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.

Being called gay is worse than transgender. I remember when I started fighting way back in 1999 for hijas' rights, and I said the state doesn't have the right to use my gender to club me into "gay." If I say I am not a man then who are you to question it? Being called gay or a man really upsets me.

Hijras are a sexual minority that is visible, and yet we are treated as the invisibles. I believe I was never invisible. I thought, "I'm the face in the crowd, not the crowd."

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.

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.

I try to educate people. I've told the hijra community that it's not about getting breasts or having sexual reassignment surgery. First we need our rights. We need our dignity. We need inclusion in every bloody policy for the marginalized. We need education. We need dignified shelter. There are many like me who are able to earn without begging. But the fact is that before even coming into the social sector, I was running a dance class, and before that I was a model coordinator. I didn't want to beg, or do sex work, or sell myself.