Becoming Woman

Apu

ALL I KNEW WAS that this non-profit group called MARAA was organising some sort of performance on gender and sexuality. A friend told me about it and even offered to pick me up. Work lay unfinished on my table, but what the hell, I decided, I could always catch up later. And that’s how we found ourselves at Jagaa, which calls itself “a community space created to serve the arts, technology and social change communities in Bangalore.” We climbed up two flights of metal staircases to find a fairly large group of people, sitting, standing, leaning on the banisters – and listening attentively to the performers – a group of people variously called hijras, transvestites, transgenders or Aravanis (The Indian concept of third gender is somewhat different from Western conceptualizations – read here).

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Hair

priyanka

That girl at twenty-

her black hair ripples

through the comb

in the pride of spring –

such beauty!

(sono ko hatachi kushini nagaruru kurokami no

ogori no haru no utsukushiki kana)

- Yosano Akiko, Midaregami: The Poetry of Yosano Akiko, 1952.

2005. THE L’OREAL SALON in Chennai. I was at the eye of a storm, all because Susan (one of the head stylists) and I had bonded instantly over the fact that I wanted my hair cut, as short as possible. Something with an edge, I said. Susan’s smile on hearing the word “edge” was the biggest I had ever received in a salon. She went to work with razors, clippers and two vats of colour, one copper, the other fire-engine red. Considering every other female there was getting a “trim” with the odd blonde highlight or two, Susan and I had unknowingly provided entertainment and conversational fodder for the next two and a half hours. From that day onwards, the fire-spikes got me more than just a little attention. A nun at my college (yes, it was a catholic institution) hinted that I might be setting a bad example, but found it hard to explain herself when I asked her why.
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Pink, It’s The Colour Of…

Annie Zaidi

WHEN I WAS A KID, my favourite colour was red. I still remember a red silk dress I had, with thick silver trimming all over the bodice and sleeves. And if you’re a close friend of mine, you’ll probably have heard my little story about the huge tantrum I threw in Hazratgunj, Lucknow, once — all about wanting a pair of red shoes.

I don’t know at what point I stopped saying that red was my favourite colour, and when I went through a shifting spectrum of favourites — ‘white’ and ‘black’ and ‘sea green’ and, at one point, ‘lilac’. Pink, however, was never ‘my’ colour. [Read More]

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