Umesh becomes Uma

This is the story of a person assigned male at birth. At 41, after enduring years of abuse and trauma, she decided to undergo gender reaffirmation procedures

The article contains references to sexual assault and self-harm. Reader discretion is advised.

I was born as Umesh in a town in Ramanagara district, 50 km from Bengaluru. I come from a family of farmers. We grew betel leaves and coconut on our farm. I was the last of three sons.

As a child, I loved the company of girls. I played and chatted with them, and walked with them to fetch water in pots. We would smear the front yard of our homes with cow dung, decorate it with rangoli patterns, and even compete to see who got it better.

I would help my chikkamma (mother’s younger sister) wash utensils. In return, she would comb my hair, plait them into two braids and adorn them with sphatika flowers. For an Independence Day event, she draped me in a cream-coloured China silk sari. Teachers of our village school were happy to see me all decked up. They gave me a tricolour flag and told me to lead the school procession. That is my favourite childhood memory.

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I love saris. I would raid my mother’s wardrobe and wear one when she wasn’t at home. I would love actress Kalpana’s hair bun-and-bindi style. My (girl) friends and I would pool money to buy nail polish for Rs 2 a bottle and paint nail art on each other.

At school, I dressed up like a boy. Still, my father would shout at me for not sporting cropped hair like the other boys. My mother let me be because ‘I was just a kid’.

Confusion in class

Something changed in me when I reached Class 4. I started noticing boys, especially one of my relatives. I would care for him and jot down notes on his behalf. I had no words for what I was feeling, but looking back now, I think I loved him.

The boys also started noticing me. They would tease me saying I was girlish. I did not take the ribbing seriously, although inside, I was confused.

As we grew up, my brothers and I had to go to another school near our village. My father asked me to cut my hair short. He said people would make fun of me if I didn’t. I refused. He beat me up and got my head shaved. He was unhappy that I used to get body-hugging dresses stitched. After shouting and giving me a thrashing, he would take my clothes back to the tailor and have them ‘loosened up’.

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At the new school, the girls were nice to me. But the boys would ask me why I was effeminate. They would tease my brothers, too. My brothers would come home angry, and beat me up.

Stripped and abused

One day, in the school toilet, some older boys accosted me and closed the door. “You behave like a girl. We want to see who you are,” one said. They stripped me and abused me sexually. I was in Class 8 then.

I was in pain. I was crying. I wanted to confide in someone. But in whom could I confide? My mother had warned me to behave like other boys. My teachers used to tease me, so I couldn’t go to them.

What was wrong?

As a result, I became withdrawn. Was something wrong with me? Was I the only one born this way? I kept thinking and had no clue what was happening.

Sexual harassment increased. Two of my teachers would take me to the store room often and touch me inappropriately.

Those years were difficult. I liked playing kho kho with the girls. But I was in the boy’s team, and we made it to the district level. My pleas to put me in the girl’s team fell on deaf ears.

When I started growing a moustache and beard, it felt awkward. I was uncomfortable going to a men’s salon, so I started shaving on my own. While boys would change clothes in front of others, I just could not do it.

At home, my brothers helped my father on the farm while I stayed home to cook and wash utensils with my mother. My father scorned me and villagers made fun of me. I became introverted and lost interest in my studies. I failed my SSLC board exams and dropped out.

My mother asked me to continue my education or start working. I felt she was right. I moved to my grandmother’s house in a bigger town in the district. It had many silk factories and I found a job in one as a helper.

Given my past experience, I resolved to behave like a boy. I tried walking straight and stiff, and controlling my hand gestures. It didn’t work. People found me out in just a week. They mocked me. One day, three men raped me in the factory toilet. I was traumatised and drained physically and emotionally. My cousin asked me what had happened but I could not explain.

I had no vocabulary and didn’t even know I had become a victim of a crime called rape. I had no clue I could report it to the police. I thought this was happening to me because I was not like other boys. I thought the problem lay in me, and not in those who had abused me.

To escape the sexual attacks, I decided not to use the toilet at work, or anywhere outside the home. I drank less water. I hated I was living in fear, but the rapes stopped.

First company

At this point, I met a boy in the factory who was like me and we bonded with each other naturally. One day, he was found unconscious near the toilet. I wasn’t at the factory. He was taken to a hospital. His mother told me he had a heart problem, and so she had decided not to send him back to work. The boy had no company at home, so he asked me to request his mother to let him work. Finally, after a month, he resumed work. I advised him not to use the factory toilet.

