Apsara Reddy thinks there’s no real place in the heart of a man for a transgender woman.
Ironically, all is never fair in love and war. I fought a no-holds-barred war to come into my own, to define my own modesty, ditched all those who denied me dignity and made a meaningful place for myself against all odds. Today, I am a full-fledged woman, having undergone gender reassignment surgery and fully settling into mainstream life. Yet, does the world recognise me as a woman, the woman that I have so longingly felt like all my life, to finally find the meaning of life in which I have endured brutal acidic arguments—one that is fulfilling, filled with love, one where there is no space for negativity and guilt? The answer is couched in the deep-rooted discomfort and awkwardness that people feel when discussing a transgender woman’s right to dignity, liberation and love.
Despite my surgery, men who have conversations with me seldom look at a longterm relationship, although they are willing to unequivocally sign up for love, passion and togetherness. But never marry. And those that do, with a promise of a happy life, refuse to stick around too long after the initial euphoria dies down.
Shamita, a dear transsexual friend of mine, was an escort. She was fragile, silken soft, vivacious and fun-loving. One of those girls you would call a doll—so beautiful, she passed easily for a real girl. She was also terribly yearning for love, a home and a lasting future. By day, Shamita would spend time at home looking after her ailing mother and at night she reluctantly entered the dark world of escorting at plush city hotels. Her clients included professionals, local politicians, Chennai’s elite and rich oil barons from the Gulf. But Shamita nursed a dream too—she wanted to someday become a human rights activist—having studied human rights at college through a scholarship in Delhi. But as she began the process of transformation (to becoming a transsexual), her fate was unfortunately sealed.
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