Noor| Komal Ishtiaq

Noor was on the rooftop, looking down. A weird feeling ran across her body, and she felt a chill in her spine. Below, the sweet shops, pan shops, bangle sellers, and the beautiful women standing there chatting with the men of all colours filled a vibrant scene. She knew that the girl would come to ask some questions. Her questions did not bother her. For the first time she felt an openness, even her darkest past, experiences, felt strangely liberating with the stranger who wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She found that place much derelict than she remembered. She felt like she was getting older with time. The place has lost its former glory and charisma for which it was famous.

Noor remembered when the girl first arrived to tell her about the project: a documentary about “the deplorable faces of the respectable community.” She was a final year student of Mass Communication. First, she refused to provide any data to her because she couldn’t consider herself deplorable, but later she realized that somehow she was part of that same ‘deplorable’ group. The reason is not only this though; she wanted to make her a part of her story too, which for the first time she found intriguing. She thought the girl had deep eyes with the truth concealed in them.

“Has she arrived”? the woman asked Rahma.

“Nah, Baji,” Rahma replied (meaning “No, sister”).

The place,“Zeenat Colony”, the famous bazaar, was known for its Twaif (prostitute) culture, but, so “respectable” person ever visited. Noor pondered for a moment, imagining how the girl would be daring enough to come to that place, despite the fact she was not among the disreputable people. She looked like she belonged to a humble background. She, too, had many questions to ask the girl. Yet, as the wait stretched on, the woman feared the girl might give up, deterred by the rough nature of this place.

A week later, just when she’d given up hope, Zeemab appeared in the courtyard. She’d waited for nearly an hour, but Rahma, knowing the woman’s short temper, hadn’t dared wake her from her nap. After all, Zeemab’s arrival wouldn’t have angered her if Rahma had simply mentioned it. Emerging from her nap, the woman saw Zeemab gazing upwards, her eyes devoid of the usual distaste or repulsion people, even regular customers, felt for this place. The woman, though pleased by the gesture, feigned indifference. “Ah, you,” she said in a shrill voice. “I forgot about you. I thought you wouldn’t come – this place isn’t exactly your scene.”

Zeemab responded politely, “How can I not come? this project and this story is very important to me”.

Before the woman could hear Zeemab’s story, Zeemab explained that she’d already recorded the stories of five other women, who had been relegated and led their bleak lives with the same resilience.

She offered Zeemab some tea, and Zeemab readily accepted. The woman led her to her room upstairs. The room was large, spotless, and well-organized yet still undeniably beautiful. The walls were painted with calming shades with matching light purple curtains were draped along the wall. The bed was comfortable with four pillows, two small and two large. The bed sheet was neatly placed on it. A closet stood at one end, while a small dressing table holding a collection of beautiful perfumes faced the bed. On the opposite end, a stunning little shelf with a glass cover displayed a variety of books, most written in English by renowned authors. Zeemab couldn’t help but be impressed. Zeemab couldn’t help but be impressed. The room spoke volumes about her personality.

The woman invited Zeemab to sit on the couch near the bed, while she perched on the bed itself, legs crossed. Rahma entered with two cups of tea and biscuits. After placing them on the coffee table, the woman curtly instructed Rahma to close the door and not allow anyone to disturb them.

Zeemab set up her video cameras and took a notebook and pen from her bag. She placed two cameras in front of the woman’s face but at different angles. Before launching into her story, however, she recited two verses that seemed to emanate from a rich poetry collection by Parveen Shakir:

Hum na hotay tu kisi ur kay charchay hotay

(If we are not there, then there must be someone to talk about).

Khalkat-e-sher tu kahne ko fasane mange.

(People need stories to discuss).

Zeemab, I smiled sadly and began, “My family abandoned me a long time ago when they learned I wasn’t like the others, especially when I did not fit within the binaries male nor female. Nobody in my family accepted me for who I am. I don’t know why my parents, or other parents, feared accepting their very own child if they do not fit the binary male or female. Though, at my mother’s request to my father, my family did not abandon me soon after my birth. I have just a faint, hazy recollection of my father and mother. My father had a stern face and a loud voice, while my mother was fragile and submissive. My mother might have assured my father that she would conceal my identity and keep it a secret. I was seven years old when my father left me at some place that was completely deserted without informing my mother. That was the last time my father spoke to me like I were his trans daughter and that is the last time I saw his face. I cried a lot for hours and my fate brought me here to this place, the city of Lahore, “Zeenat Colony.” I did not even know if I was born in Lahore or some other city. From that day on, I hated my father and that included my mother as well who had given birth to me. If I was not born my fate would be not like that. I did not have the authority to be born either as a man or a woman or a Hijra (Trans). Did I Zeemab?”

