The book’s title perhaps says it all: this is the story of how B Manjunath Setty became Manjamma Jogathi. The path to the tumultuous transformation, however, cannot be summarised as succinctly. Perhaps, that is why the award-winning transgender folk dancer decided to tell the tale in her own words in this poignant memoir, with some help from journalist Harsha Bhat.
Identity and its acceptance play a key role in shaping the trajectory of a person’s life, especially in a country like India, where societal trappings come in myriad forms. In Manjamma’s case, there was the battle against poverty, something she was born in. It was, however, further compounded by her struggles with the label of being “a woman in a man’s body”. She was sexually abused, abandoned by her family and betrayed by her partners.
Growing up, all that young Manjunath desired was to sport flowers, wear anklets, dark-green glass bangles and a sparkling nose stud. But the fact that he was born a boy rendered this impossible. The few attempts he made to express his true self exacted a heavy toll. She recalls an incident from the teenage years, when he went to the movies dressed up as a woman—he wrapped a lungi like a skirt, put on a shirt and threw a towel across his chest like the pallu of a sari.
He also applied beeswax on his lips and drew a big round bindi on his forehead. Upon discovery, his Jogathi—a man who performs as a woman––uncle thrashed him mercilessly in the hopes of turning him back to ‘normal’. “He (uncle) was a tyrant who, in good faith, wished that I should not have the life he did. He was likely trying to spare me from a lifetime of strife,” Manjamma writes in the memoir. For 18 years, she wrestled with the desire to be a woman while clothed in the physical form of a man. “The turmoil I underwent during this transition is beyond description, and I wish it upon none else,” she adds.
Fortuitously, for both her and her uncle, they were in northern Karnataka, where such struggles are not seen as an abnormality but an embodiment of the divine. Jogathis dedicate their lives to telling the tale of Goddess Yellamma through song and dance. The cultural context adds another layer of intricacy
to the narrative of Manjamma’s life, offering readers a window to a unique worldview. She asserts
that it was the art form—Jogathi nritya––that empowered her and fellow transgender people to earn a livelihood without resorting to begging or sex work. The dance form became her identity, a survival toolkit and the magic wand that dispelled the shadows of societal biases. Indeed, it saw her ascend from the pavements of poverty to the President’s court, where she received Padma Shri, India’s fourth-highest civilian award, in 2021.
By then, awards had become a regular feature for Manjamma. She was the first transgender woman to serve as the president of the folk museum, Karnataka Janapada Parishat. Though it was met with resistance, as time passed, her accomplishments began to outweigh prejudice, and she was given Karnataka’s Rajyotsava Award, the state’s highest civilian honour, in 2010.
Despite her success, in the book, she rues that her struggle was dependant on accolades to be vindicated. To that end, she makes it abundantly clear that her ultimate aim is to create an inclusive society. “My house is home to not just Jogathis who have joined me, but anyone who doesn’t have a shelter,”
the author writes.
Manjamma’s journey is a wellspring of inspiration, but it is also a poignant contemplation on the transformative power of art, and a deep-dive into the cultural nuances that colour the corners of our country.