Tag Archives: LGBTQ

ii. Sensing

There is so much to say, but I am feeling comfortable in silence. Maybe it is the awareness that I am gaining with each passing day at the university. I have been an observant person since childhood. But having access to university and a certain vocabulary is developing a sense of articulation in me, one that exists in thought and often in speech, but at the same time is silencing me. The silence that I observe now, is coming from a space of awareness, one about how indifferent people around me are, it is not ignorance, because that is passive. What I infer is a lack, a lack of action. They want to talk without listening, they want to write without doing their research, and they want to “contribute” without sharing the labour.

I am a first-generation graduate, and my presence in an elite space like my university is political. The politics of my presence exist in multitudes. Of these multitudes, I am aware of my caste position, class position, gender identity, gender expression, body, and race. Gender and class consume half of my labour pie, while the rest remain as unequal slices and some as few crumbs scattered around. Even though I am making efforts to cut slices of labour pie, at times it feels like the slices are melting and merging together at their convenience. With, harassments and prejudices (even unintentional ones) are demanding constant space, and so is the healing process. Amidst all of it, I am aiming to reach the submission deadlines of my courses and my part-time jobs.

It is humorous to realize that a system that claims to thrive on merit is one of the most incompetent ones that exist when it comes to encompassing the resource management and skills that go into dealing with obstacles sourced from inequalities that our textbooks are yet to contain. When your commute to work has more insights to offer than your textbooks, learning naturally takes a back seat on the ride. Rather, you feel like taking the wheels in your hands and just taking the next exit before you are stuck in the traffic of conformists who are speeding to the flyover, overlooking the realities that they get to overtake. My gender dysphoria is one such reality. Often reflected at the intersections of the traffic signals, you might see some individuals who are applauding their way through dysphoria while collecting the petty in loose change and pity in the lack of it. I am not one of them, I share dysphoria with them, but I don’t share many of their struggles, and neither do they have enough privileges to access my struggles. However, I do have access to the flyover, and I want to take the diversion. But I can’t because most of the time, conformity is where security for bread, butter and shelter lies. I am only beginning to interpret my dysphoria now, even though I have lived through it in most of my memories. I can sense a constant effort in my consciousness, all the while acknowledging all the coping that happens there instantaneously. It’s literally a matter of time, until what now is coping is deferred into a painful confrontation, grief, and finally acceptance. 

– Cynthia Linwoods.

Chapter I – Born Into

This is a tale, unlike another grandma/ grandpa tales you would have heard. In fact, here the binaries of life break. So, once upon a time, not so long ago; in fact, on the 7th of October 1997, that’s when it all began. At least for me, I was born in Thrissur, Kerala. I was born into a typical Malayali, Hindu, Ezhava family. Along with being Indian, these were the labels I was assigned at the time of my birth. Accompanying them came along another label. This was an actual game-changer; being assigned male at birth. You see, this title alone has a lot of privileges attached to it for sure. These privileges exist on the social end. It doesn’t matter which part of the world you are born in; these privileges exist to some degree or another. Like a contract, there are certain conditions for you to have these privileges. And one of them is to stay a male and that too a masculine one. Well for me the maintenance was over as soon as my sense of identity developed. I wonder how many of us have heard of intersectionality. I heard about it recently, during a pandemic read among the triggering news of course! There is a sense of privilege when in power, especially when in masses. In my case being Hindu is a relief. Since it freed me from facing religion-based violence from the majority. Here I belong to the majority. Since that violence is not my tale’s part, I would leave it for someone who is experiencing it, to say about it. On the list, next is cast and colour. Let’s focus on caste first, since colour, hair, and size need a chapter of their own.

Being born into the Ezhava caste had its own good values. My maternal grandpa and uncle were huge believers of Sri Narayana Guru. Like most of the other community members. In fact, even I like that man’s ideology of one religion, one caste, and one God. Hello but the irony is that none of his followers; or let’s say most of his believers don’t follow this ideology. Rather they use his ideology to cloak their propaganda and many have succeeded. You may investigate the history if you want to verify it. But what if historians told history the way the narrator wanted it to tell it, so whom do we trust? I don’t know and it is a valid answer. Not knowing something should be valid, but one thing I know for sure is that we need to see each other as humans. Free of titles and roles of any kind. It might sound ideal, but if we speak for ourselves and act for the larger change it doesn’t seem to be unattainable.

As the list continues, financial status is a big deciding factor. We hear money is shallow, materialistic, can’t buy happiness, and whatnot. Money is an essential and may decide your privilege. Especially in respect of power and access to spaces and institutions. Not only institutions of education, but also social institutions of marriage and family. Some demonize money, while some glorify it alone. I don’t know if I fit in that binary either. Being born into a family of government servants, life was hard but not worst. This is something I am grateful for, not because I’ve seen many who don’t have it. But because it gives me a scope to achieve on my own for myself and my folks. My dad was employed in defence and mom was busy making a home. She was being both my mom and dad as he was always serving the nation. Him not being around is something she blames as a reason among the others. The others for my identity being the way it is “due to the lack of a male influence”.

– Cynthia Linwoods.

Prologue

This is neither a start nor an end. But, since I am telling you my story from this juncture, let it be the prologue. The prologue to my past and my present. Here there is no room for the future because I am done planning the uncertainty. Yet, you and I both know that we will continue to do so. The stories I tell from now on, are parts of mine and that of others. By others I mean, those whom my life’s course has affected and who have affected mine. This is not a place to blame, neither is it one to reason. It’s a narrative; a narrative of personal multitudes and hearsays. I don’t know if I am being brave by sharing my version of the truth. Or if I am being a coward doing it all under the cloak of a pen name, if not absolute then for partial discretion.

There is hope, I won’t deny that, or else why would I try to document? I chose to narrate so that you would simply listen. I tried talking, conversing, debating, and even quarrelling and arguing at times. Yet none of them seems to work. So, I will narrate my story of being born in Kerala and then growing up anywhere but Kerala, carrying the burden of cultural shock, shame, and pride. My story of being a girl and growing into a woman while occupying a body that was assigned male at birth. My story of dealing with casteism at home, even though I seldom found casteist oppressors outside. My story of growing up in defence campuses and yet feeling defenceless. And then transitioning into civilian life. Along with all these stories of mine, there will be those of people with whom I felt closely associated. Even though our struggles were poles apart, I could see some universal similarities in them. Or maybe I was simply coping by seeing what I wanted to see so that I felt like I belonged.

– Cynthia Linwoods.