Secrets under the Ghoongat

She walked down the busy street, nervously adjusting her pleats, her gait awkward. The streets were filled with jostling devotees, all dressed in colorful attire – churidhars¹, sarees with veils and long skirts, their bangles jangling and shining against the hundreds of lamps that seemed to be everywhere. She could hear the lewd comments being passed around, but they were drowned by the excitement in the voices of the other devotees. She felt the long skirt of her saree entangle between her legs, and paused for a moment to readjust it. She supposed anxiety was making her clumsy, but despite all this, she was as comfortable in the saree as she would have been in any of her daily attire…

The first time Vikram tried on a saree had been three years ago when he was sixteen. He remembered feeling slightly embarrassed as he pilfered his mother’s saree and blouse, sneaked them into his room, locked the door and managed to drape it around himself. God bless YouTube. He remembered the thrill and excitement that had filled him during the time. The soft fabric against his skin had made him sigh and forget all his internal battles about being a male who loved dressing like women, but was straight all the same.

At that time, he had restrained from touching any of the bras in the drawers. There were some lines that he would never cross. Today, as he held the brand new bra straps from the tip of his fingers, he experienced the same thrill and excitement he had felt when he had tried on the saree, this time heightened because it was an undergarment.

“One would think you were looking at a bra for the first time,” Savitha commented from across the room, laughing at him.

He said nothing as he looked at it with an expression akin to reverence.

Savitha reached to his side and pulled the bra from his hands.

“Hey!”

Efficiently, she started strapping it around his flat chest.

“If I let you, you will spend the rest of the night fantasizing over the bra.” She hooked it and pulled the straps over his outstretched hands to his shoulders.

Vikram had met Savitha on the train to Kollam. Like him, she was travelling to attend the Chamayavilakku festival in the Kottankulangara Sree Devi Temple. The TT had been harassing him about the ticket printouts he had taken but failed to bring, when Savitha came to his rescue, her daunting enough for the TT to hastily accept Vikram’s e-ticket and forget about any bribe. Despite Vikram’s initial reservations about her, she turned out to be easy going and open, and he enjoyed the 14 hour journey from Bangalore.

“You need to be filled up,” she said now, and reached for a pair of socks that were sticking out of his bag. Balling them up, she stuffed each sock into the bra cups, creating an illusion of breasts.

“There,” she said. “Perfect.” She turned him towards the mirror.

Though Vikram felt foolish standing there in jeans and a bra, he couldn’t help but run his hands over the hint of fake cleavage that could now be seen.

“Okay, Vani,” she referred to the temporary name for him that they had decided upon on the journey, “If you are done with admiring your breasts, maybe now you can get dressed. Or we will be at the temple only to entertain the late night revelers.”

Vikram nodded and hurriedly draped the maroon-colored printed saree and blouse that he had picked up from his mother’s cupboard. He hoped she wouldn’t find them missing. He had been swiping stuff from her room for years, and though he had always been careful, there were times where she commented about the occasional misplaced eyeliner or earring.

Savitha had agreed to help him dress up today, and her makeup kits on the bed reminded him of the time when he had gone into his mother’s room searching for a missing T-shirt.

He had been rummaging through the cupboard, when he caught sight of a small glossy box on the dressing table. Recognizing the packaging for what it was, he forced himself to look away and continue his futile search for a T-shirt that probably was not there anyway. He paused and let his attention drift to the package he was determined to ignore. Who was he fooling, anyway? Giving up the pretense, he strode towards the dresser and picked up the rectangular box. With trembling fingers, he pulled out the product and unscrewed the cap. Looking up at the mirror and hand poised, he wished his reflection would stop looking ashamed and disgusted at him.

His mother walked into the room just as he was about to apply her new lipstick. She was startled. He was startled.

"What are you doing with my lipstick? It's new...I haven't used it so far. Couldn't you have waited?"

He smiled and handed it back to her. "I forgot to tell you...I am playing Draupadi in our college production... rehearsals start this evening."

He had then moved out of the room without looking back, forcing his beating heart to stay still. His mother had spoken as if she knew he had been using her cosmetics for a long time. He did not want to think what that meant. And he wasn’t planning to ask.

“You look beautiful!”

Savitha’s exclamation had Vikram pulling out of his reverie, and he tried to shake off embarrassing memories.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” he smiled at her.

She was exquisitely dressed in a turquoise saree that draped her slim frame, its pallu² forming a veil over her head. Her makeup was tastefully applied and blue bangles dangled from her wrists. Though Savitha was a trans, Vikram thought she looked more female than any of the women he had seen.

“Thank you,” she said. “You have not yet done your makeup yet!”

