“One of my earliest memories is of praying I’ll grow breasts one day as a three year old. Envy. I’d look at women in lingerie ads and wonder if my body too would turn that beautiful some day, if I too would one day run my hands across my chest to find..something, and run my hands between my legs to find..nothing. I’d convinced myself for a while that it would happen, but as I started to grow up, it was clear that pink, jewelry, heels, breasts and vaginas weren’t meant for me – I was assigned a male body and roles at birth. For years, I’d cry myself to sleep, wondering why I’d been created this freak of nature that had no explanation or space in everyday life and conversation.

For several more years, I’d struggle with the male body I’d been given, its bones and flesh beaten, bullied, invaded, modified with piercings and yet – it stayed alien, foreign. I couldn’t recognise it in the mirror, no matter how hard I tried. I’d call my desire for men gay, but it didn’t seem quite right. Performative almost. But then, the jewelry, make up and heels I’d long abandoned started coming out of the closet a lot more and soon, a clear path to freedom started to form. A clear disconnect between body and identity now so evident, it seemed there was a way out. Even more so with therapy.

One month ago, a medical student that has stood across several operating tables learning, lay down on one to be rid of her demons. I woke up with a tightness across my chest, a dull ache in my groin and several new scars. Just like that, the envy of a three year old had taken 21 years of pain and vanished.”

For the background, Trinetra said, “could it be of people clapping, like an audience? And could the background feature shades of blue and pink, both to represent gender binaries and the transgender flag colours?”

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