Breaking free from the murky world of sex work...

When Uma Maheshwari returned to her ancestral village in Andhra Pradesh, her grandparents, upon hearing about the events that had transpired over the last three years, gave her two options – either leave the State or kill herself.

At 9, Uma’s parents had died in a road accident. Her two younger sisters and she were raised by her grandparents. “As a child, I had an optimistic view of life. I thought of myself as a butterfly – I could spread my wings and fly wherever I wanted to. But after what happened, I lost that hope,” said Uma.

At 15, on the promise of a job in a clothing factory in Karur, Uma was unwittingly forced into the murky world of sex work. For nearly three years, she worked in Kamathipura, Mumbai – India’s second largest red-light district.

Uma is among the 26 per cent of girls across the world who are trafficked for sexual exploitation, according to a 2018 report published by the UN. According to National Crime Record Bureau data, there were 8,942 cases of child trafficking and 6,257 cases of human trafficking reported in India in 2016.

“When they told me that I was to do this kind of work, I told them to let me return home. But they said I had been sold, and couldn’t leave until I paid them back. They told me I had to pay them Rs 60,000,” said Uma.

Saving up was not possible as the men took away all of her earnings. “What I learnt is that people respect money. But they don’t show an ounce of that respect for a woman,” she said.

Not a moment went without being paralysed with fear, she said. Uma recounted being forced to cater to men all night long, irrespective of mental and physical status or consent. At times, she would lie under the bed in order to sleep but would be unable to do so out of fear.

“I saw these huge men coming in, asking for these small, petite children. I saw old men come in, asking for a young girl. I refused a man once, and then they burned my inner thighs with cigarettes. If I did not cater to them in the way they wanted, they would burn me with cigarettes,” she said.

At 18, Uma tested positive for HIV. Once the brokers found out, they threw her out of the brothel and she returned to her family. But the reunion was not joyful – filled with guilt and shame, Uma revealed to her grandparents what she had to go through in the last three years.

“In these small towns, people only care for respect and honour. If this is gone, even for something that was not my fault, nothing matters. My family told me that I might affect the lives of my two younger sisters. They told me I had one of two options – either to leave the State or to kill myself,” said Uma.

Her grandfather told her that he would take her by train to Chennai. But while she waited at the station, he never showed up. Alone, Uma arrived at Tambaram.

At 22, after a year of wandering around the city with no one and suffering at the hands of more men soliciting her for sex, Uma met Solomon Raj, who runs the Shelter Trust for Children. Over the two years of living in the city, Uma had attempted to kill herself by taking pills once already.

“When someone has fallen into a gutter, and cannot stand up on their feet, the people around you must lend their hand to help her up. My family did not do so. But a kind soul in the city lent me his hand. He listened to my story, and told me, ‘There is no point of crying anymore. You must only smile now.’ I thank God every day for him,” she said.

As the manager of an NGO, Uma found herself taking care of HIV-positive children. While taking care of their fragile health and her own, Uma found herself with a roof, three meals a day, and a caring family. To her, Raj treats her as a father would his daughter – with concern, love, and sometimes, overprotectiveness.

At 23, this overprotectiveness was seen. While on a regular visit to the hospital, Uma met Kumar, another HIV-positive person. They fell in love, and Uma told Solomon that she wanted to marry him.

“In this world, the only thing that men look for in a woman is virginity. I told Kumar of my past. But he has never brought that up with me. I don’t know what he loves about me, but I know that he does. We got married in a grand fashion, in a way any woman wishes,” said Uma.

At 28, Uma gave birth to a girl. The girl was not HIV positive. Now, her four-year-old daughter lives with them at Shelter Trust, and is currently studying in UKG in an English-medium school. Uma said she wants her daughter to pursue whichever occupation her heart desires, and to proudly tell the world that her parents are HIV positive, as that is nothing to be ashamed about. “Now when I look back on the events that occurred when I was young, I feel as though it was all a dream. Of course, I remember the horrible things that have happened every day. On those days, I hold my daughter close and play with her, and I feel better. This is my life now,” she said.

At the Shelter Trust for Children, the now 32-year-old Uma Maheshwari does not want to live in her past any longer. Constantly focused on the future, and the futures of the 40-odd children in the home, she thinks of her past as exactly that – something that has passed.

“If I had killed myself all those years ago, I would not be able to live the life that I am living now. I would not have met Solomon appa, not my husband, nor had my daughter,” she said.

Her advice to all women out there is to be brave, and face what the world throws at you with confidence and surety. The world is tipped unfairly in men’s favour, said Uma, but that does not mean that women have no place in it.

“But women’s safety is something that is non-existent in India,” said Uma, citing a poll published in 2018 that ranked India as the most unsafe country for women. “On the train to Mumbai, there were dozens of girls with me. In the brothels, I saw 13 and 14-year-olds being forced into sex work. I saw women working at the brothel have children, who grew up only to continue working there. And they are still working there today.”