Quickly, she thrust a lipstick and a compact in his hands. Vikram looked at the items in his hand and had to swallow the lump in his throat. For the first time, he did not have to sneak and apply makeup in fear of being walked upon.

He gently used the lipstick, compact and other eye cosmetics that were scattered on the bed and applied makeup as quickly as possible. His movements were practiced and efficient, brought on by years of hiding and working, relaxed now because of his new-found freedom.

Savitha moved to his side once he was done and they both smiled at their reflections. They could be sisters for all the world could see. Vikram felt more normal than he had ever felt since he hit puberty.

He transformed. He became a she, and she wasn’t at all ashamed of herself.

Being surrounded by the others relaxed her somewhat. Calming herself, she tried to look confident. For this one day, she was what she was wanted to be, and doing this once a year would give her all the gratification she required. She wandered across to a jewellery stall, trying to act interested and doing her best to ignore the looks she received, ranging from curious, to disgust, to downright suggestive. Savitha had assured her that the nervousness would pass once she learned to accept her distinctiveness. She couldn’t wait for that epiphany to happen.

Vani couldn’t wait to get outside and wait to show herself to the world. Overjoyed with the simple scent of jasmine flowers cascading down her shoulders, she reached for the door, calling Savitha who was across the room to hurry up. And came face-to-face with her father.

Instantly, she stiffened, her hair falling on her face. Reality came crashing, and just like that, she lost her identity.

*

Vikram couldn’t speak and his mind was numb from shock.

His father forced inside, followed by his mother.

“Getting in touch with your feminine side?” his father asked sarcastically.

He glanced at distaste around the room, where makeup kits and jewellery were scattered around, along with different variety of female garments that Savitha had tried on and discarded. He levelled a scathing look at Savitha, and turned away, as if the very sight of her disgusted him.

“You should learn to clean up after you,” he said nastily as he shoved a folder into Vikram’s hands. Vikram recognized it as the neatly organized set of hotel reservation bookings and railway ticket printouts that he had stupidly forgotten at home.

Frozen, Vikram did not know what to say. He had last seen his father this angry the day before he had left for Kollam. As much as he would have loved leaving the house without a care in the world, he was still living under his parents’ roof and in college, so he needed to tell his father.

It had been just like any day, and his father arrived home late from work. Sometimes, he would have been drinking, and Vikram fervently hoped this was not today. Not that he would hit Vikram or abuse him physically. But verbal abuse was a completely different matter. The fact that Vikram had a sensitive streak did not help. Vulnerability of any form was intolerable by his father’s standards.

Vikram always had the underlying feeling that something disturbed him deeply. He had asked his mother once during the times it had mattered, but she had been vague and he was left feeling like he was missing something he was better off not knowing.

As Vikram sat on the sofa, his nerves on the edge, he tried to convince himself that this was nothing to be nervous about. He does not know, he told himself, he does not know you are going to Chamayavilakku festival to dress up as a woman. You are going to architecture camp, that’s it. Knowing that his father had no way of guessing the truth did not help, and he almost gave up on the idea when the front door opened.

“What are you doing up this late?” his father asked, placing his briefcase on the side table. He sat opposite to Vikram, tugging at his shoelaces. A distinct whiff of rum floated to his nose, and his heart sank. Of all days.

When he didn’t reply, his father glanced up. “Hmm?” he prodded impatiently.

Vikram cleared his throat. “Actually um..,” he started as his father removed his shoes and walked up to the mini bar and picked up a glass. Vikram’s heart sank even lower.

“I..yeah.. umm..how was your day?” he blurted out.

“Good, good. Why aren’t you asleep yet? Have any exams?”

“No, dad, that uh..,”

His father gripped the glass tightly and looked up at the ceiling. “I asked you something,” he said tightly. “I expect you to answer it!”

Viram’s throat went dry. Oh, shit. This was a bad time. He’d ask tomorrow. Mutely, Vikram turned towards his room when he remembered the tickets and hotel reservations folder that had the bookings for he had confidently made for the next day with what spare pocket money he had. He couldn’t possibly ask his dad for ticket money when this was supposed to be a college sponsored trip.

He turned to face his father and said in one breath, “I am going for an architecture camp this weekend. It is being organized by the college. “

 He slowly let out his breath and chanced a look at his father. His expression was just curious, not angry and he didn’t say anything for a while.

“Architecture camp?” he asked finally, looking down at the contents of his glass. His tone was normal, not unreasonable as Vikram had expected. His heart lifted. He was simply making a big deal out of it. It was his guilt that was adding up unwanted burdens. No parent would say no to an architecture –

He jumped as a glass flew towards him and crashed into the opposite wall. He raised shocked eyes to his father. He was looking at Vikram with the same blank expression, but his eyes were wild. It was that day of the week when his father decided to be drunk and unreasonable.

