Bullied by the Eunuchs

On a recent afternoon, as I stood surrounded by a dozen workers hammering, sawing and drilling in my new apartment, they materialized out of nowhere, two sari-clad women with suspiciously mannish features.

The taller one had a broad face, a big nose and a purple sari -- a color I like, but not on her. The other was thin, almost bird like, in every way: face, body, voice. Something about their manner, or their rather harsh, heavily made-up look, put me on guard.

"Yes?" I said cautiously.

The tall one launched into a stream of Hindi. Newly posted to India, I know little of the language. But one word I did recognize, baksheesh (tip), clued me in to what was going on -- that and the fact that the voice repeating it over and over was a richer baritone than mine. I was being hit up for a handout by one of this country's many hijras.

They are eunuchs or otherwise transgendered people by birth, accident or choice. Something between male and female, they are shunned by Indian society as unclean. Many make a rough living through prostitution or by crashing weddings, birthday parties and other festive occasions, threatening to disrupt the celebrations with vulgar behavior and to bring bad luck unless they are paid off.

And now they were in my living room.

I don't know how they found me, but I didn't want to provoke them; some hijras are known to grow violent, and the bigger one could easily take me down. But I also don't like being bullied for money, so I thought it best to smile blandly and feign incomprehension. They were undeterred, trailing me from room to room in the wilting heat.

"Mister, baksheesh," the smaller one said, more insistent now, tugging at my shirt and pawing at my pocket. Then she reached into the bosom of her sky-blue sari and pulled out a wad of bills, like some scene out of a bad movie, so that there was no mistaking what she wanted. I kept playing dumb.

India has somewhere between half a million and a million eunuchs. The estimates are very approximate, because the hijras live in a secretive, shadowy world they've created for themselves away from the abuse and persecution of general society.

They gather in public in large numbers only at their annual conventions, which always attract media attention for the skillful dancing, the raucous atmosphere and the sight of gaudy clothing draped around burly shoulders and dainty jewels hanging off overly thick wrists.