The boy developed an attraction towards a man, but was rejected. He did not know how to handle it— he ended his life by drinking poison.

I was upset. I quit my job, went home and tried ending my life twice. My family saved me, but they also told me I would get a share in the property only if I got married. How could I get married to a woman when I was a woman myself? I had started dreaming of a husband and my own family, but I did not know if it was possible. I felt attracted towards many men, but concealed it because I was scared of rejection.

I fought and managed to get my share of the property, sell it off, and pay my mother Rs 85,000 to thank her for standing by me. At this point, she and I visited a relative’s house in Bengaluru for a ritual. They told me to stay back for a few days. I dropped my mother at the Majestic bus stand. When I was going back, I saw a person similar to me — I recognised it from her body language. She walked away without noticing me.

Community link

I felt I should talk to her. I couldn’t sleep that night. I went again to Majestic the next few days to see if I could spot her. Finally, after a week, I met her. She introduced me to a whole new world — our community. She showed me sari-clad transgender women like us, some of whom were into sex work, and begging for a livelihood.

I made many friends in the community. By then, my relatives wanted me out of their house. I didn't want to stay with them either. I was dreaming of a family life, but I had to do sex work. I did it for two years, all the while being homeless.

In 2002, I was introduced to Sangam, an organisation working with sex workers and gender minorities. I liked their vision and started volunteering for them, as I wanted to make sure people like me did not suffer. When they got a small grant, they hired me in July 2003. I was getting Rs 1,700 as a salary and I stopped sex work. I rented a small room in a low-income neighbourhood in Bengaluru, by hiding my gender identity. I started working on gender and rights issues and I went on to win an award in 2021.

Pain and pleasure

Life was better than before but I was still uncomfortable looking at my body. That’s when I started thinking of sex reassignment surgery (SRS). Whether society would accept this shift or not, I wanted to be comfortable in my own skin and had seen others feeling more content after this procedure. Male-to-female sex reassignment surgery is common among transgender persons but the opposite is rarer in Bengaluru.

In 2020, I started taking counselling sessions. I got the required certificates, took laser therapy to remove unwanted body hair and started hormone therapy to begin the transition. I finally underwent SRS this July. It was a five-hour operation. Even under anaesthesia, I experienced moments of pain. The pain was pleasurable — my lifelong dream of becoming a woman was coming true.

I haven't told my mother about the surgery because I know it would upset her. It's also why I kept delaying this surgery. But I am also curious to see how my family will react. Will they accept me? I stay in touch with my mother; my brothers don't talk to me.

I threw a small party to celebrate my womanhood. In the transgender community, we call it jalsa. My sister from the community hosted me in her house for the first two months of recovery. I am back in my room. I am still recovering. I am still on painkillers. I am experiencing changes in my body.

I wanted to move to a new house ahead of the surgery as recovery requires a hygienic environment and water to wash wounds. The water supply to my current has become infrequent. I started house-hunting. The owners were fine over the phone but they backed off the moment they saw me in person.

I am 43. Many asked me why I had to do this now. Castration was easier and cheaper than SRS, they said. I don’t care what anyone says — This is my choice. I feel complete.

I spent about Rs 6 lakh on the surgery. I used my savings and took loans.

Being feminine

Gender identity is a vast spectrum. It should not be defined by social norms. It should be up to the individuals what they choose to be, and how they express their identities (how they dress up, behave or look).

‘She’ and ‘her’ are my preferred gender pronouns. I will continue to wear unisex garments like jubbas and pants from my earlier days. I want to dress up in saris a lot more, and green is my favourite colour. I love pearl jhumkas, my favourite piece of jewellery. I love cooking, especially the village-style mudde-bassaru that my mother taught me.

But now I don’t go out alone. The world is unsafe for women. I am open to relationships and break-ups. But I also want to focus on my work. Through Jeeva, my NGO, I want to build a society where everybody can express themselves freely, irrespective of their gender identity or sexual orientation.

Who knows what tomorrow holds? I haven’t changed my name officially but I am Uma today and I am happier.

Helplines

* Gender identity counselling: Jeeva (90083 76679)

* Suicide prevention: Sahai (25497777), Sa-Mudra Yuva Helpline (98803 96331), Parivarthan (76766 02602), Mitram Foundation (90197 08133)

* Sexual abuse reporting: National Child Helpline (1098), Bachpan Bachao Andolan (1800-102-7222), Vanitha Sahayavani (1091)