When I got a chotti

When I was a kid I used to love dressing up in safari suits. In my travels down south, people told my mom, “Your child looks like Shivaji Ganesan”. Back then, Shivaji Ganesan was a heart throb of the Tamil cinema. However, my “handsomeness” would remain intact until I spotted a flower seller.

Guess flowers were the only thing I cried for. I loved pinning a string of jasmine flowers in my head, that made onlookers go, “OMG, Jayalalita”. I always desired to dress like a woman. I was never a “cross-dresser” so to say, but I loved the layers and layers of clothes that women wore. I was especially fascinated by the fact that women got to do so much with their hair and secretly desired to have my own endless tresses. It took me 38 years to fulfil that dream. Today, I have a nice cute ponytail, my own sweet chotti.  

I have also worn a wig for the past two pride parades. First, where I almost looked like the  ‘Colaba market version of Princess Dianna’ and the other where I looked like the ‘maushee’ from Virar with an extra dash of lipstick.

Am now at the international  airport waiting for my flight to Johannesburg. Three hot men have come close to asking my name. I never had this attention when I was chotti-less. Now, that I have attention, I am also sitting on a moral high ground and khaaoving bhaav. One of those men actually walks up to ask my name.

He : Hi there
Me : Hi
He : What’s the time.
Me : It is 12 am. Why?

And then started our silsila of personal conversations. He confessed that he likes my chotti. We exchanged numbers and maybe, we will be janam-janam ke saathi. Who knows?

The chotti, along with the hair colour, sometimes gives me a very videshi look. I probably thought it was just me, but someone validated it when I was walking on the roads of Navi Mumbai. An uncle-type guy, riding a  bike, stopped me and asked, “Are you Indian?”. I replied in the affirmative. As the conversation followed, he asked me to pull up my pants that were falling off my hips. Showing off my underwear brand to the whole world is not my style, so I pulled my pants up.

He then went on to lecture me about Indian ethics and how my actions would impact the world. In return, I smiled and instead asked him to wear a helmet as people were more likely to die if they followed him. Shocked and unable to retort, he left.

There was no violence. There was no anger. There was just wit that was used to hit him hard. Maybe, he would never ask another chotti-man. Or maybe, he will lecture differently.

Well, my chotti did manage to draw a lot of attention. Girls can go bob-cut and boys can go long hair. Let’s bid good bye to gender stereotypes.

Ho naah?

(Activist Harish Iyer shares his entertaining adventures through Mumbai’s landscape)

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