The rickshaw wala asked if he could onboard another passenger. Trampling
on my hesitant approval, he came sat next to me. Cosied up on a cycle
rickshaw as it peddled forward.
I think there are no bigger signs
for a feeling as ones when we are tentative – the fidgeting, the
clamminess, the unpurposeful whistling, the show of looking the other
way. – there’s just so much, given away so easily. And I am sure I did
too. For I was excessively aware that I was sitting next to an eunuch
but more so because of what he asked next.
Darr lag rha hai? (Are
you scared?) I nodded away – no – managing a nervous half-smile and a
plastered silence. But our conversation escalated when he admitted his
next sentence – hum bhi toh insaan he hain (We too are humans). I shot a
glance at him, at his face. The 14-year old me didn’t know any better.
But when I retrospect today, I wonder what would have hurt more – to
have someone look at you with un-bargaining denial or with sympathetic
acceptance.
Our laughter never really rose above the differential
rungs of our identities. But it did travel. Briefly, be it may. I had
rallied the rickshaw for only a kilometre so I got down first but what
he said next is why I am telling this story today.
Throughout the
ride, he referred to himself as a collective noun – “hum bhi toh insaan
hi hain” (We too are humans) – but as I was leaving, he finally let
that baggage go. He spoke about himself, umambiguously identifying as a
female. In that moment as the rickshaw was trailing away, I saw her find
her courage and spare me the stomach for it. For she understood, her
rebellion didn’t have to be at war with my mind. At least, not back in
2009.
But, it is 2020 now.
More than a decade since I have held this story inside.
More than a decade since I watched her silhouette battle and then disappear under the streetlamp.
More than a decade for our collective conscience to rise.
More than a decade since I heard that hauntingly existential cry for approval.
More than a decade. At least, a decade.
It’s time!
What do you do when your best friend is crying? There are a few persons whom you never wish to see with tears in their eyes. I attended college as usual. It was a regular Saturday afternoon; the cultural activities were in full swing. More deafening cheers accompanied loud music from the auditorium. I kept calling her from half an hour; she did not answer. She was nowhere to be seen too. I inquired few of our mutual friends if they had seen her around. "She is always with you," said one. "Heard you guys fought," giggled another. "What rubbish ya! They're best friends, they wouldn't have fought," argued a third. I smiled and left the place, still searching. There she was sitting in a corner, engaged busily on her phone. This pissed me off. I walked up to her and said, "Answer your phone." She looked up; her eyes were teary and red. "You crying?" I asked in disbelief. "No," she said. Her voice was thick. "Is it beca...
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