. The equality that is seen on papers hasn’t yet seeped into the majority of human minds.”
Lack of choice
A good, steady job is a rarity in the lives of many trans people. Lily says, “I earn money by seeking alms on trains and streets, and by prostitution. If there was a chance, I would have fled from this situation.” Like Lily, there are many who rely on sex work and charity.
On the fringes of Pattinapakam beach, in a house with tinned roof and faded green walls, situated in a surrounding scattered with bags of waste, lives another group of trans women. Thirty-two-year-old Reena* who lives there, says, “Unlike the trans people from the privileged strata, we do not have a safe life. We are devoid of options.”
Reena, in her early twenties, had to discontinue her college after her second year of her bachelor’s degree in Biochemistry, says, “A decade ago, there were only two genders, male and female. We were not allowed to pursue studies. I did not want a certificate with a man’s tag in it.” It was during her college days that she went to Mumbai for gender-affirmation surgery. As she says, it’s the lack of choices that pushed her into sex work. She says, “I want a government job,” adding that the government should reserve some positions for trans people, according to their qualification.
Twenty-three-old Divya* from Neyveli, is a diploma holder, but no company is ready to hire her. “I tried around 10 companies, but all refused to take me stating that they couldn’t take a trans person because it would affect the company’s reputation.”
This leaves sex work and begging as viable sources of income for them. Jaya, the general manager of Sahodaran (an organisation that works closely with the queer community), notes that to eke out a living, the members of the community have been doing sex work and seeking alms for a very long time. Some follow this traditional work, while a section wants to deviate from the old ways and look for other jobs.
Sex work fetches them money, but the risks tethered to this profession are numerous. Many are not aware of the life-threatening diseases that can be transmitted during unprotected intercourse. She says, “There have been many cases where the local thugs usurp their earnings.” Lily shows the bruises on her body, saying that rowdies had hit her with bottles while she was going out for work. Sex work is legal in the country, but there are several restrictions put on them by the society. Reena says, “If we get involved in any argument, we only would be questioned. Police would definitely take stringent actions against us. Prostitution is not at all a safe work.” Jaya says that abuses and health issues are widespread — many contract sexually transmitted diseases (STDs), which are not diagnosed in the right time.
Surgery and struggles
Transition phase is an important one in every trans person’s life, but the disheartening reality is that many bear the expense of this surgery all by their own. Jaya explains some turn to sex work in order to arrange a huge sum for their surgery, which costs almost `5 lakh. Jaya points out the alarming scenario at government level. Even though they provide free surgery, negligence during the surgery (improper breast implantations) has been a serious issue leading to severe health complications. Fearing such downsides, many prefer private hospitals, even if they have to scramble to arrange the amount.
Jaya suggests that reimbursements from government after surgery would be a great way to ward off the financial crisis. Access of the Chief Minister’s Comprehensive Health Insurance Scheme in private hospitals for surgery can be another way to ensure a safe and free surgery.
Devoid of financial support from family and shattered by the pain of separation, the members of trans community struggle to lead a peaceful life. Jaya stresses, “If parents can pay for their girl child’s or boy child’s education and marriage, why can’t they support their trans children and their transitions.”
Rithu, who is also a trans person, and is eagerly waiting for her surgery, says, “My parents have accepted my reality. It wasn’t easy in the beginning, but they gradually tried to wrap their head around my situation. I want trans people like me to have access to schools and colleges.” While the scenario is gradually changing, some stick to their obsolete mindset. Reena says, “I miss my home. I left my home twelve years ago. Sometimes, I see my family on the streets, but they don’t talk to me.” Jaya says that it is this rigid mentality of the families that is the root cause of transpeople ending up in such direful circumstances.
On the margins
Reena stresses, “There are around 40 transwomen in Mylapore alone. None of us has her own house. We all live in rented houses. I had applied for the government’s free house scheme in 2017-18. But I haven’t been allocated any house yet.” Accomodation is a matter of distress for Reena and her friends. She says, “House owners are usually reluctant to give us house for rent. The rent also spikes when they see us. We don’t get houses in the heart of the city. Do you see this place? We get houses in the interior pockets of the city, or in the peripheral areas.”
Jaya says, “Houses have been allotted to the trans people in batches, and there is still a section of people who haven’t got their houses. For the first batch of people, houses were allotted in Ernavoor, and for the second batch of people, Kannagi Nagar was the allocated place.” However, several houses are being abandoned as these places seem to be less safe. After uprooting themselves from their old settlements, they find it difficult to find income. Jaya says, “There are fewer opportunities and accessibility as they go to the outskirts of the city. Trans people are minority. It is absolutely possible to ensure complete coverage of the group when it comes to benefits and accessibility.”
Tamil Nadu, Jaya says, is a pioneer state in implementing social welfare schemes for trans community, however the widening gaps needs to be filled. One of the overriding concerns the government must add to its roster is free surgery.
It’s indeed reassuring to see stories of trans people — stories of acceptance, of a flourishing career, of making a change — inundating the Internet. But there is also a less privileged section, whose stories are buried in the lanes of the city — the stories of alienation, striving to make their ends meet, struggles of transitions.
*Names changed on request