No matter how hard we tried to focus on just the individuals, the fact that they have been labelled Khwaja Saras, always led the conversation for us. Tales of daily abuse and harassment occupied much of the three-hour-long conversation I had with them. They had so much to share. An overpowering sense of abandonment and loneliness was obvious from their collective tone. Never had they dared to dream. But the narrative was changing, which was refreshing.
Under the literacy programme for transgenders, launched by the Literacy and Non-Formal Department, these individuals found refuge from a society which, when viewed from their eyes, seemed cruel and unforgiving. Due to being born in a society where gender roles were largely predetermined, the prospects for transgender persons have been dim and rather unfortunate. But while education does bring with it a better chance of earning a respectable livelihood, this is not the only thing that attracted many of the students that decided to enrol in the six-month programme. For them, learning to read and write was about being able to lead a normal life. Being knowledgeable meant being respected, something which they have always longed for.
The hurdles, of course, are difficult to clear. To begin with, there is no official data on the population of this community. While the project aspires to expand, the community at large is slightly reluctant to embrace it. Will education mean transforming their identity — something for which they have been excluded from society? What impact will education have on the relationship between a guru and a chaila? And once educated, what options do these people have? Will society offer them equal opportunities? These and many more questions remain unanswered, but time will tell how welcoming and accommodating we, as a society, really are.
Published in The Express Tribune, November 2nd, 2013.
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