First Steps

I continued to walk keeping a steady pace. I took my pallu and covered my other shoulder, something I had seen women do, some kind of feminine way of protection, of cover. I did it almost naturaly in this situation where I felt threatened.
The car, a Tata Sumo, now was almost at my level and was cruising at my speed. I turned my eyes to look towards the occupants. There were three or four figures in the car.
Aay!...someone shouted from the car.
I ignored it and continued now at a faster pace. I had to keep walking straight.
"Darling! Kaha ja rahi hai?"
Oh God! I was in deep trouble. What did they want? Then I realised it was normal, for them I was a woman walking alone in the night on a lonely street...I was easy game for them.
I cursed myself for having taken this step.
The car drove up a little furthur and stopped...I was wondering what to do..should I run...but dressed like this I felt vunerable...they would catch up with me. I thought of turning around but I decided to go on on my way...anyways that was the way to my house.
As I neared the level of the car a man two men got out and came towards me.
"Hello Mam? Do you want a lift?" said one of them.
They were about 40 to 50 years old ...
They were now blocking my way.
I could see their eyes studying me.
Then a female voice from the car startled me. "Kya kar rahay ho? Chalo na?"
I looked towards the car a woman about 25 years looked out through the back window.
One of them came towards me. He studied me carefuly a smile appeared on his face.
"Chal hamray saat! "he ordered me.
My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to die. My lips were dry as parchment paper.
The man then took my hand and pulled me towards the car. I tried to struggle but i was powerless in his large hands and mainly in fear.
I let out a small cry...In my male voice.
The man was startled...he looked at me bewidered.
The woman from the car looked at me and said "Ye to Hijra hai!" She started to laugh.
The man got very angry that I had fooled him with my looks. I thought he was going to hit me when the other man intervened.
He came close to me and put his hand under my face and held it up as if to check it. he looked at me. My eyes met his. I tried to give a defiant look.
He smiled..."Hijra hai lekin chikni hai!"
The other one calmed down, he looked and said "To Rani, aurat baneka bahut shouk hai kaya?"
I looked at him angrily.
The woman came out of the car. She was quite pretty. She was wearing an black organza saree with a sleeveless blouse. She had long dark hair up to her waist. She looked at me from head to toe.
She said " Ye dhandaywali nahi lagti"
then to me "Kya dhanda karti hai kya?"
I said "Nahin", my voice was such a croak that it almost sounded feminine.
"Nam kya hai?" she asked...her voice had taken a gentler tone.
"Malika..." I told her, my femme name. I thought I should not give away my real identity.
"Kya kaam karti hai?"
"College"
The men were getting a little restless. "Chalo...!"
The woman looked at me and smiled. "Chal hamaray, saat."
"Mujhe nahin ana hai, please mujhe chor do.." I was sobbing.
The man came towards me " Arey chal..nahin to bahut marunga"
The woman stopped the man who was raising his hand to strike me.
"Malika, dekh ye log tujhe chodengay nahin, tu chal hamarey saat aur phir tujhe kuch nahin hoga, mein gaurentee deti hoon."
I looked at the men they looked very tough and strong. I thought for a while and decided to go with them. I did not really have a choice. What could I do?
I dreaded to even think of what was going to happen to me.
I looked at the woman and nodded.
The men looked pleased. The woman smiled "Mera naam Sunita hai, chal gadi mein baith!"
I walked towards the car. One of the men opened the back door of the car.
I quietly slid inside then man sat down next to me. The other man got into the driver's seat and Sunita next to him.
The car started and we drove away. I we passed in front of my colony. I thought of my family...God! they would be worried...
I hated myself to have gotten into this situation. Well, I had to survive...Thats all I thought of.
Sunita turned around to look at me. She smiled "Comfortable!" she asked me. "Dar mat...kuch nahin hoga tujhe".
The man driving the car was called Raja, he kept looking at me through the rearview mirror.
"To Malika jaan...aurat baneka shouk hai na? Aaj kay baad to tu aurat hi ban jayegi"
They all laughed. I was to petrified to get more scared.
The man sitting next to me held my hand closest to him and and pulled me closer to him.
"Sharma maat rani..dekh asli mard kya hota hai"
Sunita turned to look and smiled at us. "Tiger, ladkiyon kay saat thoda narmi say pech ana chahiye..Kyon Malika, ye mard log bhi!"
I was now sitting very close to Tiger. He had put his arm around me. He was tall and big. I was smothered in his arms; I sat there quitely.
Sunita looked at us again "Arey dekh, dekh! kya acha lag rahey dono, so cute!"
Tiger had now taken my hand and was stroking his genitals. Ugh! What was I doing? Stroking a man.I wanted to die! But I had wanted to be like a woman and I was treated as one.
I was not looking. I suddenly felt the warmth of what felt like his penis. He took my hand and made my fingers hold it.
"Chal hila!" he ordered.
Sunita turned to look. "Malika, tera mard jo terey ko bolay, woh karna chahiye. dar mat, ye hum ladkiyon ka kaam hai"
Tears came out of my eyes. I started to shake his penis which seemed enormous. It was large and stout. My bangles jingled to a tinking beat.
I, Malika had began my journey to become a woman.