“Here I was brought up by Shanoo Apa who died ten years ago,” she continued, “She was a good lady with vile deeds, but she had no option, as she had to feed us and herself. I remembered when I first arrived, there were ten girls here, all were very beautiful like wax dolls and I was the youngest among them. Shanoo APA knew that I was neither a girl nor a boy, but she adored my beauty. She believed that I would be transformed into an attractive Hijra when my age would come. All the other girls loved me too. Ustaad Azeem Ullah came here to give us some elementary education and to teach us the Quran but without its translation. The thing that Shanoo Apa despised the most was the defiant attitude from any of us. At night all the other girls – Kalsoom, Farkhanda, and Memoona – would put makeup on their skins, and wear dark and embellished dresses and jewellery. As far as I remember Memoona was the prettiest among all and much closer to me. At night I was not allowed to come outside, so I remained in the room, while all the girls were outside. I could hear music and it felt like someone was dancing. The voices of the men could be heard. Though I did not like the atmosphere of the house nor its surroundings, I still loved the girls and Shanoo Apa who I believed to be my only family in this whole world. The girls came to the room at about 5 o clock during Fajar. I always wondered what did they when the music stopped at around 12’o clock. I also liked to dress up in the same way they did, but Shanoo Apa told me it was not the right time. Memoona did not want me to become like them. Whenever she went to the bazaar she brought me many books with good morals. She was the reason I developed an interest in reading. She bought me both books in English and Urdu. Ustaad Azeem Ullah had taught us well enough. Now, at least, we can read books and understand their meaning to some extent. Ustad had graduated from Punjab University. But, Memoona was not right in what she did. She planted the seed within me to become rebellious. As soon as people become learned they demanded their rights, which we Hijras can have no access to. Ten years passed, and Shanoo Apa’s prediction came true. I did blossom into a beautiful transgender woman, but beauty became another burden on top of the curse of my birth. At that age I understood the work done here, but I was not convinced to do it all. But I had no other choice because customers here demanded me as well. When I started work for the first time I hated my father even more, but the customers paid well which made Shanoo Apa excited, but she was not greedy. She did not spend the money on herself but us. I became accustomed to this work and accepted it as my fate and punishment for being born like this. I promised myself that I would not forgive my parents and ask God on the day of judgment to punish them just like they had punished me for the sin that I had never committed. But at that time I was not aware that it was just the drop of the pain that I felt at that time, ta much greater torment awaited…”.

