A Burning(27)

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LOVELY IS MY HIJRA NAME, which I was selecting at my eighteenth birthday ceremony. That was the ceremony where I was becoming a real woman. Arjuni Ma was taking me into her own bedroom and standing me in front of a tall mirror. She was giving me a golden blouse and a black petticoat to wear, and then she was wrapping a red sari around my hips. Her old knuckles and wrinkled skin were touching me with so much love. I was looking at myself in the mirror, making myself to be thinking of some jokes so that I was not crying. Finally I was knowing what it was feeling like, to be all the women I was seeing every day—on the train, holding children’s hands, cooking with ginger-garlic. They were all doing this one thing before going out of the house, putting nine yards of fabric on their bodies. When Arjuni Ma was kneeling in front of me, separating the pleats, I was true to god giving up and sobbing.

That whole night I was dancing with my sisters. The Bollywood classics on the stereo were making me feel like a star, like my body was silk and gold. Everybody’s eyes were watching me, full of admiration. Many of the sisters were having, how to say, eighty percent energy, twenty percent talent. But for me, it was different. I was turning round and round, and seeing the pink balloons and golden streamers like a film-set decoration. Even the dim tubelight of the room was looking to me like a spotlight.

    Only one thing was making me sad. I am still not liking to think about it, but Mr. Debnath has given this assignment, so. I was knowing that even the sisters who were smiling sweetly were secretly complaining to each other: “Can you imagine, Lovely has not even had the cutting-cutting operation! But Arjuni Ma is giving her the ceremony anyway, what luck!”



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A LONG TIME AGO, before my ceremony, my closest sister in the hijra house was Ragini. When Ragini was turning eighteen, she was going with Arjuni Ma to a dentist’s chamber for her operation. She was asking me to come also, and I was saying, yes, of course, so that after the operation we could be having ice candy!

The dentist’s chamber was having a sign saying Closed, but when Arjuni Ma was knocking, a man who was talking on his Nokia phone was opening the door. Inside, the room was partitioned by a curtain which was only going halfway to the floor. Behind it there was a small space with stacks of medicine samples on the floor, and a few calendars which were also never put up. On the topmost calendar there was a photo of a foreign baby with such deep dimples. I was almost smiling to see that baby, but the smell of the room, like a damp towel, was bringing me back. Above us I was seeing black patches of mold on the ceiling, and a narrow bed which was covered with canvas sheeting, like a raincoat. When Arjuni Ma was giving her permission, Ragini was taking off her pants and lying down on this bed.

    Arjuni Ma was telling me to stand above Ragini’s head and be holding her hands. Ragini was so brave. In my eyes that day, Ragini was a heroine. When the doctor was entering the room, his face was already covered with a mask, so I was never knowing if this was the man on the phone or a different man. Arjuni Ma was telling Ragini to begin her chanting, and Ragini was repeating the name of the goddess over and over. Chanting the name was supposed to make the ceremony blessed by god, and also keep the pain away.

At this point I was feeling a bit scared. I was holding Ragini’s hand tighter and I was whispering: “From tomorrow all the Romeos will be falling for you.”

Ragini was smiling with her dark gums.

The dentist was saying, mumbling mumbling, that he was having no anesthetic that day. How I don’t know, but I was having a gut feeling that he was lying. My gut was telling me that he was feeling nervous about using anesthetics, even when he was having them in stock. But without anesthetics Ragini was facing an impossible amount of pain. I was asking the doctor, “Why don’t you give her a little bit of anesthetic, sir, or some numbing medicine?”

    At that he was getting irritated. “You are doing the operation or me?”

I was having nothing to say then.

Ragini was interrupting, “No problem, what is some pain? Some painkiller I will take after the operation.” She was looking at me, like don’t make the doctor angry. She was eager to do the operation. So I was keeping my mouth shut.

I was keeping my eyes shut too. Just the sight of the blade was too much, leave alone the blood. With eyes closed I was hearing the sounds—Arjuni Ma breathing sharply, some liquid squirting, something metal hitting the side of the table. When I was opening my eyes, so much bright red blood was in between Ragini’s legs, I was thinking that Ragini was now a full woman. She was even getting a period.

Then I was thinking, Ragini was dead.

Then, Ragini was not dead. She was a ghost. She was not screaming, not crying. Her head was lolling from right to left, like her skull was loose on her neck, and she was shivering like she was having 104 degrees fever. Her hands in my hands were blocks of ice. I was letting them go and crying, “Arjuni Ma, see what Ragini is doing! She is acting strange!”

Arjuni Ma was watching the doctor like an eagle.

At last, with the help of many rags and one no-question-asking taxi driver, we were cleaning up Ragini’s wound and transporting her back to the house. For three–four days she was having high fever, and we were piling more sheets on her to sweat out the temperature. Finally, one day, Ragini was sitting up, accepting the sugar water I was bringing her. She was taking one sip and smiling. I was giving all my thanks to the goddess that day. I was believing in miracles. When Ragini was starting to spend the evenings sitting with us in front of the TV, dancing with her hands when her favorite songs were playing, I was smiling and smiling. I was holding her hand and never letting her go.