The Steel Pole

Who waits until they're born?

Sacks of dreams atop a fetus,

fetuses atop the sacks of dreams-

do you raise an eyebrow?

-Vijaya Dabbe,

Miruguva Gorigalu (Glittering Tombs).

He sees me dance and I can feel his desire rising. Fifteen years of experience has taught me everything. I know that if I sway my hips and smile, then I am starting a fire. I keep on moving my body to the rhythm of dhol, and the man that I think can afford me, starts walking my way. He comes close and takes out two red hundred rupee notes. Standing on his toes, he moves the notes in a circular motion over my head. Then he puts the money in my open palms. He hangs on to my hand and tugs me his way. I know he is ready to strike a deal. I order the music to stop.

"How much will you give me?"

"As much as you give me," he laughs and pulls me towards him in a hug. I push him back and ask him in my hoarse voice again.

"How much?"

"No more than three hundred, now come here," and he pulls me again. Three hundred sounds reasonable, but Gurujee tells us to always ask for more. It is true, we cannot earn like this all our lives. I have to think of my old age, when nobody would want a eunuch to dance. Begging will be the only resort after all, who would want sex from an old, loose skin hijra?

"That's too little, give me more." Now I know, staying in his arms is more favorable. So I pull him closer, and push his head on my padded bosom.

"But the rate here is three hundred," he resists.

"But then I am A-1 quality. Give me five hundred."

"Bitch, you are asking a lot," he retorts, but his head still rests on my bosom. I pull myself away. I know this will definitely seal the deal. He grabs my hand again.

"Okay, Okay five hundred it is, now come," he pulls me roughly towards his taxi, but I don't move. Years of experience have made this streetwalker smart.

"Pay me first."

"Whore!" he quickly takes a five hundred rupee note from his wallet. I am surprised that he didn't resist as most man do, but I do this for my own safety. When I was new, many times I was pushed out of the car without a single rupee given. Now I can't afford to be careless. I put the note in a small purse I wear on my stomach and then arrange my glittering kurta before sitting in his taxi.

He starts his car and drives into the city's dark alleys. I have no idea where we stopped. The only thing that was lit on this road was the flickering red and blue lights from a steel signpost. He turns on the radio, grips my waist and pushes my seat down.

\\*\\*\\*\\*\\*

He turns off the radio and I look at myself in the rear-view mirror. The taxi is isolated as if it was an island, and the silence of the still night is unbearably thick. The kohl in my eyelid is smudged, the dark red lipstick is rubbed pink but my heavy foundation stays intact, hiding a small growth of beard.

"You know, you are very beautiful," he says coming near to kiss. I move back on the seat so he misses my cheeks.

"Liar!"

"Really, my wife isn't as pretty as you."

"Accha, I am pretty?"

"Yes, you are prettier than all the film stars, I have seen."

"Film stars, you have seen film stars? You are lying."

"By God, I am not . . . you know the film star Reena, I was her driver."

"Hai Allah, I cannot believe you . . . really? Then how come you are driving this taxi?"

"Because I quit. I wasn't paid good money, not enough to afford you," he winks and lands his hands on my thighs and starts rubbing them. I roll down the taxi windows, feeling hot all of the sudden. It isn't the the first time I have felt these kinds of flashes. Salma, my friend tells me to go to the doctor sahib on the street corner of our area and get myself checked. But what will a doctor know of a eunuch's body, where everything is wrong.

"What happened? Why did you open the window? Don't you know I have air condition. . . let me put it on," "No, let it be, I like fresh air." I stop his hand from switching on the air conditioning. He does not let go of my hand. I let him hold it. For the first time, I look in his eyes. Big, brown and oval. He takes my hand and rubs it on his chin, His unshaved face spikes my hand but I keep on looking in his eyes. There is something there that stirs a strange emotion in my heart. He feels different from others.

"You have children?" I ask, diverting my eyes away from his to the steel pole holding the blinking signpost.

"Yes. . . four, two of them go to school. I want them to be doctors. They live in the village, my wife too, I want my sons to come to the city to become doctors."

"If your son becomes a doctor than you will be a rich man. The doctor in our area, charges so much that it seems a sin to sneeze."

The man who had just shared my body now laughs with me. I notice his jawline moving and its movement seems to be of a snail’s pace. Everything about him seems to move slowly.

"Where is your basti?" he asks after his laughter took a small death.

"Jinnah Colony, why do you ask?"

"Just like that . . . do you live with others like you?"

"I live with everyone like me."

He takes a pack of cigarettes out of the glove compartment. He lights one and offers to me. I decline. He takes a deep drag and exhales, filling the yellow taxi with smoke.

"So when did you start living there?" he asks with another drag.

"What is it to you? Are you taking my interview? Chal haat, I don't want to tell you," I say jutting my head out of the window looking up to the sky. There isn't a star in sight, the night is pitch black. The clouds cover the new moon making it invisible. His questions excite a sharp pain in my chest, as if someone had reached to my heart and squeezed it. Why does everyone creep up to my past? Do I have to slice open my heart and tell everyone about myself? My mother, my father, my younger sister. Forget it Dilo, they gave you away. The disfigured, deformed you. A twelve year old child, who was defined into an unknown sex. Why go back to the day your mother put your hands into Gurujees' and waved you away to another land, another family, a different life. Forget it, just forget it.

"Hey come inside, what are you doing with your neck out like ostrich," He flicks his cigarette stub out the window. I lower myself in and see him put a cassette in the audio player.

"You like this song?" He puts it on loud. I nod.

"Then come here," he pulls me toward his body and kisses me on my lips. His sudden grasp gives a jolt to my body. A pinching sharp pain engulfs my left hand shooting to my chest. I feel suffocated and trapped. I try to pull back and the more I pull the stronger his grip tightens on my waist. My strength begins to diminish, and within a few minutes, I lie lifeless as a stuffed doll on his body. My sweat drips on his face and he removes his lips from my face to wipe the drops flowing down his cheek. I manage a small scream and resign myself to my seat. The taxi, him and the red and blue lights revolve around me like a whirlpool. I cannot see anything clear and when I close my eyes, my mother starts revolving with me.

"What's happening? Say something,"

He shakes my body and I can only manage a single sigh. "Damn it, bitch," I hear him shout but I am too weak to respond. My senses get dim and the song on the tape becomes low. I reopen my eyes and see him outside my door. It opens and he pulls me out harshly, I land on the ground with a force and my head hits a smooth stone. I cannot concentrate on anything but his feet walking away. The car starts with the song still playing inside and its sharp turn throws sand in my eyes. The anguish in my chest makes me unable to move, the silence from the taxi's departure makes the place as empty as the starless sky.

I blink my eyes to let the sand out, to clear this blurred vision but all I see is an oasis with the steel signpost, flickering red and blue lights.