In the opening lines of the book, Manjamma writes, “I was a woman in a man’s body. And ever since I have known this aspect of my being, my life has been a constant struggle. Firstly, coming to terms with it myself, then getting people to accept me as I am.” There is a directness in the language, which makes one want to read the entire book in one sitting. It touches the heart because it is not overly crafted with politically correct terminology. There should be space for trans people to write about their experiences without having to fit in.

Urban, English-speaking LGBTQIA+ people often reject expressions such as “woman in a man’s body” in favour of terms like ‘gender dysphoria’, ‘sex assigned at birth’ and ‘gender identity’. The insistence on using words learnt from north American and European contexts ends up alienating people who prefer to describe their lived realities using words that come from the depth of their own experience, and are meaningful to them and their local peers.

This book tracks the journey of one individual “from being loved and caressed as a boon for being born a boy (Manjunath) to being called a curse and thrown out by the same parents for turning into a daughter”, from feeling orphaned to becoming a mother figure to younger trans people abandoned by their families, from struggling to complete her schooling to being awarded an honorary doctorate, from selling idlis for a living to becoming the president of the Karnataka Janapada Academy, and from being homeless to having a roof over her head.

She calls for “proactive and empathetic assimilation into the social system” that goes beyond tokenism, and is based on “respect for the life within each of us and the wonder that is creation”. Those who might view this as a woolly-headed aspiration would be happy to know that Manjamma also has a keen eye for policy reform. She makes a case for setting up old age homes for trans people because they are not welcome in existing facilities for senior citizens.

Manjamma, who now runs the Padmashri Matha B Manjamma Jogathi Pratishthana – a trust working for the upliftment of transgender people in India – wants to ensure that trans people “can live as humans and not as aberrations who disturb those that wish the world were all black and white”. She does not ask for acceptance alone but dignity, and believes that art rather than activism has helped her. Jogathis like herself are seen as Goddess Yellamma’s chosen ones – chosen to devote their lives to her service “as avatars of Parashurama”.

This book highlights how transitioning can mean a range of different things to different trans people. Instead of reducing it to a medical and bureaucratic procedure, it places transitioning within a socio-cultural context. In Manjamma’s case, the transition took place through a religious initiation ceremony that gave her a sense of being part of a longer tradition. She remarks, “Long before the modern would could contemplate on a community of those who do not conform to the two polar ends of the gender spectrum, we in our culture did.”

The memoir offers insights into what it means to be a Jogathi, the rituals they practise, the lifestyle they lead, the offerings they receive, and how they serve Yellamma. Manjamma says, “This art of ours called Jogathi nritya has empowered many transgenders like me to earn a living, to not have to resort to begging or sex work, to gain respect and recognition as folk artists and free ourselves from the clutches of ridicule that the world imprisons us in.”

While Manjamma talks proudly about the love that she has received while performing in cities, small towns and villages, she does not hesitate to address the violence that she experienced alongside. The book has a chilling description of her encounter with four drunk men who asked her to shell out the money that she had earned from selling rice for a month. She refused to part with the cash as she intended to use it towards house rent for two months.

This is what happened. Manjamma recalls, “I tried to escape their clutches and run, but as soon as I went a few steps, they caught hold of me and threw me to the ground. They had lost all sense of being human and took turns to ravage my body and my being.” She thought that they would kill her, so she begged for mercy. They walked away but took all of her money.

This memoir also draws attention to the dual standards in a society that regards transgender people as manifestations of the divine but also excludes them. Before Manjamma became a known figure, she recalls being hurt and humiliated when she was turned away from washrooms by men as well as women. “I’d stand weeping between two washrooms, lamenting my fate,” she says. She had to find a deserted place or venture far away in the fields in order to relieve herself without anyone troubling her. When she boarded buses, she often saw that passengers did not mind standing but would not occupy the seat next to her.

The book is a record of how she picked herself up from the depths of despair but she does not valorise herself as a self-made woman. She received support from people like Kalavva Jogathi, Matikallu Basappa, Somakka Jogathi, who taught her the art form that brought her the Padma Shri. Though she had differences and bitter spats with them, she recognizes what these people did for her when the family that she was born into cut her off from their lives. She gives credit where due but does not romanticise chosen families because competition, jealousy, arrogance, and efforts to sabotage other people’s careers do affect relationships.

“Had I given up due to being a victim, I would probably have become just another entry in the country’s record of births and deaths,” says Manjamma, whose faith in Yellamma and Jogathi nritya kept her going when she had to deal with poverty, lovers who ghosted her, the cynicism of scholars who questioned her ability to lead the Karnataka Janapada Academy.

Her story will offer comfort, healing and inspiration to many LGBTQIA+ people who feel judged and rejected by their families and society at large. At the same time, it will open the eyes of Indians who mistakenly believe that the presence of transgender characters in myths and legends is evidence of an inclusive society. The reality on the ground is quite different.

Chintan Girish Modi is a freelance writer, journalist and book reviewer.