Writing this letter to you was hard as I did not know from where to start; the beginning of your life and that of this letter are quite similar in this regard. I know it was not your fault, it has never been, but I regret to inform you that you have no right to live. Yes Alisha! YOU have NO right to live. This little err that occurred in the fusion of cells during fertilization is the discriminant of your fate from the others’. In a society where people die for sons, how could YOU be accepted – the one who is both? In a society where the birth of a girl is storied as an incident of infamy and disgrace to the family, how could YOU be accepted – the one who belongs to the third gender?
Alisha, do you remember the days of your puerility? You watched other kids, wearing uniforms of different colours, marching towards their respective schools… while you just watched them go. You watched a bunch of boys dancing in the rain, dabbling in puddles, and singing songs pertinent to the occasion… and when you joined them, it was YOU who became the center of the crowd; it was YOU who was being watched. You watched girls helping their mothers in washing dishes, doing laundry and cooking food for their families… and when YOU stepped into the kitchen with the intention of helping them in their chores, they dispelled and, worse, kicked YOU out.
Alisha, it is amazing how a student competes for marks and eventually gets selected for specialised training to becoming either a doctor, or an engineer, or any other notable profession. On average, a typical qualification study requires the investment of four precious years of a student’s life, in some cases even longer. But the idea that made me use the word “amazing” in the first line of this paragraph is the assignment of YOUR profession to you without the requirement of any qualification. How that crowd fetched entertainment from you while you were dancing in the rain, remember? Was it in your genes from the very start? Or were you just acting like other ‘normal’ human beings but could only be looked at as a source of fun and divertissement?
For the sentimental fractions of this society, YOU were isolated from the whole population and made to live with other epicenes. For me, I am happy that you found the company of those who were very much able to understand YOUR problems. Yes! YOUR problems! How easily have we, the normal humans, forgone the thought of YOU facing any ill or trouble?
Alisha, I used to debate on the commodification of women in our society, that how a woman could be bought or sold? But when I heard about your ‘customer’ giving you those wounds, all my confusions got settled. This society, of which you were unfortunately a part, allots certain jobs to a faction, which is then used as a ‘good’ or ‘service’ and whose value lies in the paper currency with which he/she gets exchanged. Yes Alisha! YOU have no right to live for your profession was to entertain people. How could YOU be given treatment on your deathbed when YOUR only job is to beguile your audience? How could YOUR hand be held with sympathy or care when the sound of your ‘clapping’ hands is the only identity YOU have? How did you even expect the doctor to give you medicines when YOU can only be given money in accordance with your ‘rate’?
I hope this letter finds you in peace… for that world is surely a better place than this one.