“One day, a man of high political authority came here. He was the chairman of our area. People greatly respected him and believed he was doing things for their benefit. But he was one who hated transgender people and never believed in other genders. This man was Yawar Agha Saleem. He had a beautiful wife from a rich family and he did not live here but in a Gulberg. He had two sons and one daughter. He did visit our brotherl, but he wasn’t a customer, and neither did he asks for girls. Though he had affable relations with Shanoo Apa and he helped her fixed a lot of problems, especially with police raids etc.. Since I never appeared before him when, he remained unaware of my presence. He would strictly tell Shanoo Apa to keep the girls inside because he never wanted to lose himself in any sin. Shanoo APA described him as the most genuine person she’d ever met. He visited every weekend and Shanoo APA would greet him warmly. He spoke to Shanoo APA for three to four hours and then left. One day, I accidentally encountered him. I was walking towards the kitchen to make tea, and he was entering the courtyard from the gate. The kitchen was located at the other end of the courtyard. I stopped there because I was not aware of who he was and neither does it was it the time for the customers to come in. I asked him, “Who are you?” He looked at me, his eyes were large and wide. He replied, “I’m Yawar Agha Saleem, I’m here to meet Shanoo Apa.” I had heard his name and knew much about him from Shanoo APA; I admired him for his strong character. I had always wanted to meet him, and now he had come across me. I replied humbly, “She is inside, I’ll inform her that you have come to meet her”. He nodded and then went straight to the place where he usually sat. Shanoo APA came and signaled me to go to my room. She talked to him for more than four hours. He asked the Shanoo Apa, “I did not know that you also had a Hijra in your house whom you used for your sex business.” Shanoo APA told him, “She came to me when she was young, and till today she has been with me. She is beautiful, and customers demand her more than other girls usually.” “Yes, she is beautiful”, he replied. Another day, Shanoo Apa informed me that Yawar Agha Saleem has demanded to see me. I became reluctant and asked Shanoo Apa if he was not someone who would become lose into sin. She told me that it was just my beauty that had captivated him, and she also explained that it was the first time he had asked for something, and she hoped I would understand. I became excited at the thought of spending my time with him because I admired him secretly. However, I found it suspicious that he wanted to take me away from Zeenat Colony to his place, somewhere unknown to me, for a month. It was upsetting because I would have to leave my home for a month and live with a stranger. He said to Shanoo Apa he would come and pick me up the other day in the evening, so I packed all my stuff. The day came, and he took me with Shanoo Apa’s permission. I said goodbye to all the girls and sat in the back seat with him in the car. He did not talk to me when we were in the car. We reached the house which was located in a very deserted yet calm and serene place. When I entered the house it was pretty and elegant. There was one old man who lived in old hut at the back of the house. He took care of that place in the absence of Agha Saleem. What surprised me was that the man did not come to my room for three days. I thought at that time that perhaps he had brought me there purposelessly. For three nights, an old man named Aleem Khan brought food to my room. One night, he came near me, he put the pores of his fingers in my hair gradually, I liked his touch. But suddenly I felt immense pain, he dragged me by my hair to the floor. This totally surprised me. He opened his belt and beat me until I fainted. After half an hour I woke up, there were scars on my hands, feet, and face. My whole body ached and pained. I was afraid. He sat on the bed, his back to me. I asked him, “Why have you beaten me so harshly? Do you know me? Am I your enemy? Why the hatred? I thought you would bring me for sex because you adored my beauty”. He stood and his face was towards me, he said, “You were right I brought you here for the same purpose, but I would also impart the pain not only in your body but also in your soul so that it would remain with you for your whole life. You will remember my face forever. You know I hate your type of people like a hermaphrodite. I said, “Oh, so you are trans-phobic. I thought you are a good man with strong character, as Shanoo Apa told me, but you are worse than those men who came there for regular business. You are disgusting”. He slapped me so hard, that my nose bled. He left the room, but every night he came, he slept with me and beat me harshly. One day he burnt the iron rod and placed it on my back for an hour, I screamed for hours, fainted, woke up, then fainted, but nobody was there to help me. He said it rightly, all those scars seeped so deep into my soul that I failed to forget the face of Agha Saleem up until now and not till my death. One month passed, and he ordered me to get ready so that he would leave me at Shanoo Apa’s. I felt relieved about the thought of going to my home. We reached home and when I saw Shanoo Apa and all the other girls, I cried. I hugged Memoona so tightly that even she became worried about me because my color was pale, I was skinny, and scars were there on my face. Shanoo Apa also got worried. She told Memoona to take me to my room. I slept for hours. When I woke up Memoona brought the bottle of oil and put it into my hair. She massaged me and asked me about what happened to me. I told her the whole story. She too felt disgusted about him. She told the whole thing to Shanoo Apa who never asked Agha Saleem about what he did to me. Though she was angry about what happened to me she told me to forget it as it was a bad dream. I wanted to complain about him, but Shanoo Apa said, anger laced with helplessness. “It’s over.” I wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice. But Shanoo Apa was right. Power wielded a cruel blade, silencing the voices of the oppressed.

I swallowed my fear, choosing God to deal with the rest. The other girls needed protection, and I wouldn’t be another victim. Agha Saleem returned several times but I never appeared before him. A year later, he reappeared and demanded for me, his threats more forceful this time. Shanoo Apa crumbled, but I wouldn’t. I refused him point-blank, Shanoo Apa kept on insisting but I kept refusing,”If you force this,” I warned Shanoo Apa, my gaze unwavering, “I’ll leave. And you know what that means – police raids, bribes, the whole ugly mess.” She agreed but we would have face a lot of difficulties, more police raids, even more police bribes.. Shanoo APA held me responsible for all of this. After two years of difficulties finally, the chairman got changed. “But, you knew what Zeemab, though this was my place my place it failed to provide me with safety. The girls living here have an advantage over me, and my only fault is that I was not born neither male nor female as the world expects every human to be born as. I maybe a senior member of the house but I “Noor Begum” have sacrificed a lot and you know now I understand the true meaning of my name. I will burn bright, even if it lights the way for others.”

After Zeemab turned off the camera Noor Begum leaned forward, her gaze intent. “Zeemab,” she said, her voice low, “I have a question.” Zeemab responded, “Of course, you can ask what you wanted too.”

“You seem to have a kind heart,” Noor Begum continued, “yet you’ve collected stories from elders, from respected families. Why me? A transgender woman, a…” she hesitated, then forced the word out, “prostitute.” She then continued,“If you wanted it could be any other prostitute. There was nothing so special about me, and neither have I told my story to anyone”.

Zeemab replied, “I came here without telling anybody, And more it could not be anybody, if not you. You are very right that everything in this world costs something and you know I am also neither female, nor male. I do not have any space in these binaries. I was born a trans-gender, and though my family accepted me, they never accepted my reality. I went through many medical procedures and I grew up with a woman’s facial features. Nobody ever get to know my true identity. My father warned me not to reveal my identity to anybody if I wanted to live peacefully. I do not want to live in this confinement but I had no choice. I paid a heavy price just like you, but you did not need to conceal your identity. Just in order to live peacefully I sacrificed myself. “

However, it did not shock Noor because she knew to live in this world being neither male nor female you have to sacrifice something one way or the other.

Komal Ishtiaq writes for Indian Review.