Three years ago, Khushi, a 21-year-old trans woman, was sitting by the Dal Lake in Srinagar with her friend when an elderly man approached with an offer: “Rs 5,000 for sex?”
In a rage, Khushi slapped him, and a tussle broke out. “People were laughing and shooting videos, but none of them supported us,” she recalled.
Though the lack of support still haunts her, she has made peace with the vile stigmatisation that the trans community faces in Kashmiri society.
As an amateur make-up artist, Khushi was financially independent before the 5 August 2019 clampdown post abrogation of Article 370 – followed by the COVID-19 pandemic restrictions soon after – threw her appointments out of the window. Khushi was forced to live off of her savings and small loans and work as a daily-wage labourer in Srinagar.
“I bought flour on debt. We had only tea and roti thrice a day to beat the hunger,” she said. “But soon we had nothing to eat.”
By the summer of 2020, Khushi was out of job options. Helpless, she then ventured into the capital’s Sanatnagar area one evening with Noor* (name changed), her friend and a sex worker by profession, looking for her first client.
“I had no other choice,” Khushi recalled. “My parents were unwell, and I needed money.”
In Kashmir, the marginalised transgender community has been pushed to the brink of survival, compelling them to resort to sex work. Persistent harassment at workplaces and on the streets, as well as difficulty finding work, are commonplace.
The community has long relied on singing and dancing at wedding ceremonies, and matchmaking for survival. But, many said, that they have even forgotten the sound of their voices or the feeling of dancing to the tune of the tumbakhne’ar, a traditional percussion instrument.
“We saw an increase in sex work after the first COVID lockdown. If there were 30 trans persons doing sex work earlier, there are 150 of them now,” said Aijaz Bund, a Srinagar-based LGBTQIA+ activist.
Based on a study conducted in 2018 by research scholar Yasir Ashraf, titled Transgender Community in Jammu & Kashmir: A Sociological Study of Kashmir Province, it was found that according to the 2011 census of India, there are 4,137 transgender individuals in Jammu and Kashmir, of whom 207 belong to the SC category and 385 to the ST category. The literacy rate among transgender individuals is 49.2 percent.
‘Abandoned by Family, Took Up Sex Work for Survival’
When Noor was 13, they started trying on their sister’s clothes. Upon seeing this behaviour, Noor’s relatives would call her laanch – a derogatory term used to identify transgender people in Kashmir.
“To avoid everyday quarrels, my father told me to leave, and I did,” they said. Noor, now a sex worker, grew up on the streets of Srinagar after they were abandoned by their family like many other transgender persons in Kashmir, loitering around the banks of Dal Lake.
Back then, Noor recalled, an elderly man cat-called them. “He asked me to sleep with him,” they said. Thinking it over, Noor asked him if he would give them money. “I was homeless and didn’t have the means to earn a livelihood, so I gave in.” He offered them Rs 500; for Noor, it was enough to feed themself for a few days.
Humiliated by their family and despised by society, Noor said they were forced to opt for sex work. Their struggle for acceptance has metamorphosed into a perpetual battle for survival.
Noor had initially gotten in touch with the transgender community in Srinagar and lived with them till they started earning.
“I took some time to settle down and started singing and dancing at wedding ceremonies,” said Noor, now 29, who lives in a rented accommodation in the capital city.
However, weddings didn’t earn Noor more than Rs 1,000 per performance. They even landed a gig as a salesperson at a readymade garment shop, but it didn’t go well.
“They [colleagues and customers] started teasing me and bullying me, so I left,” they said. Then they found work at a salon before they were fired again.
So they could never stop sex work. But it came with a ton of issues.
One evening in September 2019, Noor was paid to visit a client who was waiting for them in a parked car on a deserted road. The middle-aged man inside the car forced himself on them.
It was their 12th year of sex work. “I told him it was hurting because he was being harsh,” Noor said. “He said I had taken money for it, and I did not get to say anything till I satisfied him.”
The harassment is also both online and offline.
Over the past few years, transgender individuals have been using dating and social media apps to find clients. It started with Facebook Messenger, but, Meher, a 19-year-old trans person, said people would leak their photos.
“That is when dating apps helped. Grindr is the safest. Nobody leaks your photos here,” they said.
A few months ago, Meher found amulets, a charm usually used for protection or magic, in her house.
