Love in Transit

Image Source: Provided by the Author

I met some Trans Didis on my train journey from Nagpur to Delhi. It was a 2 AC, so I was wrapped in my privilege. They sat on my side-lower berth because there wasn’t any space anywhere else. I was confused how they entered a moving train around Agra, and they were sad because they had boarded a train after another group of Trans Didis had just exited the train after collecting money from everyone.

They asked me what station they got on, and I told them they entered and left. There were three of them, and they started talking amongst themselves, “sab loot ke chali gayi!” One Didi sat on the berth adjacent to me, where a young mother and her daughter were sitting. The little girl was drawing something, and Didi took her pencils and stationery and started drawing with her. The Didis in front of me started laughing, “Tu toh bachon ke sath ek dum padhai karne lagti hai.”

They then turned around to me and said, “Hum sab mein toh yahi best hai padhai mein. Lekin kaunsa school teacher banayega isse. Wahan bhi kahenge pahle ang ka certificate dikhao.” 

I noticed that the Didi sitting next to me had nail paint that was chipping. 

I told her, “Hmmmm, nail paint toh kharab ho raha hai.” 

She said, “Time nahi milta mujhe.” 

I said, “Main laun aapke liye? "

 She said, “Kaun se colour ka hai? "

This was difficult to explain because my favourite nail paint that I usually keep convincing my friends to put on is actually two nail paints. One is a base nude shade between peach and brown, and once that is dry, you have to put on a silver glittery transparent paint. I always carry both with me. So I was like, let me get it for you. I pulled out my bag and got the two nail paints out.

One of the Didis across turned to the Didi beside me and asked, “What is she saying?” 

So my Didi said, “Bechari nail polish nikal ke de rahi hai.” 

I turned around and said, “Arre ismein Bechari ki kya baat hai?” 

They looked at me weirdly and half smiled, still figuring it out. 

When I got the nail paints out, she said, “Aap laga do.” [MY FAVORITE THING! APPLYING NAIL PAINTS ON PEOPLE.]

I was sitting criss-cross on the seat, and I slapped my knee, saying, “Ajao lagate hain!” 

I started putting on the pale nail paint, and I think as I put on each layer, I became a little closer to her intellectually. They asked me what I do, and I told them that I am a lawyer.

“Acha… aap Advocate ho? Patiala House mein?”I said, “Haaan jati toh hu main wahan par main kaam kuch aur hai social movement and law se related.”

They nodded. I continued, “Abhi toh hum sab bohot pareshan hain Trans Amendment ke Act ki wajah se.”

There was an immediate change in them, and my Didi said, “Kitni ghalat baat hai Didi. Aap mardon ko dekho, koi kyun kahega ke wo humare jaisa hai? Humare jaisa hone ke liye feelings hoti hai. Koi Gay ho ya lesbian ho. Humein kyu doctor batayega? wo kaise humari feelings mein ghusega? "

The other Didi on my berth said, “Didi sirf ang hone se transgender ho jate hain kya? main 10-12 saal se apni family apne sisters se nahi mili hu. Mummy toh mar bhi gayi dekhne bhi nahi diya mujhe. Kaun karna chahega aise, kaun humare sath, humare jaisa rahna chahega. Humein toh pyar bhi nahi milta. humara ghar nahi basta. Sirf ang hone se ban jate hain? Kaise?”

“Humein koi private naukri par nahi rakhta, humein toh pyar se paise bhi nahi date, humein paise dete hain taake hum chalein jayein wahan se. main toh padhi likhi hu. maine 12th pass ki hai 80% aya tha. Par maang ke kamaya karti hu. Humne toh sarkar se nahi kaha ke job do. Humein umeed he nahi. Lekin ye ke wo humse kapde utarne ko kahenge? Passport par toh mard bhi likhte Male- koi unka check karta hai?”

All this while I was putting the nail paint, one by one in each person’s hand. By the time the glitter coat dried, the compartment felt warmer, as if the rhythm of the train had matched our heartbeat. One Didi wanted only the nude shade, another asked for glitter on two fingers. As I packed the bottles, one declared, “Yeh dono le jaaungi main!” We laughed.

Then, with quiet determination, she said,

“Hum Jantar Mantar jaane wale hain. Bina lade nahi jayenge. Humein toh aadat hai—na ghar wale pyar karte hain, na samaj wale, na naukri wale, na kanoon wale.”

They say love finds you when you least expect it. 

I still don’t know what station they got on or what station they left. There was no stop; the train was moving throughout. That day, love took the form of cracked nail paint, soft laughter, and shared anger at a system that calls itself just. My Trans Didis taught me that love, in their world, is not a comforting asset; it is resistance. To love, for them, is to keep insisting on humanity in the face of every rejection, every law that forgets its own promise of equality. 

I know that the law has betrayed love most blatantly through this law. It has policed who can exist without justification. For people like my Didis, love has never been protected by law; instead, it has been cross-examined, certified, doubted, and rejected. To demand love, they must resist, and in doing so, they remind those of us who study law that we are inherently their allies because it was the responsibility of law to safeguard dignity, freedom, and the right to feel in the first place.

I did not ask their names. They did not ask mine. Yet somewhere, between layers of nail paint and a moving train that never stopped, I learnt that sometimes love speaks most clearly where the law has gone silent.

Ayesha Nasir Alavi is an Advocate at Delhi High Court

{The opinions expressed herein are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect the views of the University.}