<p>ShilokMukkati, bright-eyed with kajal and expressive, couldn’t be happier or busier these days. She, at 21 years, holds the reins of a community radio programme (Colourful Kamanabillu) that listens to the voices and stories of the LGBTQ community.<br /><br />A native of Coorg and an Arts undergraduate, her footing’s in this city, her home and haven where she writes verses in Kannada, dances, hangs out with friends and lives freely with the choice of her identity as a transwoman. But Shilok swears that until a few years back, even the term LGBTQ hadn’t entered her life, and to go back in time is to recall a lifetime of experiences packed within those few years.<br />This is her story…<br /><br />“In my childhood, I didn’t dwell much on the responsibilities that went with the identities of being a boy and a girl. <br /><br />I helped mom in the kitchen and liked to dress up during festivities; I also played sports with guys. But several people often advised me to be more like a boy and pointed out what I did was a girl’s job! But for me, it was just helping out mom. <br /><br />When I went to watch films, I aspired to be like the heroine; playing house with my cousin sister felt more comfortable and natural. <br /><br />When I was asked to dance as Shiva, I preferred to play Parvati because I was more graceful and just couldn’t pull off masculine dance moves.<br /><br />I certainly knew what I liked more as years went on. As my femininity was out there, people began to correct my behaviour to suit their idea of the two well-known gender identities.<br /><br />Such instances conditioned my mind to think that since I was assigned to be a male, I should.<br /><br />At the high school I went to in a Coorg village, abuses came and chances for self-expression vanished. When many girls were given the stage to speak, I wasn’t considered because I was this ‘feminine boy’ who wouldn’t be any good. But I was so confident about my voice.<br /><br />When I walked to high school, I thought I was entering hell. But my pre-university days were a game changer.<br /><br />Because I was never given any attention so far, I wanted that now from my teachers and students. I assumed that my voice and my mannerisms made me vulnerable to people’s abuse. I made up my mind to indulge and succeed in academics so I wouldn’t be an easy target. This meant visiting the always-shut library to read books, and watching English films to learn pronunciation. And I aced many presentations and was appreciated.<br /><br />At home, there was time and space for introspection and finding myself. My parents, both government employees, were very busy people. If I complained to my mom about my schoolmates teasing me, she hoped I would sort out the problems myself. They didn’t like to encourage me with attention because in my family circles I was already labelled as a spoiled kid.<br /><br />Bengaluru days<br />“As a typical village boy, I stood for the first time in Bengaluru. I had decided to move out from my parents’ house as I sought independence, and I knew this would change my life. I was 17. Here I was, in the city with huge buildings, with none for support, and a college full of new faces. <br /><br />Surely the college seniors would rag me, I believed. From my side, I didn’t want to give them a chance to humiliate me and I decided to put on the mask of a man. Although I was comfortable being a woman, I was a transphobic myself! I feared abuse from people in response to my coming out as a transwoman.<br /><br />However, on the first day of college, when I saw a handsome boy in my class, all my preparations of acting like a man fell flat! At college, not one person questioned my identity. My seniors were super-sweet. Here I began to behave like myself. People were accepting of me. I began to write poems and even found that the other students and teachers listened when I narrated them. They were interested in what I had to say! I began to dance.<br /><br />It was also in this city that I, for the first time, confidently said I am a woman. I loved growing up in this supportive environment. And I have been in love with this city ever since.<br /><br />Personally, I know some transphobic and homophobic friends who have changed, who have accepted me now. When I came out as a transwoman to my parents, my mom assumed I was just influenced by the show I’m hosting. I understand her,because for her, it must have been like giving birth to another child.<br /><br />Well, acceptance is going to take time, but society’s definitely changing for the better. I like to say that my identity is not only being a transwoman... I’m a person made of so many influences. It’s easy to get stuck with identity politics, unfortunately.<br /><br />In the end, we die. So respect humanity while we are here. That’s what’s important. We have a beautiful gift: to love one another, to think. And we should celebrate that. Why complicate matters?”<br /><br />(As told to Shruthi Srinath)</p>
