Laxmi Tripathi’s autobiography Me Hijra, Me Laxmi delves into the many surreal worlds that she negotiates in her pursuit of an anti-essentialist (as Raj Rao aptly describes it in his Afterword) life. Laxmi — the transgender rights activist, writer, Bharatanatyam dancer, film actor, television celebrity and a dutiful daughter/son — presents a heartrending, and in places agonising, account of her experience as a hijra .
The lucid and defiant account of her abusive childhood, her complicated growth into adulthood and eventual evolution into an unconventional hijra who took to activism achieves what it sets out to establish ‘ hijras are ordinary people and don’t exist in a rarefied realm’. Prof. R. Raj Rao and P.G. Joshi have rendered a rather graceful translation of the original book in Marathi. Rao’s Afterword helps connect the dots.
The narrative is pretty simple initially, detailing how a young boy in a Brahmin household deals with gender dysphoria in the face of familial and societal expectations and his need to find his real identity. Laxmi seems to have deconstructed her life pretty early in life. “In a patriarchal misogynistic culture of ours, dance is a womanly pursuit and I was called homo or chakka .” Without getting very graphic, she talks about her abusive childhood and how pain transformed her naive unassertive self. She recounts her adolescence, mulling over her initial induction into the gay community, her numerous romantic relationships, suicidal tendency and the constant need for validation as a bar dancer. While the many names and incidents are perplexing for the reader to follow, one soon realises she is only trying to establish how these quirky experiences shaped her persona.
“When I became a hijra , a great burden was lifted off my head.” The narrative becomes formidable as she speaks about choosing to be a part of the hijra world. She ponders over the idiosyncrasies of the guru-chela system and the ephemeral shadowy path she pursues to live life on her own terms, though balancing the demands of her hijra community and parents. She is never modest, reluctant or remorseful in the way she chronicles her escapades. Her memoir gains strength, as she becomes a resilient person of her own making. She chronicles her journey from a jet-setting activist speaking up for her community in conferences to pioneering the demand to include ‘transgenders’ as a distinct category in governmental records.
The story is a revelation for people who have probably only met hijras on trains or traffic signals, and have wondered what goes on in their lives. However, the more erudite might wonder if she is guarded and veiled, especially when compared to the only other autobiography of transwoman Revathi. One wonders if Laxmi’s indomitable spirit stops her from ruminating on the darker recesses of life. She doesn’t see herself as a victim except may be as a child. Therefore the book is replete with positive stories of hope; right from her parents coming to terms with her choice and eventually supporting her decisions, her battle with the bureaucracy to get her passport and visa to become the first transgender to attend the international AIDS conference, her success as a dancer and the journey to being a television celebrity.
One wishes there was more depth to the contemplative quality of the writing especially when she speaks about love, alienation and yen for relationships but such moments are rather fleeting. However, by dwelling on the dynamics of conformity and rebellion within the hijra community, by pioneering to voice the angst of the marginalised, Laxmi has created a seminal work in transgender literature space, which is nascent in India. Laxmi’s journey to becoming the feisty voice that spoke up for her community’s rights to survival, dignity and inclusion might seem incomplete, but it leaves one inspired.
Me Hijra, Me Laxmi ; Laxmi, trs. R. Raj Rao and P.G. Joshi, OUP, Rs.445.