First Steps is a transgender fiction short story by Malika (2002)

banalities

Last night, I opened a bottle of nice white chardonay.

I looked out of the window.

A couple walked hand in hand.
Her heels echoed as she walked.
She was very happy... she giggled and laughed.

I looked at them until they were gone.

Then I put on a silk skirt and a white cotten top.

I put on lipstick.

I put on some eye liner and mascara.

I put on my heeled sandals.

I hailed a cab and went to the night club.

I drank mojitos through long plastic straws and smoked my cigarettes.

I danced and I danced.

Then I saw him, he stood in the shadows.

I could feel him looking at me.

I danced alone, my skirts swirling, my hips gyrating.

Then he was dancing with me. His strong hands around my waist.

I could smell his breath.
I could feel his muscular body.

He held me close.

"I'm a transvestite" I said

He kissed me.

I took him home... and he loved me.

and then it was morning.

He was gone.

I can still smell him on me...














"Day after" Edvard Munch

Girl Talk 2

This is the second part of the ongoing story called Girl Talk. Please read Part 1 before from the archives. Enjoy!

Lynn and me sat in a salad bar. All that shopping had made us thirsty and hungry.

The young waiter came up to us.

“What should I get you ladies?”

She started to giggle. The waiter looked at me and then to her. He looked a little confused.

He took our orders and went away.

“Cute, isn’t he?” She winked.

We heartily ate our salads and drank our juice.

We had so many things to say to each other. So much time had passed by. She told me about her life and about her new man.

“Do you want to see his picture?”

I said “Sure!”

She opened her purse and showed me a picture of them. They were locked in each other’s arms, smiling. He looked handsome, he was tall, quite well built and had a nice smile. She looked ravishing, happy.

“What do you think of him?” she broke the silence.

I looked up at her and smiled.

“You look nice together”

She held my hand and pressed it slightly.

“He is quite a dish!” I giggled.

“Hey! Don’t you look at him that way!” she said jokingly.

We laughed.

I felt content that she had found happiness again. I had not been able to give her all that she had desired. I hadn’t been ‘man’ enough and right now I wasn’t looking or feeling anything close to it.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel jealous or sad. I had imagined that I would have felt differently. But somewhere I liked this new equation. We were friends, girlfriends.

We left the place and walked on the street. I had forgotten the anxiety I had experienced before. I was comfortable, comfortable in my skirt, comfortable in my high heels, comfortable to have my purse on my shoulder which gave me some strange support.

She asked me if I wouldn’t mind if she took a picture of us. She asked a passer-by to take one.

She then looked at her wristwatch.

“Oh my god! I’m late. I didn’t realise the time.”

I suddenly felt sad. I wanted to be with her, I wanted to be with my friend.

She must have seen that on my face. She looked at me and then held my hands.

“What are you going to do now?” she said.

