Chapter 28
My road to redemption
ADITYA
“Aditya is a chakka, papa.” Rahul sneers, mocking me by using the slur for trans people. “We will sue you for hiding this fact.”
What ignorant and insolent behaviour from two men in handcuffs. A week after the break-in, the police identified Rahul from the CCTV footage obtained from the bank. He and his father were taken into custody. Priya and I are now at the police station with her lawyer to work out a compromise.
“Why should I help these bigots?” I question Shalini.
The pain in her eyes locks me to my seat, reminding me why I am here, sitting across from two fugitives in a room of a Delhi police station.
Two people who, till three years ago, doted on me.
Shalini called on the day they were arrested, pleading to drop the charges.
Despite my anger, I agreed. Mr Tribhuvan and Rahul were my family for a decade.
Rahul grew from a lanky fourteen-year-old to an adult in front of my eyes.
But his reaction leaves me in no doubt about the change in our relationship due to the circumstances.
I am still unsure if his animosity results from the poison his father feeds him or his own inherent beliefs.
We have become enemies, at least in his mind.
I wonder if anything I say or do will make them change their bullheaded pursuit to make my life hell.
Without considering the implications, Rahul went ahead with his foolish scheme, his father in tow.
Shalini's hand lands on my arm, calming me, but I am not taking things lying down. “Rahul, if you plan to go out of India, wipe your ignorant notions clean. Gay and transgender are different things. Bigotry and prejudice will land you in trouble,” I hit back.
“So what? You are still a pervert!” Rahul shouts.
“Mr Rahul, I will advise you to keep your voice down.” The lawyer's stern warning goes unheeded.
“Were you able to consummate your marriage with Shalini?” Rahul insinuates.
“Rahul, will you shut up?” Shalini roars from her seat next to her father.
Her sharp tone gets through her brother's thick skull. “What happened in my marriage is between Aditya and me. You stay out of our bedroom. I am fed up with the two of you.” Shalini glares at her father. “Why are you dragging my divorce with your hatred and revenge? Why don’t the two of you accept Aditya and my separation? Are your male egos so high?”
Her father opens his mouth, but Shalini raises her hand. “Stop. I don't want to hear a word from either of you.” She turns to Rahul. “Did you consider how this criminal record will reflect on your visa application to the US?”
Oh boy, Shalini is bringing out the big guns. Rahul's head drops at her loud and clear message. For the past three years, Rahul has been trying to move to the US. After a lot of struggle, his dream is about to come true. Sometimes, spoken words make people realise the consequences of their follies.
“This is how things will go from here on. First, the two of you and anyone in cahoots with you will stop this stupidity and leave Aditya alone. If any harm is caused to Aditya, I will never speak to anyone in our family again.” Shalini lays down the line.
“Second, you will not interfere in Aditya’s or my life.
Am I clear?” She questions them. The father-and-son duo grunt their yes.
I turn to my lawyer and Priya. They indicate we can go ahead. “If you two agree to Shalini's conditions, we will drop the charges.”
Rahul stops his father from speaking. Shalini reinforces her message. “One word against Aditya, and you will never see my face again.” She raises her eyebrows, challenging them to disagree. The two squirm and lower their heads.
The lawyer takes out the court papers.
“Mr Rahul and Mr Tribhuvan, these are restraining orders from the Delhi High Court. You cannot harass Mr Aditya anymore. You will stay away from Mr Aditya, his home, workplace, family, and acquaintances. You will not contact Mr Aditya in any manner, physically or through messages, calls, letters, or emails.” He explains the order.
“If you breach this order, you can be jailed or fined or both. A repeat offence will only increase the jail term.”
The High Court judge took cognisance of the evidence we presented from the restaurant skirmish and Priya's office to grant me a perpetual injunction. Rahul is subdued, but Mr Tribhuvan is still belligerent.
“Papa, do you want to spend your old age in a prison cell?” Shalini gives him a picture of what lies ahead if he continues down this path.
Mr Tribhuvan huffs and relents.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God, this chapter of my life is over.
***
“You are all so confident in yourselves. I never dared to live my reality.”
I rub my sweating palms on my jeans, staring at my shoes, afraid to look up at Sudhanshu and Kiron.
After my repeated pleading, they relented and agreed to meet.
