‘I wished to live like a woman’: A Sri Lankan Tamil activist’s memoir about transitioning

I wished to live like a woman. It was destined by nature. My body did not cooperate with my heart as it was subject to nature’s law. I became anxious when I started to grow facial hair. I was disgusted as though my face had been infected. I shaved my face and then all my body hair and wore makeup to conceal my emerging beard. I applied clear coat nail polish on my nails and used women’s perfumes. I would never step out without doing all this. This is how I went to school. I was particular about my feminine appearance precisely because I hated being teased and ridiculed for being effeminate.

Babu offered me a part-time job at his provision store. I would work at Babu’s shop after school and return home at 8 pm I had to work on weekends too. My salary was 500 euros a month, but I would give half of it to my mother. It somewhat relieved my family’s financial crisis.

For someone feminine like me, it was a challenge to work in that store. The store was frequented by drunks and vagabonds because it sold cigarettes and alcohol. Some of the men who noticed my effeminacy would write down their phone number and give it to me before leaving. Some womanisers would scratch my palm under the pretext of shaking hands. It was a sign that meant “I want to have sex with you”.

There was a computer at the shop that had an internet connection. I would spend time browsing the internet when there were no customers. Looking for answers to the questions in my heart, I watched documentaries and videos on queer people and transwomen. Most of the documentaries on transwomen were made in Asia or the US. I did not find any information on transwomen living in Germany.

I found some videos on Indian transwomen. In one of these videos, there was a Tamil transwoman named Angel who described the lives and struggles of transwomen in India. Then, I watched a Singapore Tamil television programme about transwomen. A transwoman named Buvana spoke about her life and the challenges she had to face.

Buvana was very beautiful. She spoke fluent Tamil and English. Her voice was just like a woman’s. Buvana was emphatic when she said that transwomen suffer because of their lives as sex workers and that they should leave their jobs. When she described her childhood and her journey, it resembled my own life. I would cry every day watching her videos.

Through Buvana’s videos, I discovered that anyone could acquire a feminine body with hormonal pills and that one could get gender reassignment surgery done in Thailand. Her words made a bright ladder descend into my prison-like heart that was enveloped in darkness. I was filled with determination to break through all obstacles like Buvana and live like a complete woman.

I also listened to an interview with Sukanya, a Malaysian transwoman. She was interviewed along with her mother. She looked like a beautiful angel with long hair that touched her waist. Sukanya lived with her mother in a large house and they ran a restaurant together. She also did social work. Seeing her life, I was gradually filled with hope and had a grip on the future.

In 2007, a website reported that someone from Kerala had become Mr Gay Europe. He lived in Hamburg in northern Germany. I thought I should contact him. After a tireless search, I found his email address and emailed him with some questions. I asked him, “Why wouldn’t a gay person like you become a transwoman?” He replied, “I like being a man.” I did not understand his response. But our friendship lasted. I never stopped asking all the queer people I met then why they had not become transwomen.

I once watched a television show on the internet called Ippadikku Rose. The anchor was a beautiful woman whose voice revealed her identity as a transwoman. I searched for anything that I could find on her. She had completed her higher education in the US but was living in Chennai. I sent her an email to introduce myself and ask if I could talk to her. She wrote back to me that very day with her telephone number.

I was unable to suppress my excitement and gave her a call. I quickly told her my entire story. Talking to Rose made me feel ecstatic. It was as if I was talking to God. Rose patiently listened to what I had to say and, like a specialist in the field, spelt out the contradictions that constituted different genders.

She very patiently said that I was ignorant to think that my wish to become a woman was because of my disappointing sexual relationships. She even said that I was born with a woman’s sensibility and that I was not a homosexual but a woman. She suggested that I complete my education and become a woman. I thought I had finally met my mentor.

I often called her and she slowly dispelled the veils of confusion that had shrouded my heart. I seriously began to think of all the ways I had of becoming a woman. I studied German medical practices that concerned gender reassignment surgeries and their laws on various websites and thought that these laws could not possibly have been formulated by a transwoman.

If someone who was born a man wanted to become a woman, they would have to consult a psychologist for at least two years. They would have to wear women’s clothes for at least a year. Only then would the psychologist send the person to a doctor who would prescribe hormonal pills and do the gender reassignment surgery. These expenses would be covered by medical insurance. Only after that could one obtain legal documents certifying them to be a woman.

I shared my concerns with my class teacher. “I believe I’m a woman,” I told Clara. “I’m not a homosexual as you think. Can you accept me as a woman?” With tears in her eyes, she embraced me and asked, “What will you do now?” I said that I didn’t know who could help me. Clara recommended a psychologist from Aachen and suggested that I visit him.

I called the psychologist for an appointment. But from our very first meeting, I knew that he knew nothing about transwomen. I still met him for an hour every week. He could not help me, but he listened to my stories without scowling. It was a relief to have someone patiently listen to me.

I became good friends not just with Rose but also with Angel. I frequently spoke to them on the phone. Through our conversations, I learnt of the travails of Indian transwomen. A modern gender reassignment surgery was a fruit that was still out of their reach.

In those days, there were two ways in which Indian transwomen could transition. There was a ritual called nirvanam that was performed to get rid of the penis. The first way of severing the penis was called tayamma kai. The transwoman would give offerings to their goddess, Santhoshi Mata, along with the other transwomen before their penis and testicles were severed with a razor before a picture of the goddess. The one who severed the penis was known as a tayamma in the transwomen community. When Rose told me about this, my body shivered. I could not understand how they could sever the genitalia without any medical assistance.

The second way was for a doctor to remove the penis and testicles after putting the transwoman under anaesthesia. Whichever method was used to remove the genitalia, an orifice was left through which the transwoman could urinate. However, they could no longer have sex with a woman.

Rose told me that she was going to undergo a modern gender reassignment surgery in Thailand. I longed for the day when I would have the same surgery. I was confronted by a sense of emptiness. My male genitalia was an unwanted thing that hung from my body like a heavy burden.

Time was indifferent to my sorrow as it flew past. I scored o the highest marks in my annual exams in 2007 and was given an award for being the best student at school. The news was even published in the local newspapers and some of the customers who visited Babu’s store congratulated me. But it made no impression on my family. While others celebrated my success, my father continued to thrash me.

My brother always ridiculed me and called me names and my mother remained indifferent. My sister was far away. My family made no attempt to understand me.

Instead, they harassed me by insisting that I behave like a man. They wanted me to cut my hair short and not wear makeup. The more they did this, the stronger became my desire to live like a woman. I would go shopping with my female friends from school and buy dresses. Later, I’d secretly hide them in my cupboard. When I was in the bathroom, I would dress up like a woman.

Excerpted with permission from Thanuja: A Memoir of Migration and Transition, Thanuja Singam, translated from the Tamil by Kiran Keshavamurthy, Bloomsbury India.