“Nothing! Nothing at all”.

“Do you want to come to my place for dinner? I have a few friends over”.

I was surprised.

“Wow! Dressed like this?” I queried.

“Why not? You look absolutely gorgeous.
Then you can always change, you have your shopping”

“But… What about your boyfriend? Won’t he mind?”

“NO! I’ll ask him but there’s no problem, I can assure you. He is very cool!”

Cool sure, but I was a man, her ex, dressed as a woman. A tranny, a drag queen! I wasn’t sure that I had the guts to face him or the others.

“Come on, Malika! It’s alright. Nobody has a problem with it… except you”.

I looked at her and then at the world around me. No one really seemed to care. Everyone was going about their own lives, with their own problems. Once in a while if someone did look at me curiously, they would continue on their way.

I nodded.

“Yay!” she screamed.

“Let’s go” she took my hand and I before I knew it I was swept into a new experience.

I walked with her, the light breeze blowing in my face.

We reached her apartment which was quite nice. She showed me around. It was very tastefully decorated. I remembered when we had moved in together. I recognised the style as if I had been there before, but except for the reminders that there was someone else there too, the presence of a man.

She threw her hands up in the air,

“Phew! Men” she said and giggled.

She started to pick up some clothes and socks that lay on the floor beside the couch.

She looked at me as she folded the clothes she had picked up.

“You weren’t like this; you were so neat and proper. I would often say that I was lucky .”

“But then now I know why… Madam” she mocked.

That’s not fair I said all men are not like that.

“Ohhh! So madam knows a lot about men, I see”.

We laughed and laughed.

Somehow now we could talk about things that we had never managed to talk before. So was it because for her I no longer was considered as a person of the opposite sex? Was she treating me like a woman treats another?
I often wondered how women saw people like me, were we still men or were we women or were we some kind of sexless in betweens. Like the harem eunuchs in the old days?

So is masculinity just a question of desiring women? Thus giving rise to a certain tension between the two sexes. A strong power politics that both naturally play?

So once that tension or the threat removed, one moved into a privileged position of being confidantes and ladies in waiting.

Well, frankly I did not feel out of place.

She called her boyfriend and spoke to him for a long time. I sat there trying to grab a word or two of the conversation, nervous that I may get rejected.

I leafed through a few magazines trying to concentrate on Angelina Jolie’s new baby, the new mascara that gives you extra, extra long lashes and Eva Longoria’s lovely blue chiffon dress.

She came back and looked at me.

“Come! Will you help me get everything ready?”

I looked at her questioningly.

“He’s okay with it, he has no problems”

She turned around and walked away towards the kitchen saying
“Come on, girl, there are things to do”

We cooked and cleaned together. She asked me about my life or as she said my ‘new’ life and how I was coping with it.

“So, tell me, any guys on the scene?”

I said no, that I was sure about that part of my life and that I was happy living alone for the moment. She smiled “Promise me just one thing”

“What?”

“I’ll be the first to know okay! You have to call me right after.”

She jokingly came towards me, menacing me with her hands.

“You’ll tell me all the gory details. Promise! I want to know all.”

I promised her, but said that it wouldn’t be the case and that would live my life alone.

She told me that I didn’t deserve that and that everybody had the right to be happy.

The door bell rang. I froze, my knees knocking in fright. She looked at me and gave me a reassuring smile.

I continued to busy myself, washing the dishes. I hoped that everything would be nice. I just did not want to feel humiliated. And then I thought why should I feel that way? I was what I was and I decided that if there was even a slight uncomfortable feeling, I would pick up my purse and leave. I would be the lady I loved to be.

I heard voices but they sounded female. I started to dry the dishes, my heart was beating even faster.
And then they came into the kitchen.

“Look who’s here?”

I turned to look. He wasn’t there but here best girlfriend Louisa, was standing there. I hadn’t seen her since the break-up. She was someone I would meet very often.

“OHHH MYYY GODD!” She exclaimed. “I don’t believe it. Just look at you! WOW!”

I stood there looking towards them, my hands fiddling with my apron.

