She

I was travelling in a Kalyan Fast today when a really tall girl got in, and stood stubbornly at the door. She wasn't rude, nor was she intrusive. She was just so tall that her head grazed the ceiling of the door, and no one behind her could see the scenery outside. I was standing behind her, very squashed and very astonished. At first, I noticed scratches that looked suspiciously like scars, and then a large burn, on her arm. Further, I noticed various tattoos on the other arm. Must be either a rock artist or an army officer, I thought to myself.

After a while, she asked us if the train was slow from Thane. Her voice, strangely, was deep and resonant. When we replied in the affirmative, she calmly took a packet of tobacco from her purse and started chewing it. I kept staring. Which woman who looks educated and travels by First Class would eat cheap tobacco? Here, obviously, my surprise did not stem from the fact that she was a woman, but from the fact that she surely knew tobacco-chewing is not very healthy.

Then, she turned a bit sideways at the next station to let the people alight. I gaped at her impossibly long - and obviously fake - eyelashes, dripping with badly applied eyeliner and mascara. Her face was streamlined, yet strangely masculine. There was the hint of an Adam's apple. Transvestite? I thought. A transvestite is a person who dresses like the opposite sex. My gaze travelled downwards. She definitely had a bosom. Then it struck me.

Transgender. And not just a transgender, but a man who had been surgically changed to a woman. She was the first of her kind I had seen, and it made a good change from the socially rejected ones you see begging on the street. I felt strangely proud of this woman who had chosen to be what she wanted - well, except the tobacco-chewing bit. It still was bad for her health.

India seems to be progressing, doesn't it?

Classes

I had a nice time with my gal pals the other day. Though I know Jai baba doesn't mind fluffy pillow fights and shopping stories (believe me, I did neither of these. Never will.) but- though they include a very interesting card game, jokes about my vegetarianism, and falling oover each other while wrapped in thick blankets - I won't go into all that. What I am here to talk about is my train journey on the way back home.

My friend lives in Andheri. Since it's accessible by the Western Line Railway, I had to go all the way to Dadar by Central Line, then cross over and double back to Andheri. I was tired enough when I got into the wrong train at Dadar on my way back, but after I got into the right one, something really pissed me off. A quarrel had started in the compartment. Quarrels are rare in First Class, but when they do come up, civilised women fight like no barbaric ones you've seen before. As usual, it was over seating space. I don't understand why the Railway ministers don't enlarge the Central Ladies' First Class compartments like in the Western Railway, but that's another matter altogether.

After a while, as I was waiting in line to alight at Mulund, I heard the girl who'd been quarrelling come up behind me with her friend. She was still ranting. I listened in (What? Admit it. You'd have done it too) and was appalled to hear what had really happened. Apparently, a Second-class-dikhne-wali female had got into our compartment. As always, the women in the train bristled at her and asked her to show them her ticket. Turns out she did have a First Class ticket.

The woman behind me had a problem with her Second Class behaviour. Angrez chale gayein, inko chhod gayein.

Are we really like this? I hate to admit it, but whenever a cheap-sari-clad, dark woman gets into the compartment, I have a nagging doubt in my mind as to whether she is allowed where she is. I never think at first sight that perhaps she is a hard-working, self-reliant woman who has bought her ticket through her own earnings. Some feminist I am. Until we change our mentality, progress - change - cannot be achieved. Are some prejudices so ingrained that sheer will power cannot uproot them? I am a feminist because I want to be one. I am a vegetarian because I want to be one. But again it comes down to Nature vs. Nurture.

For some reason, Nuture always wins.

Birthdays

Birthdays and I have a weird relation.

When I was in school, I was a loner and didn't have many friends. To top that, my birthday always arrived in the summer holidays. Consequently, I didn't get too many birthday wishes. My family, too, has no tradition of giving 'birthdays gifts', as such. They will wish you and prepare a delicacy, but they will not get you something you want or make your day special. They will still scold you or pick out your faults, stating the very fundamental reason: you're grown up now. When I was a kid, I used to throw a party for all the little friends in my building. I eagerly awaited the gifts they would get me...as those were the only ones I got in the whole year. They were usually repetitive: pencil cases, lunch boxes, colouring kits, and the occasional board game. When I turned twelve, I stopped throwing that one party. I got used to not celebrating my birthday. Not only mine, just anyone's birthday. I couldn't understand why it was so special to them, because it wasn't to me.

When I went into college, I'd just turned fifteen. The first few birthdays I came across made me feel insecure, wondering if there was anything wrong with me. Then I learned to be weird, to stand out. I refused my friends' offer to celebrate my birthday. I wasn't used to it; I wasn't comfortable with it. And yet, at 00.00 on April 19, I received so many calls and text messages that I was pleasantly surprised. Among them were some of my closest friends in college. From the crack of dawn, wishes started pouring in on Facebook. It felt nice to be wanted.

I'm still insecure; my family tradition still remains the same. If I want something, I have to ask. That's the rule. But I can't go out and ask for a gift. It makes me feel selfish. Gifts are given without asking for them. If you ask, then it isn't a gift anymore, is it? My friends make me feel loved though. And I love them in return.

I leave for Talegaon tomorrow. I shall be back by the 26th of this month. Till then, the blog is in Jai baba's hands.

Farewell to you all!

Loving What You Love

Blossom, commander and the leader,

Bubbles, she is the joy and the laughter,

Buttercup, she is the toughest fighter.

Which was is your favourite animation series? Mine was The Powerpuff Girls, and was because they don't air it anymore. Losers. Anyway, why I liked it is something I still don't know. And wouldn't want to. But I like it because it's hip, and fun, and liking it is so stereotype-bashing.

Well, since I've begun getting that itch about stereotyping, why are guy babies gifted bikes and cars always and girl babies given dolls and doll-houses? And it would be steep hypocrisy on the part of the West to say it's typically Indian (or safely, Third World) that that happens. Well, we Third World people (at least Indians) never categorised pink as girlish and blue as boyish even though we had, and we still have a million other restricting stereotypes. Like the kitchen being a NO GUY zone. And people pull a face when a girl's into cricket.

Just thought about a very complementing idea. Liz's  Pizu's Pizz's (and I advise you all to read it as Pizz's Pizu's Liz's) first post on the Groupies blog. Like, *ahem ahem* some great person *ahem ahem again* said, when you are born an original, why would you want to die a copy? If we all went by what the world wants us to go by, we wouldn't be humans. If the first person (not necessarily a man like our 3rd standard history text goes) hadn't thought of going against the current and making a wheel, it wouldn't be all the same today. Obviously, not all people in the Stone Age thought of wheels at once. Imagine. We would be going on square wheels today. 

Ouch, that hurts.