“Architecture camp,” he spat. “Instead of going to Sports camp, you want to go to architecture camp? What are you?” his voice raised to a higher decibel.

“I-I like architecture,” Vikram replied in a strangled voice, wishing desperately that he had thought of Sports camp instead. Fear gripped him as his dad took hold of his arm and started shaking him.

“Why can’t you go out and play like other boys of your age do?” he shouted.

“I’m 19! And I’m sorry but I just don’t happen to like sports –“

His mother had come out running. Vikram felt warm hands grasp him as he heard her yelling, “Let him go!”

Looking at Vikram’s terrified expression, his father let him go, muttering in disgust. “Scared of his own father!”

“Are you drunk again?” his mother asked.

His father whirled on her. “So what?”

“You will not lay a hand on him again,” she said quietly, refusing to be intimidated by his anger.

For a moment, he looked as if he might hit her. Vikram felt the hands holding him tense. It relaxed a moment later as his father stalked off to the bedroom without saying anything.

He was surely going to hit him today, though, Vikram thought as he managed to clear the offensive items from the hotel room bed. His father’s demeanor suggested so.

Warring emotions tugged at him, but he choked back habitual apologies and defiantly lifted up his chin. His father looked revolted at the sight of his shining eyes lined with kohl, and Vikram was suddenly reminded of his reflection in his mother’s dressing room mirror so long ago.

Suddenly, he was tired. Tired of all the lies, lurking in the shadows and carrying a burden of guilt that he now knew he wasn’t required to carry.

“This is what I am,” Vikram said to his parents quietly. “I know this isn’t what you expected, but-”

His father grabbed his hand painfully and said, “You come with us right now, young man,” he stressed, “so that we can do something about fixing you.”

“I am not a defective lamp that needs fixing!” Vikram yelled in frustration and shook off his father’s hand, years of suppressed emotions giving him strength. His father looked surprised as he lurched back.

“I think that’s enough.” His mother, who seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of finding her son in complete feminine garb, now moved to his side and faced his father.

His father’s expression turned furious. “It is your molly coddling that has led to this,” he said viciously. “The boy has grown up to be a sissy instead of a man.”

 “He is more of a man than you, “she said coldly. “Drinking and cussing does not make a man.”

“I do not drink to prove my masculinity!”

“A real man knows to accept himself,” she continued as if his father had not spoken, looking at him evenly. “He does not drink to forget himself and torment his family instead.”

His father looked as if someone delivered a blow to his stomach.

She turned to Vikram. “I know you think you are not normal,” she said gently. “But you’re just different. You have a feminine side that needs to be expressed. Just like your father,” she looked up at his father, who was now looking very pale.

Vikram gazed in shock at his father. He staggered back against the wall and bitter emotions engulfed him, along with a strong feeling of betrayal that had him withdrawing as a thousand silent words flew around him. Everything was a blur, and he witnessed his father drop to the bed like a broken man.

He dropped his head to his hands, and as Vikram watched with a sense of unrealism, tears started falling from his father’s eyes. His mother sat next to him, and his father finally spoke.

“Since when?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Since fifteen years,” his mother replied, her eyes shining too. “I did not speak of this because I was trying to keep this family together, and I was afraid how you’d react. But after today,” she said as she looked at her saree-clad son, “I don’t think it should be hidden anymore.”

Vani jumped as she felt a hand slide across her back and twisted around. A man, probably in his fifties, was grinning at her lecherously. As she tried to move away from his touch, he moved with her.

 “I know what you are,” he whispered, leaning into her.

With a leering smile, he grabbed her waist. Outraged, she narrowed her eyes at her “eve teaser” and was about to give him a sound kick when he suddenly let go of her. The man looked startled as he was shoved aside by another devotee. The devotee was dressed in a bright red saree and an expression of rage. Vani’s mother stood at the left, looking equally angry. Savitha stood on the other side, her eyes glittering dangerously in the light cast by the lamp she was carrying. Veena’s assailant took one look at the intimidating trio and scarpered.

Vani smiled at her savior. “Thanks, dad.”

Her father smiled back, and put his arm around her shoulders. “So, what was it you were looking at?”

“Oh nothing, just….” Vani trailed off as her heart sang.

For the first time in her life, she was happy. And Vikram was in peace with himself.

GLOSSARY

¹churidar – a set of trousers and long tunics worn by women

²pallu – long trailing part of the saree that can be draped over the shoulders