The often unseen | Political Economy

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Fahmida, a eunuch beggar

Ahmada, like many others in her community, identifies as transgender, a term used in South Asia to describe people who do not conform to traditional gender roles. She says that it doesn’t matter whether she is called a eunuch, a hijara, a khusra, a zanana (symbolizing an ambiguous gender identity) or a transvestite. All these labels fall under the broad concept of the ‘third sex’ in the subcontinent, a recognized and culturally distinct group, often bound together under the guidance of their gurus.

During the day, Fahmida roams the streets of the city, confined to a certain area, begging as her primary means of survival.

“If a third-sex child is born into a rich family, he can hide his identity from society, allowing him to live a relatively safe life,” she says. Even in middle-class households, the secret may be kept until the child is eight years old. But for those of us from poor families, where survival depends on finding work at an early age, it’s very difficult to hide.” As a result, many in her community, like Fehmida, have turned to begging in recent years. or resorted to prostitution This is a change from earlier times when most eunuchs earned their living by singing and dancing at celebratory events, such as weddings or childbirth Notified by will go, and a group of eunuchs will descend on the occasion, receiving payment for their performance.

Fahmida reflects on how times have changed. “People were more generous in the past. It’s not so easy to make a living through dance now. Tastes and lifestyles have changed.” Nevertheless, she remains grateful. “There is still enough for all of us. I manage to earn enough to feed myself, buy cosmetics and buy clothes,” she adds, stressing the importance of her appearance.

Dressing up and dancing are an integral part of Fahmida’s life. She lives in a commune with others in her community, where their days follow a similar rhythm. Staying up late after nights of watching dance videos and practicing routines, she spends a significant portion of her time perfecting her makeup and styling her outfits. “I enjoy experimenting with makeup. Once we get ready, we get on the bus to our usual place,” she says. Busy roads and densely populated area provide him ample opportunity to earn a living.

Around 3:00 p.m., Fahmida meets with some friends to share a communal lunch – food they have gathered from various places during their day. Afterwards, they split up once again to resume their individual endeavors. Her day usually ends between 8.00 and 9.00 p.m., when she returns home. Evenings are spent eating dinner, smoking cigarettes, watching more videos and of course dancing. On an average, Fehmida says she earns around Rs 2,000 a day, which is enough to sustain her modest lifestyle while continuing her passion for dressing and performing.

Janan Noor Nawaz, Private Car Driver

Clean shaven, dressed in a shalwar kameez, always wearing a peaked cap, rarely missing an opportunity to light a cigarette, Janan Noor Nawaz is a Pathan. Unconventional personality bites. Tall, lean, and in his early fifties, Janan hails from Tokh Sarai, a village near Hangu in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province.

Janan’s life story is marked by resilience and adaptability. At the tender age of 11, he left Pakistan to live with his uncle in Dubai, where he would spend the next 23 years. Fluent in Pashto, Arabic and Urdu, and with a basic grasp of English, Janan’s linguistic skills belie his limited formal education – he dropped out of school after Class 2 and never learned to read or write. “I spent most of my childhood in my father’s small shop selling chana (channa) and peanuts (peanuts) to other children. We had a small piece of land, but it was enough to feed the family. “It wasn’t,” he recalls sadly.

In Dubai, Janan started as a laborer before working as a pipefitter in the water network maintenance division of the Dubai Electricity and Water Authority. A self-taught driver with an insatiable curiosity for machines, he became adept at operating road construction equipment, including asphalt pavers, excavators, dump trucks, forklifts and cranes. At 18, he had obtained a driving license in Dubai, memorizing road signs and symbols while carefully preparing for an oral test in Arabic.

His life took a turning point when at the age of 15 Janan was called back to his village and married to a girl of the same age. “My elderly mother needed someone to take over the household after my sisters got married,” he explains. A few years later, his mother died, his father remarried, and Janan’s young family faced financial challenges. Unable to support him, his father and stepmother sent Janan’s wife and five children to Karachi to live with their brothers.

In 1999 Janan joined them in Karachi. With his savings from Dubai, he bought a black and yellow Sunny taxi, which he drove for five years. Eventually, he sold the taxi for his eldest son’s trip to Dubai, where he also became a driver. Today, Janan lives in a modest two-room house with a small courtyard in Mehmoodabad, sharing the space with his wife, three daughters, twin sons, his eldest son’s family, and four grandchildren.

Since 2006, Janan has been working as a family driver. His day starts at 6:30am, which takes 30-45 minutes in the morning but an hour or more on the way back in crowded Karachi evenings.

“I’m always on the move. I like to be busy,” he says. Still, he admits to one regret. “It would have been so much better if I had read all the billboards and signs,” he sighs, a silent acknowledgment of the opportunities that education may have brought to his illustrious journey.

The author is a writer, illustrator and educator. He can be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com.