This was last year. In Chennai. Midday. I was walking towards a share-auto. I noticed someone in it – Neck length hair, green kurta and meaningful limbs.
As I stepped inside the vehicle I was shuffling labels – woman, man, boy, girl, hijra, transgender, cross-dresser, homosexual and a million other dictionary words. I could not tell.
But, there was a charm. The kind that makes you look again. And again. And linger.
The green kurta sat quite gracefully on those shoulders. Ear-piercings were visible but only the seconds had studs, two polite ones. The eyes were underlined with kajal. Those eyes were liquid. I struggled to keep my attention away, on the window to my left side. I knew they occasionally turned towards me as well. There was a certain pleasant tension in the air. It was a twenty minute journey. I got down and walked away into a peak-hour-traffic.
I yearn for a pronoun every time I narrate this person.