It is 4 pm in Bengaluru, the capital of India’s southern state of Karnataka.
At a busy intersection, two trans women, Khusboo and Madhavi, are resting against a railing on the sidewalk. Neither use their familial surnames and ask to be called by their community-given single names, or mononyms.
The women are dressed in traditional saris and jewellery, each wearing a bindi. Khusboo’s saree is vivid cerise and lined with gold trimming. Madhavi’s is a regal purple and delicately patterned in silver and white.
At a nearby intersection, the traffic lights turn red and hundreds of vehicles grind to a halt. Khusboo and Madhavi step out from the kerb.
They weave between the maze of cars, rickshaws and motorcycles, tapping on windows to beg commuters for spare change.
“While I am begging, they give me weird looks,” says Khusboo, gesturing to her sari.
“No-one gives us anything,” Madhavi says.
“They give us a rupee or two.”
Madhavi has been coming to this spot every day for the past five years and says she makes between 500 – 1000 rupees a week. That equates to around $10 - $20 Australian dollars, and barely covers the cost of rent.
“There are no other job opportunities. No-one wants to hire people like us,” says Madhavi.
According to the last , 4.8 million Indians identify as transgender. Proportionate to the total population, they account for less than one per cent.
In India, transgender people are still highly ostracised. Many face rejection from their families, workplaces, and communities and are forced to turn to sex work or begging for survival.
Khusboo pulls at a corner of her saree and dabs her eyes with it.
“Even our parents have disowned us,” she says.
“My mother has asked me not to return home ever.”
In September, the Supreme Court overturned Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code which criminalised homosexuality. While the ruling was widely celebrated by the LGBTIQ+ community, for Khusboo and Madhavi, the change is imperceptible.
“It doesn’t make a difference to us. You think we are free birds? That is not true,” Khusboo said.
Like Madhavi, Khusboo begs on the street during the day. In the evenings, she earns extra cash as a sex worker, making between 200 to 300 rupees a night.
Khusboo says the work is dangerous, but she needs the money to cover her rent.
“Even yesterday, a police officer abused me,” she said. “He started beating me. I fought back, saying it is my body, I can do whatever I want with it!”
Up until 2017, the Karnataka Police Act (KPA) included for the policing of transgender people under Section 36(A). Transgender people were referred to as ‘eunuchs’, and police were authorised to keep a register of personal information on trans-identifying people in their local district.
Uma, the Executive Director of Jeeva said, “Transgender people are very visible in Indian society.”
Jeeva is a Bengaluru-based LGBTIQ+ advocacy group which contributed to a submission to repeal the KPA provision on the grounds that it was unconstitutional.
Uma, who also prefers to use a mononym, identifies as trans and says that, while the provision was , overpolicing of trans-identifying people in Karnataka is an ongoing issue.
“Transgender people are the most targeted,” she said.
“Other members of the LGBTIQ+ community can hide their identity to some degree. They still face discrimination and stigmatisation, but unlike [trans people], they can get jobs and are accepted in the mainstream.”
In Uma’s experience, even though trans people are able to access formal employment, they are subjected to sexual harassment and assault.
“We have no recourse,” Uma says. “If I am assaulted at work, I cannot go to my manager or supervisor because they will just ask why I am behaving like a girl and tell me to behave like a man.”
She says that although the Supreme Court judgment is an important step toward equal rights and respect, “the government needs to take responsibility and sensitise the public."
Mannappa is the State Coordinator of the Karnataka Sexual Minorities Forum (KSMF), which works alongside Jeeva and other advocacy groups in the region.
Uma, Executive Director of LGBTIQ+ advocacy group Jeeva. Source: Anna Freeland
Mannappa says that, although the LGBTIQ+ community is still struggling with discrimination, the September ruling has enabled greater opportunity for engagement with the broader public.
“We have been fighting to change Section 377 for 150 years. Now the judgment is out, we have the chance to change our life and educate the masses,” Mannappa says.
KSMF’s remit centres around advocacy and civic action, but also includes educational initiatives for members of the LGBTIQ+ community which seek to build awareness about existing laws, rights and access to support services.
“As generations change, problems change with it. Twenty years ago, we were unable to even talk with the public,” Mannappa says.
“Now, things are a little better.”
Mannappa says the ruling has bridged a gap in the public discourse in India and now there is a sense that LGBTIQ+ people can talk openly about the issues affecting them.
“Only if the public is educated can things change. We still have a long way to go,” Mannappa says.
“I personally don’t see a shift in the mindset,” said Anurag Nair, a genderqueer 26-year-old with a Master’s in Psychology.
Mannappa, State Coordinator of the Karnataka Sexual Minorities Forum. (Photo: Anna Freeland) Source: Anna Freeland
Anurag aspires to become a clinical psychologist and work with the LGBTIQ+ community to address issues around mental health and wellbeing.
“There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done,” Anurag says.
“I’d like to see sex education properly implemented in India, to include discussion of sexual orientation and gender identities. Nepal has had that for years, and if Nepal can do it, we can do it too.”
For several years, India and much of Asia have looked on at neighbouring in LGBTIQ+ rights. Notwithstanding its own challenges, the Nepalese government has since 2007 recognised a third gender, and in 2015 to include protections for LGBTIQ+ people.
In India, it has been the judiciary rather than the government which has slowly begun to usher in change. With the recent changes to Section 377, the Indian LGBTIQ+ community are now facing a similar predicament to their Nepalese counterparts, whereby the rights and freedoms enshrined in law are than in practice.
Anurag says that, in India, public support for the LGBTIQ+ community is still considered anti to traditional cultural norms.
Anurag Nair, a Psychology graduate from Bengaluru who identifies as genderqueer. (Photo: Anna Freeland) Source: Anna Freeland
“At the highest levels of government here, you don’t see a lot of openness to suggestions from the queer community,” Anurag says.
“If the public could open their minds a little bit, we are ready to meet them.”
When asked whether India will embrace marriage equality in their lifetime, Anurag said, “I don’t think so.”
“I would love that, but I think there would be riots in India,” they said.
Uma is more hopeful.
“Definitely. If I cannot get married to my partner, then what kind of equality are we talking about?” she said.
“We have to hold on to our dream.”
With thanks to Akanksha Kashyap for translation and additional reporting.
The author travelled to India as part of , a University of Technology Sydney (UTS) programme supported by the New Colombo Plan (NCP) mobility grants.
