Kanta Bua: Championing Transgender Rights in Jodphur - A Tale of Bravery, Strength, and Love
Kanta Bua heads the transgender community in Jodphur. She has campaigned for the government to make government documentation accessible to the transgender community, to raise awareness of their legal rights, and to offer more vocational training and new types of employment. I’m interviewing her on behalf of the Sambhali Trust, who have worked with Kanta Bua for the past 7 years.
Kanta Bua is a master orator. You can tell in the cadence of her speech, the way her voice rises and falls, her hands never still - coming to a cross, flowing in front of her body, floating upwards into a prayer and falling back. Even with a Hindi-English language barrier, we sit, rapt as she speaks. At points the words build into a torrent that only stops when her partner, angled around her, gently places two fingers on her arm to allow our translator time to process the sea of words that has formed around us.
At this point, Kanta Bua is discussing trans employment - the limited options that the trans community is presented with. Trans women are told that their only option is to dress up and beg, a stereotype Kanta Bua describes as ‘very rigorous, very common and widely known’. Kanta Bua - actress, model, girls education campaigner, road safety advocate, government-recognised-activist - says that a large part of her drive comes from a desire to prove this wrong - to show that trans people ‘are human and can do whatever they want to’. She cites her frustration at how deeply this stereotype has been internalised, how the trans community in Jodphur do not recognise what they deserve - recognition, job opportunities, resources for the community as a whole.
But this also requires greater support from society and the government. Kanta Bua speaks of the paltry amount of vocational training and computer teaching available for the trans community, and the need for dedicated centres to provide this. She says society needs to be more accepting, to ‘to treat people like fellow humans, and not pass on social stereotypes that people must behave in a particular way’. Right now ‘even if there’s a seat available they cannot sit there - because they don’t feel safe in those types of space’. Even when a policy or job opportunity exists, trans people are made unwelcome, seen as ‘the trans person’ rather than a fellow colleague.
Being trans in Jodphur requires a huge amount of bravery and strength. Harassment can be from strangers - trans and gay men may be invited to meet up on dating apps, only to be videoed when they arrived, and subject to physical and verbal abuse or blackmail threats. Even if trans people go to the police, the response is often further harassment, dismissal of the violence and an instruction to ‘go back home’.
Discrimination can also come from inside the home. Kanta Bua faced physical abuse and familial rejection growing up, only being welcomed back into the family after government and societal recognition for her work as a campaigner. She speaks of how she has had to ‘act as her own guru’, a forced independence that has given her the strength and the drive to for the push the trans community alone. At this point in our conversation, she breaks down. She describes her relationship with her younger self, speaking of how “even though the 11 year old had to go through very tormenting things, she’s never forgotten hat 11 year old because that is the reminder of what the trouble as, and where she has come from - she will never forget her, because whatever that girl she had to go through motivates her in what she does today - it helps people, and allows her to understand she can be independent and not live up to stereotypes.” She uses it as a driver to stop other people suffering in the same way.
When I ask if Kanta Bua has anything she wants to discuss, Kanta Bua tells us of how the women in Jodphur have genital surgery. After a series of prayers, the women wait to feel the goddess inside them, to fall into a trance-like state. When this happens, they let the community know and the genitals are cut off. The entire process is done without a sedative. The wound is then treated with an alternation of hot water, and hot oil for three days as the blood drains out. As the swelling goes down, the area is washed with peacock feathers. After a hollow space is opened up, and a hole needs to be retained for urine, so a wooden stick is inserted, pulled out and rotated to keep a passageway for urine. This continues for six months as their bodies recover. To recover from the blood loss, the patients are provided with seree (goat brain) and ghee. After, breast augmentation takes place through cupping suction, and a lice comb is used to pull out hairs on the face for two months so no beard can grow.
The intensity and danger of the above surgery means that trans women hold a special status in the community. It’s seen as comparable to ‘tapasaya’, an intense form of spiritual discipline used by monks or gurus to achieve mental control, cleansing and elevation. As a result, trans people are seen by some religious people as having the power to give both blessings and curses.
As we leave, she emphasises the love she has in her life. It’s a topic she returns to again and again and the deep affection between her and her husband is evident throughout our conversation. He is constantly bent around her, brushes tears off her face with his thumb, and she, in turn, describes him as her ‘anti-allergy’, the person who brings her joy even when she has a bad day. She speaks of him as a safe space - a place where she can exist without any sort of regret or bad thoughts and feels very comfortable and safe. Together they work on Kinner Samad Sowa Evm Vikas Sansthan, an awareness program driving greater awareness of transgender rights.