A Mumbai Cab And A Hermaphrodite

It is not uncommon in Mumbai, as you sit in rickety cab sweltering in the December heat (yes, in Mumbai, it's HOT in December!), to be bothered by a barrage of beggars at each traffic light. You have the street urchins knocking at your window, knowing exactly how to tug at your heart when they gesture for food. You have the young mother with a two-month-old strapped to her waist, her gesture of her pitiful predicament. And you have the occasional hermaphrodite. They don't beg, they demand, because they are like no other.

The Indian Society has been so successful in ostracizing "Chakkas" that they have learnt to use this fear to their advantage. So they come up to your window and demand for money. Should you refuse, they draw out their "trump" card - The Curse. With superstition woven into the very fabric of Indian society, this usually works.

My cousin who sat beside me shot me a look. But I scoffed. Bring it on. Curse me. You don't have the power to change your life but believe you have the power to change mine?

Whoever lets them feed on this should be taught better. They should know better. They should have a little more faith in themselves or in God.

I fumed our entire cab ride to the hotel. Luckily for my cousin, we were only ten minutes away from our hotel.