<p>ShilokMukkati, bright-eyed with kajal and expressive, couldn’t be happier or busier these days. She, at 21 years, holds the reins of a community radio programme (Colourful Kamanabillu) that listens to the voices and stories of the LGBTQ community.<br /><br />A native of Coorg and an Arts undergraduate, her footing’s in this city, her home and haven where she writes verses in Kannada, dances, hangs out with friends and lives freely with the choice of her identity as a transwoman. But Shilok swears that until a few years back, even the term LGBTQ hadn’t entered her life, and to go back in time is to recall a lifetime of experiences packed within those few years.<br />This is her story…<br /><br />“In my childhood, I didn’t dwell much on the responsibilities that went with the identities of being a boy and a girl. <br /><br />I helped mom in the kitchen and liked to dress up during festivities; I also played sports with guys. But several people often advised me to be more like a boy and pointed out what I did was a girl’s job! But for me, it was just helping out mom. <br /><br />When I went to watch films, I aspired to be like the heroine; playing house with my cousin sister felt more comfortable and natural. <br /><br />When I was asked to dance as Shiva, I preferred to play Parvati because I was more graceful and just couldn’t pull off masculine dance moves.<br /><br />I certainly knew what I liked more as years went on. As my femininity was out there, people began to correct my behaviour to suit their idea of the two well-known gender identities.<br /><br />Such instances conditioned my mind to think that since I was assigned to be a male, I should.<br /><br />At the high school I went to in a Coorg village, abuses came and chances for self-expression vanished. When many girls were given the stage to speak, I wasn’t considered because I was this ‘feminine boy’ who wouldn’t be any good. But I was so confident about my voice.<br /><br />When I walked to high school, I thought I was entering hell. But my pre-university days were a game changer.<br /><br />Because I was never given any attention so far, I wanted that now from my teachers and students. I assumed that my voice and my mannerisms made me vulnerable to people’s abuse. I made up my mind to indulge and succeed in academics so I wouldn’t be an easy target. This meant visiting the always-shut library to read books, and watching English films to learn pronunciation. And I aced many presentations and was appreciated.<br /><br />At home, there was time and space for introspection and finding myself. My parents, both government employees, were very busy people. If I complained to my mom about my schoolmates teasing me, she hoped I would sort out the problems myself. They didn’t like to encourage me with attention because in my family circles I was already labelled as a spoiled kid.<br /><br />Bengaluru days<br />“As a typical village boy, I stood for the first time in Bengaluru. I had decided to move out from my parents’ house as I sought independence, and I knew this would change my life. I was 17. Here I was, in the city with huge buildings, with none for support, and a college full of new faces. <br /><br />Surely the college seniors would rag me, I believed. From my side, I didn’t want to give them a chance to humiliate me and I decided to put on the mask of a man. Although I was comfortable being a woman, I was a transphobic myself! I feared abuse from people in response to my coming out as a transwoman.<br /><br />However, on the first day of college, when I saw a handsome boy in my class, all my preparations of acting like a man fell flat! At college, not one person questioned my identity. My seniors were super-sweet. Here I began to behave like myself. People were accepting of me. I began to write poems and even found that the other students and teachers listened when I narrated them. They were interested in what I had to say! I began to dance.<br /><br />It was also in this city that I, for the first time, confidently said I am a woman. I loved growing up in this supportive environment. And I have been in love with this city ever since.<br /><br />Personally, I know some transphobic and homophobic friends who have changed, who have accepted me now. When I came out as a transwoman to my parents, my mom assumed I was just influenced by the show I’m hosting. I understand her,because for her, it must have been like giving birth to another child.<br /><br />Well, acceptance is going to take time, but society’s definitely changing for the better. I like to say that my identity is not only being a transwoman... I’m a person made of so many influences. It’s easy to get stuck with identity politics, unfortunately.<br /><br />In the end, we die. So respect humanity while we are here. That’s what’s important. We have a beautiful gift: to love one another, to think. And we should celebrate that. Why complicate matters?”<br /><br />(As told to Shruthi Srinath)</p>