“Ohh! Let me look at you!”
She came up to me and looked me all over.

“Wow! Unbelievable, you’ve got it all right down to every detail. My, my! A real chick!”

She couldn’t take her eyes of me.
“Just look at him… sorry her, My god! Aunty has been hiding all this while, who would have believed it”

“So how are you?” I said mustering up courage.

“Oh fine darling, very fine!” she smiled.

“And you? Tell me about you, Sweety!
I have been hearing a lot about you but it’s something else to see you like this.
Your so sweet, Malika isn't it?”

"Yes! I'm Malika! I'm happy to see you" I said with all the guts I could muster.

She then came forward and hugged me.

“I’m so happy to see you too, after such a long time” she said.

I hugged her too reminded of all those years that I had known her.
Tears rushed into my eyes.

She put her arm around my waist.

Lynn looked at us. "Ok ladies! Would you like some tea?
and then we can show Louisa our shopping!".

"Yipeee!
...and then I have a secret to tell you girls!" said Louisa.

...to be continued

Trans Internet

I first ‘appeared’ as Malika on the world wide web back in 1998 and I soon discovered that were a lot of transgender Indians lurking around on the net. These TGIs (TransGendered Indians) were educated, from a middle or upper middle class urban background, English speaking or at least reading and writing basic English, they had to be, because they were Internet-wise. Most of them had either the desire to dress up in clothes of the opposite sex or had at least worn some garment at sometime or the other. Some dressed in the mother’s sarees when she was away, others sneaked in a bra or panty and wore it under their clothes in the night. A lot of them lied and told fabulous stories of their cross-dressing experiences. They showed me photos of them, cut out faces stuck on pictures of real women. A lot of them were married or had girlfriends and had children. Some were curious, others were confused and some even scared. Some wanted to find a cure to this ‘horrible’ desire that one had.

Here we in india were in Tabooland. None of them could talk about this to anybody around them. They would be banished from family and social life, forced to join the Hijras and ike out a living begging on the streets. So the internet had become the freedom space, it offered a vast library of information. The USian and Western European transgender person had come out in the open or at least on the internet. There were thousands of sites offering information on this state of being. Some gave half baked information, others referred to ideas that had been thought up by old Foggies with beards called psychiatrists (they who had even preached that these ‘sexual deviations and aberrations’ could be cured through treatment like electric shocks, I had been offered this treatment long ago) T-girls offered their “piccies”, dressed up in various feminine costumes to delight and excite the voyeuristic and frustrated TGI. Some gave information that we so wanted to understand our state.

Thus more and more TGI appeared on the internet in chat sites and discussion groups. Indian transgender/cross-dressing sites came up everyday promising to be ‘the’ way to nirvana for the TGI. Some of these stayed on and others disappeared, often I think due to lack of material to put up there on their sites. The photo situation has considerably improved with a lot of TGI now flaunting beautiful pics of them, dressed in beautiful sarees and make-up. There are secret groups and Yahoo 360° with gorgeous TGI.
But ladies, Photos were not enough. I think we are all looking for information or discussion or news about us.
We cannot just make this state of being into a self eluding voyeuristic escape. I am tired of TGI asking for my pics and wanting to show me theirs. I don’t want to see your hundred pics in sarees, I want to talk to you.

Just tell me who you are? Why are you and me like this? How is this affecting your lives? What can we do to make our lives better?

This is what I want to hear from you! This is what Internet is for. It is so that we can express ourselves in total freedom and anonymity.

Previously posted on Malika's Indian Transgender Blog

Girl Talk

It has been a long time since I met my ex-wife. My cross-dressing had finally killed our marriage. After years of trying to understand and explain why I liked to dress up as a woman she had decided to leave. I had been a painful separation but she was right I guess.

“I want to be with a man” she said “not with a woman”.

I don't know if that had hurt me or had I felt an empathy for her. I understand what she felt.

But that was a long time ago.

“Hi! How are you?”

“Fine” I said, a little surprised hearing her voice.

“And you?”

