Gender Blender: My Father's Son

At home I am simply me - genderless, in a way. Perhaps genderless is what I would like to ideally be. My gender doesn't matter when I'm with my family or my closest friends. Only outdoors do consciousness and fears of gender presentation strike.

I realize that I have not talked much about my father. My Dad is a calm, quiet man. He is a caring father and quite a good cook. I shall relate to you a few incidents involving him, me and my gender.


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When I still lived at home, both of us used to go together to the local barber shop for haircuts. Around two years ago in Kolkata, our old barber shut down his shop for some reason and we had to find a new one. The new barber, as he cut my hair, asked Dad whether I was his boy. He said that yes, I was his son.

I was angry.

That was two years ago and it was the first time he had done such a thing. I have changed a lot since. Those days I was struggling hard with my gender identity. I hated being stared at (I still do) and I felt that it could get worse if they were told that I was a boy only to find out later that I was not.

I expressed my anger to Dad. He said he won't do it again but also that it was no big deal.

More recently in March '09 when I was in Delhi on vacation something else happened. I bought my music player at a shop in Nehru Place I generally buy blank DVDs from. The shopkeeper had always taken me to be a boy and I had never told him otherwise. I get called "Bhaiya" ("Brother") or "Sir" about fifteen times a day so I don't bother correcting anyone anymore.

Dad had come along with me this time. While I compared different music players, the shopkeeper struck up a conversation with him. He got quite confused because Dad was using female pronouns to refer to me.

Once we exited the shop, I made a request similar to the one that I had made to Mom the previous week in Palika Bazaar. I asked him not to use female pronouns for me in public. He nodded in agreement.

At the next shop, upon being asked by a friendly shopkeeper whether I was his son, he replied, "Yes."

Cut to April 4, '09, on my way back to Kota from Delhi. Dad and I shared a train compartment with another family. Their son was also going to Kota. Since I look like a 13 year old boy, they were amazed when I said that I was in fact an year senior to their son (who looked quite like a man). His mother spoke to my Dad along the lines of, "..aapka beta.." ("..your son.."). My Dad honored my earlier request and did not question their perception of my gender. But this time, I interrupted to say that I wasn't a boy. They were quite surprised at this proclaimation but Dad's face was inscrutable.

I came out because I did not want awkwardness later during the trip. It was a wise move because the mother got quite chatty with us, asking me all sorts of questions about student life in Kota. But how had my Dad felt, then, about my contradictory words and actions? I don't know.

Poor man, he must be so confused.

I don't want this confusion for him. I deal with it enough everyday to know how awful it is. I have no idea what he thinks of it. We don't talk about it. In fact, these days we don't talk much at all.

I wish I could protect him from the mess my gender identity is. I wish he would understand what I'm going through. Maybe he does. Maybe...



When I was little enough to fit wholly on the window sill, I would climb and sit there, staring at the road awaiting his return from work. Mom would try to bring me down and fail. When he would finally return, I would jump up in his arms and kiss him. I would take his helmet and put it on my little head. I would wear his shirt and prance around the house - a little boy who wanted to grow up in his father's shoes.

We would go on evening strolls. We would play on the swings, slides and see-saw in the park. He would hold me at night, tell me stories and lull me to sleep. Sometimes, I want to go back to those times.

Then he was promoted and suddenly we didn't have as much time together anymore.

Meanwhile, my mother's health deteriorated and all our attention was diverted to her. He had to manage everything all by himself (and he did a very good job of it). Our connection was lost between his busy schedule and Mom's delicate health during my tween years. This was around the time I went in denial.

I have since grown up and we have grown apart.

In public spheres, am I his daughter or am I his son? My tomboyishness has evolved into this dapper masculinity, a gender deviance. It is hard to classify. It is difficult to understand.

Maybe someday we will sit down and talk about these things. Maybe someday we will laugh about it. Maybe someday I can proudly be my father's son.

I will be my father's son - but only to the world because between the two of us, it doesn't matter.

To him I am genderless.

To him I am his daughter, his son, his baby.