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Giving 'em a place in the sun
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Hijra Habba celebrated last week in the City, perhaps the first public event of its kind, was a day of fun, frolic, and freedom. It raised some serious questions too about the pride and anxiety of being a hijra.
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RIOTOUS COLOURS - red, blue, yellow, pink, and green - shone brighter in the scorching sun. The smell of jasmine and musk rent the air. They were in the best of attires chosen for the occasion. If some were jean-clad, some others were in saris. Elaborate hairdos and permed hair were the order of the day. There were accessories to match the dazzling outfits and lipsticks - red and purple, with a tinge of silver and brown. A boisterous noon in all. The Hijra Habba at the City's YMCA grounds last week was precisely that. Sangama, the forum concerned with the sexual minorities question, brought together the hijra community for a day of fun, frolic, and freedom.
More than 200 of them sang and danced in namma habba. They played musical chairs and passing the parcel. They participated in fashion parades, beauty contests, and tug of war. And as dusk unfolded, they yelled, screamed, pushed, and pinched (bottoms!). The roars of laughter from the audience only added to the cheer. Was this collective energy a yearning for a certain kind of freedom — from the myths that encircle them? "To show the world that we too have self-respect and dignity!" Seemed much like that.
Malathi pawned her gold chain, her only possession, to buy herself a new silk sari, and a pair of dainty silver-coloured footwear. "This is nanna habba (my festival). Shouldn't I look beautiful?" she asks, grinning through her broken teeth. Hormones gave Rahul breasts, a beautiful woman with brown complexion and sharp features. "I am a dancer. I teach dance too. I perform wherever and whenever I am asked to. You can watch me when I perform," she tells me in a rather manly voice, while tinkling her anklets.
Julie and Dolly, who won prizes in one of the contests, were still recovering from the excitement. They said: "We have never won a prize before in the midst of so much cheering, and have never been patted on our backs like this. We don't know what it is like to win."
Then came the fashion show, the moment all were waiting for. They seemed obviously fond of dressing up, no matter how flashy or undersized or oversized the outfits were. Urmilla, wearing a thin top, and skin-tight jeans, blushed when she said: "People are taking note of me and are smiling. This warmth and love is something I have never felt before." While some chose to wear saris and salwars, others took pains to weave together an outfit of leaves and flowers. "Wearing leaves and flowers, I want to look as natural as possible," says Roshan. The hijra community got together to celebrate, and for the first time perhaps, in public - one has always known them to celebrate in Hamaams, bath houses run by them. But one also found in the midst of the celebration, a couple of serious questions. One saw a participant stuffing paper into a plastic cover and moulding it into the shape of a breast. Was it anxiety or pride to look like a woman? Another tried gluing artificial hair with quick fix, which she believed would help prevent the neatly-plaited hair from falling. In the meanwhile, Peeya and Sonal chose not to participate in the habba. They wanted to be mere spectators. "We fear we would be mocked at, scorned at, and not taken seriously. We don't want our pictures in the papers. It is disgraceful."
The sari and the prize may have brought with them some sense of liberation, though it is not clear what the norm/reference for that sense is. The way Peeya and Sonal look at the world, conclusions on notions of "freedom" would have to wait. So, do they care about what other people think of them, or don't they? There is perhaps some ambiguity in defining themselves — some of them volunteered TV interviews on their bitter experiences, while some others seemed happy posing for photographs. But there seemed to be no ambiguity in terms of the need to be accepted in society.
Suhas of the YMCA put in a nutshell what the festival was all about: "It was an attempt to remove misconceptions about the hijra community." Roopa, a social activist, agreed. "This a step towards establishing hijra identity in society." Priya, a student of literature, believes that hijras are more human than the many so-called normal people.
Ann, a photographer from Germany, was thrilled by what she saw. She hopes to hold an exhibition of the pictures she took, back in Germany. he exhibition, one hopes, could be one among the hundred societal practices needed to give the hijras their place. The fest was a huge draw, for reasons of commitment or spectacle, is the little uncertainty.
NINA BENJAMIN
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