People believe that if a hijra curses you, bad things will happen. That God Ram blessed hijras with this power, that our blessings and curses will come true. People give us money because they are scared of our curse. Now that's the only way hijras can survive - by saying, "Give me money, otherwise I'll curse you." That clap, which scares people, has become our identity. In a way, you use myths and misconceptions for your own survival.

When we, hijras, started our activism, we had to tell people, "We exist, we are humans. Please give us nothing but our basic dignity." The biggest misery in the world, I believe, is the feeling of being unloved, and that this community faces a lot. You're not even considered to be human. You're considered transparent. We were ignored until we started organizing, when HIV first became a factor. Even in the HIV world, people could not believe that hijras have sex. And then also we were put in the category of men having sex with men, the gay community.

When somebody asks me, "Who are you?" I tell them, "I am the oldest ethnic transgender community in the world, which has its own culture and own religious beliefs." And we are in four countries in South Asia: India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and the Terai region of Nepal. What binds us hijras together is the same pain that has gone through our lives, which is much thicker than blood. That's why in our community we don't have old-age homes. Our guru may be horrible, but at the same time, we take care of the guru till the last breath.

I learned dancing because I loved dancing. It took away the pain, it took away everything, I was happy when I was dancing. I got a lot of respect when I was dancing: people respected my art, they didn't only respect my body.

We, hijras, are not hypocrites. We live our sexuality openly, being truthful to our souls and our bodies. Science and doctors assigned something else to us when we were born - which they didn't have the authority to - but we choose what we are and we are very truthful about it.

When I started meeting members of the hijra community, it was a whole different ballgame. They were like me. This was the first time I felt that I was with other people who were the same as me. It was not about cruising a man, it was not about sleeping with somebody - it was beyond that. It was so much a community, wanting the best for each other, loving each other, caring for each other.

I was recently chief guest at a function, and one of the boys who had exploited me in the childhood was there. He could not even look at me, but I was kind to him. I have not forgiven, but I believe that what you do to me is your karma and what I do to you is my karma. What is gone is gone. I have lived it, I have overpowered it. I don't carry any baggage with me. It's done, it's finished, it's over. You can't change the past, but you can make the future much more beautiful.