“Give me a little money, and you will be blessed!”: Savitha, Sangeena and Sathana don’t go unnoticed as they call out to the passers-by in the busy streets of Pondicherry. When they pass them, some men look away, others come closer to slip a note in their hands.
One month after having escaped her family home, Marthula dares to show her face on the beach of Ariyankuppam, in the southern outskirts of Pondicherry. Here, she is dressed as Ardhanarishvara, an androgynous divinity that unites Shiva (on the right side) and Parvati (on the left side) within one single body. This image symbolises the ambivalence of the divine nature: both feminine and masculine, neither male nor female, at the origin of all things, transcending gender distinctions.
Aged 27, Rossi looks for clients along the Semmandalam Kurinjipadi road
Srija receives a client who comes to see her in her room “two to three times a month”.
Savitha dreams of changing her life and ceasing to be a sex worker. “My greatest wish is for people to stop being afraid of transgender persons. After all, I was a man and I am now a woman, so I can understand both, I have feelings too. I wish we would stop being seen as mentally ill or compared to animals just be- cause our gender doesn’t correspond to the norm here. I want people to understand that we are persons who aspire to live their lives and be independent just like everyone else.”
Before her vaginoplasty, Geeta, 35, endured a forced marriage, and had a wife and a son. In this photo, she finally shows up dressed as a woman during the Nirvan ritual, an important ritual in the life of a Thirunangai. Hindu Thirunangais say that when people are born with a feminine soul in a masculine body, the goddess Bahuchara visits them in their dreams and asks them to emasculate themselves and become a Thirunangai. If they don’t, they will keep being born this way for their next 7 lives.
Savitha invited people from her neighbourhood to commemorate the tenth anniversary of her surgery at her place, in Ariyankuppam, in the southern outskirts of Pondicherry.
Savitha, 30 years old, never managed to find work despite her degree as a medical laboratory technician. “Even if you don’t work, you’re pretty, so if you satisfy my needs, that will be enough”, the boss of a laboratory said to her during an interview. She has been begging every day in the streets of Pondicherry since she was 18. She makes “around 300 to 500 rupees a day”.
At night, Savitha blesses a man along the beach for 15 rupees (around 20 cents). In the Hindu tradition, transgender people are the descendants of Bahuchara Mata, the goddess of fertility.
Savitha's transidentity certificate. Dated 2016, it formalises the transition of Mr. Balamurugan to Savitha Balamurugan, a transgender woman. It allows her to get an ID card and a voter registration card. In the spring of 2014, the Indian Supreme Court officially recognised the existence of a third gender, neither masculine now feminine, in aid of a transgender population estimated between half a million and a million people. “But apart from the possibility of changing my name administratively, I don’t have any rights, I can’t work or be respected as a human being”, adds Savitha.
Savitha's mother threw her out when she was 11 years old, but asked her to come back when she was 19, after learning that she had transitioned and had become a sex worker.
The private hospital Mahatma Gandhi in Pondicherry comprises a clinic specialised in gender confirming surgery. “In my opinion, it is not plastic surgery, but an essential act for people who suffer so much discrimination to have been identified as having a defect at birth,” said Saravanakumar, a surgeon who performs gender reassignment surgeries in the area. “This is not understandable for ordinary mortals and for medical teams alike. The number of doctors who treat transgender people is far too low compared to the demand. But we know that the quality of life does not depend on surgery but it is above all social and political.”
Aged 62, Pappima gets out of breath when she speaks. Aids wreaked havoc amongst the community. Pappima learnt about her condition 12 years ago, after having worked as a sex worker almost all her life. Now, she's found a job as a house caretaker in Ariyankuppam. “I started sex work during my adolescence, around 15. Before that, my father sexually assaulted me for years. You shouldn’t be a Thirunangai, it’s too hard. In my next life, I want to be like everyone else, a doctor for example, to help people.”
