I always say, "First complete your education, be what you want to be in life, get a position, start earning. Then, when you are financially stable, everything will be stable in your life." I have become like a role model, and people feel that I must have had a really cool life, my parents accepting me, like a Cinderella story. It's not like a Cinderella story for me. I had to be my own fairy godmother and create myself. I took decisions and I lived with those decisions, and I did everything for my own dignity.

Hijras earn a living by egging, sex work, badhai or blessing. There are now transgenders in social work, the fashion industry, who have PhDs. I say, "Study, study, study." You need not wear a sari, and even our ancestors said you need not wear feminine attire to be part of the third gender. When I started bar dancing, nobody else was doing it. When I joined the social sector in 1999, there were no nonprofit organizations working for the rights of hijras in India. But I had to do it, I wanted my dignity.

According to the norms of the hijras community, it's not necessary that one be castrated. Castration is your choice. If you do it, testosterone doesn't build up, femininity comes, but I have always said that castration is not the right way. A person should go for complete sexual reassignment surgery, hormone therapy, psychological counseling.

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.

The people who want to be segregated are part of a different generation, and they have lived their lives. They are the stakeholders and guardians of the culture. Historically, the British tried to erase them from their land, but they survived. They survived the non-acceptance of the government, so they have always been very secretive. They have created a barrier, which they don't want to lose.

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 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.