“Fine, fine! It's been a long time... Shall we meet?”

I thought for a while, was I ready to meet her?

“Sure” I said without thinking.

“Do you want to go shopping with me, tomorrow?

There’s a sale on at Mango, we could get some lunch after that”

I want to know all about you"

I agreed.

I was scared.

I had a lot of mixed feelings.

Did I want to do this?

Should I go dressed as Malika or should I just go in ‘the drab’?

I didn’t sleep very well that night but the next morning I woke up feeling nice. I had to go through this.

I had a shower and went to the salon. I got my hair blow dried, I got my nails painted.

The girls in the salon were always very nice. Some of the clients smiled, said hello, some looked away or looked shocked. The salon girls always made me feel at home. I told Sheila that I was going to meet my ex. She smiled and held my hand and pressed it tight. She said nothing but I felt that she had transferred her strenght to me. This is something I had never felt with my male friends... this was how women were with each other, a sort of silent sorority, a humaness so absent in the male world.

I came back to my flat and looked at my wardrobe. I tried many of my outfits. Skirt? Dress? Jeans? Dressy? Casual?

It had to be right.

I finally choose a flared beige flowery chiffon skirt, , brown sleeve-less top, my knee high boots. I did my make-up, light and simple. Just a little blush-on, some black eyeliner and caramel lipstick.

Little dangling earings with garnets, a thin chain with a garnet pendant.

I looked at myself in mirror. I liked what I saw. I put on my coat, tied a silk scarf round my neck and picked up my brown leather purse. I slung it up over my shoulder.

Dabbed Kenzo flower, behind my ears, on my wrists, a little here and there.

My heart skipped a beat… I wanted to call her up and say that I had changed my mind…

Then things moved fast... the bus... the walk...

I waited for her outside the shop… There was a huge crowd of women. Some of them looked at me, some smiled nicely, knowingly, others giggled. I always wondered what went on in their minds when they saw me.

Then I saw her coming. She had a huge smile on her face.

“ Hello, Madam!” she said.

We hugged. Then she moved away to look at me.

It seemed like eternity.

She smiled "Wow! You look very cute".

She took my hand in hers and led me inside the shop

"Come on, girl ! Lets have fun" She winked

to be continued...

painting "F e m m e d é c o r é e"

Oil on Stretched Canvas 33 X 61 CM 12.9 X 23.8"

by Vladimir Bourrec

previously posted in Malika's Indian Transgender Blog

So You Want To Be A Girl

I grew up in house full of men. My mom was the only women there. She would lament "I wish I had had a girl! So that I wouldn't feel so lonely.Someone who would share my burden" It was true, no one lifted a finger, she would have to do everything at home.
"Mom, where's my shirt? Mom where's my breakfast? Mom where's the chai?"
She would say she would have liked to be like a Hindu goddess with a thousand arms. So tht she could do all the thousand things at the same time. I would have liked to help my mom but I would not be allowed.
"Go away from the kitchen, you're a boy"
But so many times, I wanted to tell her, "Mom, I want to help you, please let me" But either I did not have the guts or the understanding as to why I felt like this.
And then one day, when everybody was away and I was alone at home. I dressed up in my mom's silk saree, put kajal in my eyes, put on a bindi, wore her glass bangles, her silver payals. I sat down on the bed and put on the TV, watched the TV serials that I would die to watch, the cookery programs, make-up help, fashion. I read her Woman's era and Femina. I felt like a woman, like somone I would have liked to be. This great day would become my routine for a few years. I would wait for days when the whole family went out and I would feign some imaginery fatigue or stomach ache. Now I was dressing three or four times a week. I became an expert on draping the saree. The gestures that I had studied watching my mother and other women became second nature. My hands automatically pulled the saree edge over my fake breasts, I would use the pullu to cover my shoulders, I would hold up my pleats when I went into the bathroom. I would tuck the pullu around me whn I made tea.
Then one day the inevitable happened. I fell asleep dressed in my finery and woke up to loud laughter. I opened my eyes and before me stood the whole family.
I frooze!
My brothers were laughing but were visibly embrassed, angry, disgusted. My father walked away mumuring something. My mother stood there, a smile on her face. She said " My god! You really know how to wear a saree. "
They all left me there on the bed. I did not know what I should do. Should I run to the bathroom and change or should I be brave.
My mom came back again into the room. She studid me and then sat down next to me.
"Why are you wearing my sarees?"
I thought for a while and then looked up at her and said " I want to be a girl!"
She got up. She said you think being a girl is dressing up in a saree?. I didn't say anything.
"So, you want to be a girl?"
She got up and opened the cupboard and took out a cotten sari and threw it next to me. "You can't wear a silk saree and do housework, my dear". She left the room. I sat there my heart racing, what do I do?
She came back a few minutes later "What are you doing? Change your saree and come into the kitchen, there is work to do".
I took the cue, I quickly took off the expensive silk saree and put on the 'house saree', an orange cotten one. I meekly walked into the kitchen.
My mom looked at me and laughed. Lets see if you can be a girl she said.