“My family wanted to fix me but there was nothing wrong with me. They thought the charm would help to take me out of the influence of my trans neighbour. But it wasn’t them, it was how I felt about myself.”Meher
Soon, Meher left their family and started living with one of their community members. “I had no source of income and no choice but to use the app,” they said. “My clients are sometimes metres away.”
With time though, Noor has now gathered a fixed clientele list that they share with others, too. “I have so many contacts now… of men from different age groups, from the 20s to the 50s.”
‘Even After 2019, Our Reality Has Not Changed’
In 2019, the government said that the abrogation of Kashmir’s semi-autonomous status would benefit gender and sexual minorities. This was only to sway urban voters who were attracted to Prime Minister Narendra Modi's economic promises but concerned about social conservatism.
“It was pinkwashing to justify the decision to revoke Kashmir's special status. It did not benefit the LGBTQIA+ community at all. There is still no department that works for the welfare of the community.”Aijaz Bund, a Srinagar-based LGBTQIA+ activist
Khushi said that the community has not made any improvements despite the “big” promises made by the government.
“They used the excuse of giving us rights to justify the abrogation, but nothing has changed in reality,” she said. Khushi claimed that the community continues to endure harassment from authorities and doctors, among others.
“They still mock us. No one has offered assistance. Even sex workers among us don't prioritise protection because they're desperate for money to survive. Our lives are ruined regardless.”
Matchmaking Opportunities Dwindling
On the banks of the river Jhelum in Srinagar’s Basant Bagh lives Shabnam. Unable to pursue education beyond the 10th grade, they used to enjoy photography and modelling, but those days are now confined to dusty photo albums.
Like many transgender women in Kashmir, 48-year-old Shabnam's source of income was performing at weddings and matchmaking.
In Kashmiri culture, trans women matchmakers are known as menzimyeors. “I continued doing matchmaking, and it gained me a lot of respect,” they said. “But I don't have much work at the moment.”
At weddings, they are esteemed figures, receiving warmth and admiration for their pivotal role in arranging marriages, from matchmaking to the culmination of ceremonies. They also find the freedom to dress as they please while performing at weddings.
"I never attempted to alter my profession," Shabnam said. "Though, there ought to have been a place for us in government departments… But where do we turn? Who do we ask?"
Historian Gulshan Majeed highlighted the historical role of the transgender community in Kashmir, saying that they have been involved in matchmaking since Mughal times. They facilitated conversations between families, he said, “They receive a lot of love and respect at weddings.”
Majeed underscored the discrimination faced by the community in Kashmir, noting instances of bullying and neglect. "Transgender individuals have encountered sexual abuse in other occupations,” he said, “they're vulnerable to exploitation.”
The historian emphasised the government's neglect of the transgender community in Kashmir and advocated for policies to support their welfare.
"They deserve financial assistance,” he asserted. “It's imperative for both the government and society to take action, including implementing awareness programs and offering employment opportunities in various government sectors.”
Shabnam expressed their willingness to even work as a sweeper in government offices if given the opportunity.
"We somehow manage, but I worry about transgender individuals who rely on rented accommodations. How do they make ends meet?"Shabnam
Bharti Dey, a core committee member of the All India Network of Sex Workers (AINSW) and head of the Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee, highlighted the common rejection transgender individuals face from their families across the subcontinent.
“They're constantly in survival mode,” she said. “Their traditional jobs don't pay enough. If they weren't discriminated against and marginalised, if they had job opportunities and equal rights, they wouldn't resort to sex work.”
Years ago, in a park in Srinagar, Noor and Khushi sat in silence. They talked about their lives and sobbed. “We didn’t realise it was morning already,” Khushi said. “I then knew I wasn’t ready to do it. I couldn’t.”
In the morning, she received a call that “saved her.”
“My friends called me and told me that they could help me with food and medicine. If I hadn’t gotten any support, I would have gotten into sex work too. It’s not easy to live the life of a transgender person.”
(Gafira Qadir is a freelance journalist who mostly covers human rights, gender issues, education, and culture. Her writing has appeared in publications such as Rest of World, The Daily Beast, Maktoob, The Kashmir Walla. She is a recipient of a Pulitzer Center Grant.)
(This story was produced as part of the InQlusive Newsrooms Media Fellowship 2023. InQlusive Newsrooms is a collaborative project by The News Minute and Queer Chennai Chronicles, supported by Google News Initiative, that's working on making the Indian media more LGBTQIA+ sensitive.)
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)