Growing up, wherever I went, the first question people asked me was, “Are you a boy or a girl?” One of the incidents that I clearly remember was when I was working at a restaurant in Mahendranagar. One of the regular customers was a doctor from the nearby hospital. He would always ask me before ordering, “Should I call you bhai (brother) or bahini (sister)? I would reply, “Please call me bhai.” But he wouldn’t acknowledge whatever I said to him. The next day, he would laugh and ask me the same question again, in front of all the customers. “Should I call you bhai or bahini. This only added fuel to the fire. People were always curious about my looks and so when a doctor was openly mocking me, others thought it was okay to join in the fun. One of the men came near me and asked. “Can I see your genitals? What do you have inside your pants.” I remember running to another room and locking myself in for the rest of the day.
I am an intersex person. I was born with both the female and male genitals. I was born in a village far away from the capital, Kathmandu. I was the third child of my parents. I had two older sisters. I don’t remember my childhood but my sisters tell me that everyone in the village was gossiping about me when I was born. People were fascinated and would visit our house frequently. Often bringing their ideas and opinions about why and how I was born with both genitals. They would say I was a sin and would push my mother to hold puja as penance. Terms like “hijada” and “chakka” would roam in the atmosphere. My mother passed away when I was five years old. They tell me she died because of a snake bite. I don’t remember because I was too young to comprehend or remember anything. At the age of nine, my father passed away too. He had a heart failure. I do have some recollections about my father though. Whatever memories I have of him, he is drunk and always yelling.
Soon after, my maternal uncle took me in. I grew up herding the cattle and helping in the household chores. My uncle had raised me as a boy. Given me a new life in his village, away from the gossips in my own. It was before the age of mobile phones and internet. Things about my past didn’t make it to my new home. But there were things about me that even he couldn’t hide. My frame was small like a girl and I started developing breasts. It became difficult for me to go outside to do my chores. Whenever I did go out. People stared at me in the streets. Many would laugh, openly while pointing fingers at me.
Unknown to me, many strides had been made in the capital about LGBTQIA+ rights. I heard in my village that there would be scholarships provided to “third-gender”. The school sent me to the ward officer who said that the scholarship would only be given to those who had medical verification of being “third-gender”. My brother-in-law and I went to every public hospital in the area and beyond our town but we couldn’t find a single doctor who was able to provide that verification. They all said that it wasn’t their specialty.
My uncle wasn’t able to afford college. I moved to a city nearby for work. I travel frequently between two cities, Mahendranagar and Dhangadi for work. My brother-in-law started looking into my case more and more each day. One day he called me a name. Esan Regmi. I was told that Esan Regmi was also like me who worked for people like us in Nepal. We contacted him. I learned that he worked in an organization called “Campaign for Change”.
After a few conversations, he invited me to come to the capital city for a week-long workshop. This was my first time traveling to Kathmandu. The city was much larger than I had anticipated. It was filled with people everywhere from all over Nepal. I was overwhelmed by the crowd in the beginning. But soon I realized people weren’t looking at me. They were all rushing to their destination. And most importantly, nobody knew me here. I walked in the busy streets and people didn’t laugh or point fingers.
In the workshop, I met other people like me who came from different parts of Nepal. We all began sharing our experiences and it felt like I found a home in them. I was filled with tears when I heard the term, intersex. Esan Sir said it meant people who do not fit the traditional male or female sex characteristics. I wasn’t “hijada” or “chakka”. I refused to adopt those hateful words. I was filled with joy when I introduced myself as an intersex person to all in the workshop.
At the age of 21, when I was going back to my home from Kathmandu, I finally knew about my identity. All my life I felt isolated and lonely. But now I knew I wasn’t alone. Esan Sir and I made calls more frequently. I also made friends with other participants who were like me during the workshop. Staying in contact with them, I felt a sense of hope which I hadn’t felt for most of my life.
I decided that I wanted to move to Kathmandu. I felt more comfortable there than in my village. After much consideration, Esan Sir accepted to be my mentor and he offered me a job at his organization.
This story was translated from Nepali to English by Dia Yonzon.
