14 April, 2026: They, Them

set in Patna, Bihar, India

It wasn’t because Father was witnessing an enigmatically dressed gender-bending person that he was in shock. It was because Father was in line for bhel puri and the person in question cut him. It was around four in the afternoon, around the time when Father was returning from his regular walk in Gandhi Maidan, and going for street food was his favourite thing to do afterwards. Normally there was no line in front of the bhel puri carts of Mauryalok, just a bunch of people crowded about and grabbing at food. It didn’t phase Father that a person came in front of him and took the mix of sev-lined and tamarind-sauced bhel puri meant for him. It was that the person slapped Father with the shawl of their kurta as they were doing it.

That was when Father saw how the hair was grown out, how much make-up was being worn, how small breasts stood out in the kurta… and yet the face was nothing delicate. That was when Father came to question the gender of the person he was interacting with. The realisation could have come to him earlier. As the person in question was coming the children were starting to stare, the couples were turning to themselves and whispering in gossip, and some of the men were giving openly lascivious looks. Father didn’t dwell on it because he was a doctor and used to seeing hijra in the hospital. He was also hungry, bobbing his head to the bhel puri valla to communicate that he very much wanted his food.

The person didn’t apologise or notice that their behaviour affected Father and that was to be expected. That was how most people were with him, young generation or old. Still, Father was an older man, and expected some modicum of respect.

And so Father looked away from the person, even as the bhel puri wala sprinkled sev over another batch of murhi and handed it to him.

Their eyes had to meet. It was incidental. They happened to be looking in the opposing directions at the same time and their glances caught each other’s. And because Father was angry at the rudeness of the youngster it happened to reflect in his eyes. This resulted in the youngster reciprocating the same look into his eyes, and then worse. He spat in Father’s direction.

This riled Father, and he shouted: “Tumhaare problem kya hai? First you cut me in line, and then this. This younger generation, older generation ke liye koi respect nahi hai…”

“Aap respect ki baare mein baat rahe hai? How can you expect any respect when I see no respect from you to me?”

Now Father was confused. He had not even interacted with the person, at all. He didn’t know the person, at all. Where would there have even been a point for him to show a lack of respect?

Father switched to English because that was the language he was most comfortable with.

“I am sorry. I do not know what you are referring to.”

The genuine calmness in Father’s tone seemed to deflate the other person, and they also asked: “What are you talking about?”

“You cut me in line. You took the bhel puri before me.”

“I didn’t notice…” Of course… Father smirked. He was an old short man. Most people rarely noticed him. He was walked in front of whenever he bought sabji, whenever he was standing in line for the train tickets, even when he was in the hospital or bank. He mostly had gotten used to it.

Come to think of it, he didn’t understand why it had offended him so much when a person of this particular appearance had done it.

Nonetheless it was the other person’s turn to apologise.

“Maaf karti hoon. I’m sorry. It’s just this trans bill. It has gotten me on edge.”

“The trans bill?”

Father had read very superficially about a bill in the newspaper, and he knew it involved hijras, but nothing else.

The person took a long sigh, and then shouted out by rote like they were saying something they had said to ten other people in that day alone:

“Basically back in 2019 the government passed a bill for trans people, and it gave us really good rights. Bohut badhiya rights hui. Now the government has gone back on it. If you are a kinnar or hijra or intersex you can call yourself trans only. Otherwise you need to get a certificate from the government proving you are who you are.”

Father nodded his head along, though, by the way this person was shouting and switching to Hindi, it was being made clear to Father that they wanted everyone in proximity to be listening in. Of course even when Indians pretended to mind their business they were paying attention to everyone else around them. Some men and women sneered their faces, others walked away because they wanted to be enjoying their bhel puri and not listening to a sermon.

Father saw how they were responding and didn’t like it. He felt at the very least they could also listen.

Then again Father had a son who identified as gay, and while Father didn’t agree with how his son was living his life, he wouldn’t ever want his son to be disrespected by another person just on the basis of what he did in his private life.

He had already disrespected his son enough when they would have their nasty arguments here or there.

As for this person, they were not Father’s son. He knew nothing about their life, who their family were, if they come from an educated background or not. He could tell that there were worlds of pain in their eyes. Given how much abandonment and rejection his own son had faced, he could imagine that it was infinitely worse for someone who was trans. People like this person were openly attacked often. It probably led to this person in question getting into a lot of random fights or arguments with random people even before they were being attacked, and for no particular reason other than they wanted to defend themselves.

Father didn’t know this person at all, but there had to be far more that would have had to have happened in their life than whatever this trans bill had caused to them. And if anything, that was probably why this law hurt even more. It gave the feeling that there was probably no one in the world for this person at all.

The person’s diatribe finished and no one responded to it, not even Father. Whatever emotion they had to let out had been let out for the moment. They looked around. The various people at the cart were still whispering to themselves or staring, but Father’s face was at still. The person rested their gaze on Father as if they were comfortable with him. A polite smile came out.

“Thanks for listening.”

Suddenly this person was quite polite. All of the bite in their energy was gone. It wasn’t that it was replaced by a kindness despite the smile. No, the person in question was feeling quite sad, and Father could feel it, even as they went to make a lonesome corner by one of the trees to finish their bhel puri.

Father finished his own food by himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about this person he happened to interact with. What a unique human being… Father thought. And Father had been through so much with them in just a few minutes.

Father wasn’t expecting himself to ask it, but he found himself going to that tree and saying it.

“Can I have your number?”

“Kyun?” was what was asked. It was a very natural reply. Father and the person in question had barely interacted, and whatever interaction was nothing but superficial. So why would Father want to speak further given that context? And what good would it give to the stranger?

Well, Father explained: “I am a doctor. Or I am a retired doctor. I can’t help you. But I know some therapist and psychologists and people. I don’t know what you need. But if someone needs a certificate at least I can help to get it.”

“Theek hai,” they said. They took Father’s phone from his hand, and they wrote down their digits, which they then called back. Father saved the number, and asked the person their name as he did so.

“I’m Jaz,” they said.

“Jaz…” Father remarked… what an abnormal name for an Indian. And how abnormal that it took them this long to even come across their names. Perhaps Father was shy because he didn’t even know how to ask a person like Jaz for their name.

Or perhaps it was because once Father asked for their name, it would be more pretext for Father to ask more questions, learn more about Jaz and their story, find a reason to intrude into Jaz’s life.

Father finished up his bhel puri and Jaz was finished with theirs as well. It was getting late. Mother would be expecting him, wondering why he hadn’t come back to help her with the peeling of the aloo and the cutting of the lauki. Father wasn’t sure if he’d interact with Jaz again or not. Even though he had offered help, they were still strangers to each other, and Father wasn’t sure if he was even in a position to offer help in the first place, given how little he knew of Jaz. Still, he liked a lot of what he saw in Jaz: the tenacity, the intensity, and the willingness to speak to Father. His son lived so far away from him. It was nice to have a younger person to chat with, even if they lived in a way so different from anyone else in Father’s social circle.

So Father waved himself goodbye. He thought of reminding Jaz to call Father if they were lonely, or needed help from a person who was different from them, but meant well.

He didn’t find it necessary.

Unlike the last time they exchanged a glance, Jaz smiled quite warmly at Father. And Father, feeling the same good feelings reverberating in his eyes, gave the same warm look in his eyes, knowing that whether or not further communication passed between the two of them, something was learnt from the moment, and something good had come to take place in both of their lives.