When faced with exploitation, Sabitha decided she was going to put her foot down and fight against it. The result was a 15-cm long and three-cm wide scar on her right hand, but the transwoman does not hide the mark. Rather, she is wearing it as a battle scar.

Before her transition, Sabitha grew up in a village called Kurumpanai in Kanniyakumari district. Ever since she was a child, Sabitha knew she was born into the wrong body. Her effeminate behaviour brought forth much teasing at the hands of her classmates and neighbours.

“In my village, there was no one like me. I felt so alone. There was no media coverage about the topic either at the time. I used to secretly read books in the library about trans people. I used to go to church and pray, asking to either be a man or a woman, because I did not know I could live as both,” she said.

To avoid getting married, Sabitha decided to enrol in a seminary. However, she was thrown out of two seminaries as the priests felt that she would “convert” some of the other men there. When one of the priests left her at her doorstep, he called for her parents and told them that their son was not a man.

“After so many years of wondering who I was, I reached an answer. I was a transwoman. My family was first in denial because they never suspected otherwise. But after they were told this, they slowly started distancing themselves from me. They eventually began to actively avoid me,” she said.

Left with no other option, Sabitha moved to Chennai in 2002. Seeking to complete her sex transition surgery, she moved to Pune to work as a beggar to save up for it. “The world revolves around money, but as a transwoman, nobody was willing to hire me. To date, when I go to a supermarket, the shopkeeper will give me Rs 10. When I tell them that I am here as a customer, they become very embarrassed and take the money back,” she said. The recently-passed Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act has come under fire for several issues, including a lack of importance on self-identification and consultation of the community before drafting the bill. However, one of the biggest issues many activists have with the Act is that it does not include any sort of reservation for transgender people with regard to employment opportunities.

Thus, in 2003, after completing her surgery, Sabitha was forced to turn to sex work. After living a childhood in relative comfort, she had found – after much difficulty – an apartment the size of a bathroom in her parent’s home. Her meals depended on the day’s earnings.

“What hurt the most was the way people looked at me. Their gazes would kill me. They saw me as a transwoman, only fit for sex work. They thought I wanted to do this work because I wanted sex. I even had some people tell me I shouldn’t do this sort of work as it was immoral. I would then ask them, ‘Why don’t you give me a proper job, then?’ They wouldn’t respond, and instead choose to leave,” said the 37-year-old.

With society viewing her only as an object to achieve a sexual end, Sabitha would work from 6 pm to 11 pm every day in constant fear. Ruffians, drunkards and drug addicts would approach her during this time. Policemen, too, would beat her for working the streets, she said, and she said that she has spent many nights in custody.

“Eventually, it got to the point where I would leave my house and pray that I returned home. Once, I got into a car with four men. The driver pulled out a gun. I had never seen a gun before in my life, and I was terrified. But I kept my calm and drew them to an area where I knew I would be safe. There, I jumped out of the car and called for help. They tried to drive away, but not before I threw a rock at the back window,” she said.

By 2018, Sabitha had worked as a sex worker for 15 long years. The last straw was when she saw a broker working with a few young women on the road.

“They are not transpersons. They have job prospects outside of this, and they don’t deserve to enter this life. I took it up with the man, and he pulled out a surgical knife and slashed my right hand. The muscle fell apart where he cut me. But I still held onto him and took him to the police station,” she said.

After that incident, Sabitha decided that she had to put her foot down, and fight for her rights. Her first act was to gather information on a gang exploiting transpersons forced to beg on the railway line. The gang leader, who Sabitha said was wanted for other crimes like robbery, would ask the transwomen to pay him Rs 15,000 per month per person to continue working on the train.

“Things began to change from there. I am eternally grateful to Anand Babu, the inspector of the Choolaimedu police station. He brought in a group of trans sex workers, and instead of shaming us like so many policemen had done in the past, he told us that we could be our own bosses and that we each had a talent that we must tap into,” she said.

Simultaneously, she also began hosting awareness camps with police personnel on the lives of transgender sex workers and even held a camp at a seminary about transgender people. With renewed confidence, Sabitha and a few transwomen began water can delivery service.

“Water is something that everyone needs. It is an occupation with great benefits. We have the strength of both men and women in our bodies. What makes you think we cannot carry a few cans,” she said.

In 2019, with Babu’s help, they secured funding worth Rs 4 lakh from Federal Bank to buy a vehicle to transport the water cans in. According to Sabitha, word reached the Tamil Nadu Governor, who requested that they deliver to him as well. “It gives me hope. If even the Governor is willing to give us a job, then surely there are others, too. We do not want to do sex work, but that is the only occupation available for us. All we need is for someone to employ us and not harass us, and we will be the best employees you can dream of,” she said.