She handed me a tray with a teapot and cups. "Take this and serve them their tea!"

This was my mother's idea of womanhood.

I took the tray with shivering hands and went out into the sitting room. They sat there watching TV. They looked up at me, their mouths agape.
"Don't be shocked! 'She' wants to be a girl so she is going to be one, lets see how long 'her' desire lasts."
There was a howling round of laughter and sarcastic jokes.
But my mother was soon to be surprised by my resolve to be a girl.

Painting by: Shuchi Krishnan "Godhuli & Spring"

Previously posted in Malika's Indian Transgender Blog

How to drape a saree!

Here is a step by step how to drape a saree:

Step 1: First of all put on a saree-petticoat and tie it confortably tight around the waist or just 3-4 inches below (for hipster look)

Then take inner end of the saree and starting from left side three-fourths accross the front-waist tuck the upper edge into the petticoat. See that the lower edge of the saree is levelled with the ground (don’t forget to wear your shoes or sandles with heels preferably.)
Step 2: Now take the loose end of the saree around the back & tuck smoothly into the petticoat.



Step 3: Bring the saree forward from the right hand side and fold into pleats (7 to 10) the last one little broader than the rest and pulled up slightly (this gives a neat smooth look) and tuck them neatly and flat into the petticoat. Again the lower end of the saree should be levelled with the ground.

How much to leave for the pallu (the cascading end at the back) depends on the length that suits you best. Pull the over drape to tighteen around the hips and waist, take it up and place over your left shoulder in neat folds.

step 5:And there you are elegantly drapped in saree!

I love sarees!
ENJOY

Who Am I?

Closet queen, Cross-dresser, Female impersonator, Fruitcake, Drag Queen, Transvestite.
Well, All those names are for me. I didn't decide that.
All I know is that I wasn't asked what sex I wanted to be, when I was born. They just decided that I was to be a 'man'. So I just went about it, trying to be a 'man'. What did it mean to be a 'man'. Well, growing up with boys, fighting with them, climbing walls, getting violent, playing 'war games'. And then as a young adolecent, trying to macho and masculine. But, hey! wait a minute, I don't want to do that. The 'boy's' bore me to death with their bravado and their horsing around. Their stupid show of strenght and power.
BOY'S DON'T CRY! Fuck it!
I want to cry! I want to express my feelings, 'silly feelings', so called 'girlish feelings'. I want to play house with a doll. I want to be like mummy when I grow up, not daddy who just watches TV and grunts. I want to wear a saree, a pretty lavender saree. Tie my hair in braids and put 'Kohl' in my eyes. I want to cook great meals. I want to sew and embroider a table cloth.
FAGGOT! QUEEN! EUNNUCH! HOMO!
Yes I am one. I wear sarees, I wear make-up and I sew and I cook and I CRYYYYYYYYYY!!!
I don't have breasts or an hour-glass figure. I don't have a Vagina or a clitoris. But I am a woman!
And I'm happy this way.

Previously posted on Malika's Indian Transgender Blog