Brian and Kenny refuse to respond to any calls or messages.
The awkwardness of strangers has replaced the warm, brotherly affection with Sahil.
He does acknowledge me, but the smiles and twinkles in his eyes are gone.
“Meeting a caring and loving group made my wildest fantasy come true. Losing you terrified me. I wanted to walk in your steps. Walk with you in comfort, the ease with which you go about your lives.”
“Oh, Honey. Don't let this gorgeousness blind you. I have struggled and fought for not only this.” Kiron waves a hand with bright nail polish from their black wavy hair with colour streaks to the toes of matching cayenne blue heels.
“For my life. For finding myself, for being who I am.” Sudhanshu pulls them into a hug.
“Wait here.” Kiron pads across from the living room to their bedroom, returning with a tin box in their hand. They place the box on my lap. I look at them, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Open the box.” Kiron prods me.
A tingle runs from my finger, tracing the edge of the biscuit box.
The paint has peeled at the edges. The colours of the British woman with a bucket next to the cows standing in front of an English village have faded and muddled over the years.
My heartbeats thud in my chest. What is inside?
I gulp down my fear and lift the lid. An assortment of things peers at me.
“This is the last bangle from a set of three I stole from my Ma.” Kiron picks the red glass bangle with golden dots on the rim.
“Wore them at night when all had gone to sleep. I found this butterfly clip-on on the verandah next to our house. Once a month, before Papa took me to the barber, I clipped my hair in the secret of our bathroom.” Kiron returns the items to the box.
Their finger lingers for a second before moving.
“The eyeliner discarded by my eldest sister worked fine for me when I applied the kohl during the annual Ramlila. I played Sumitra, the youngest wife of King Dashrath.”
Kiron shudders and shuts the box. “This is the epitaph of my childhood. I ran away from home when I turned thirteen with this box, two hundred rupees in loose change, a swollen eye, dried blood in my hair, and the clothes on my body.”
A flood of tears breaks through my embankments.
Kiron rubs my back to calm the sobs. “I did not have the option of staying in the closet any longer. The brick wall of lies I told the world did not help when I stood before the mirror. I hated my existence. I wanted to stop the hair on my arms and legs from growing. I cried for days on my pillow at the physical changes. The first fight for my identity raged within me.”
Kiron places their fist on their chest. “The battle left deeper scars than what my family gave me. Only when I won my internal battles did I find the courage to fight the war outside. The barbs and ridicule forced me to give up my studies in the eighth grade. My Papa hit me with the bellan when he noticed the lipstick on my lips. He punched and slapped me when I fought back.” They take a shuddering breath.
Sudhanshu squeezes Kiron and plants a kiss on their head.
“The uncle who promised me a haven assaulted me.”
Oh, God. Compared to this, my life has been a fairy tale. “I am so sorry, Kiron, for what you went through. My struggle pales in comparison to yours.” I wipe the tears with my hand.
“No, dear. This world has no Olympic medals for breaking the closest of our identities. Each of us has our cross to bear. You have your box, your life, your choices. And often, being your true self is the hardest choice to make.”
Their benevolent, understanding eyes unleash another torrent from my eyes.
“Don't shed those precious gems, dear. The world doesn't care. But I guess you are here to talk about yourself. Your journey is no less or more than mine or any of us. Your trajectory is important for you. And you decide on how to walk on this path. None of us can or should compare. Your struggles are not easy or hard. They are ‘struggles.’” Kiron air quotes.
So much empathy. I want to gather Kiron in a hug, but I lost those rights. This is the first time they have looked at me with kind eyes since my life unravelled.
“What is your plan?” Sudhanshu diverts the topic, reminding me what I am here to discuss with his curt voice.
Right. I clear my throat. “I want to help Jimmy.” Kiron and Sudhanshu step back. “Wait. Please hear me out.”
They look at each other and stay. Thank god.
“I know the means were wrong. Yet, I let the lie creep in and take root in our relationship, not only with Jimmy but all of you. But before I leave, I want to do something for Jimmy.”
Kiron and Sudhanshu's faces are blank. There is no reaction to guide me, so I go on. “The book has earned a decent royalty, plus the earnings from Jimmy's modelling assignments make a hefty sum. Jimmy is young and talented. Each rupee is well-earned. The money belongs to him.”