In a warm sultry morning in May, my eyes frantically searched for the familiar figure they had gotten used to seeing every morning at the traffic signal. I was on my way to the badminton class. Finally, I found her, our eyes met and she smiled a knowing smile at me. She stood up from her wooden stool at the Shalimar tea stall situated on the side of the road and sashayed towards my car.
She knew we had only few seconds with each other at the signal to exchange pleasantries for she had to rush to other vehicles too before the light turned green. However, whatever the rush, Jyothi never compromised on her gait; the sway of her hips would put any woman to shame. The fact that she was a transperson only accentuated her overall aura and added mystery to her persona. With not a flower from her long luscious gajra out of place, she came over and flashed her toothy smile and clapped her hands in a way typical to her community. She blessed me and my daughter and asked us if we had our breakfast. “Thindi aaytu, madam?” she asked in her highly inflected Kannada. “Yes, we have.
How about you, Jyothi?” “Oh, I finish my breakfast early in the morning. I have to be here at my workplace before the traffic signals are turned on.” She looked at my daughter and ever so gently and lovingly ruffled her hair.
In the two months that we had been meeting her and the maximum 20 seconds that she would give us, not once did she haggle us for money. Always dressed impeccably, with an envious sense of style, she was always ever so graceful in her demeanour. I asked her if she would accept accessories and clothes, bought impulsively by me but hardly ever used. She readily agreed, “Yes, I would love to, akka.” My eyes went to the beautiful golden necklace around her neck and the shimmery peach-coloured saree she was wearing. I embarrassingly told her, “It’s not fancy stuff like what you are wearing.”
She chuckled and said, “This is my uniform, akka. I dress up for work. At home, I like to wear simple clothes. Why don’t you come home someday? I live nearby.”A man on a scooter standing next to my car kept eyeing me from the corner of his eyes, his gaze disapproving of my friendly banter with my transgender friend. At that moment the light turned green and the incessant honking from the car behind broke our conversation and we hurriedly bid goodbye to each other.
Email: muktakgupta@gmail.com