When I see a person,
With stubble on her face,
Caked in make-up,
Wearing Kurti or Saree,
I whisper to myself,
“Be brave.”

I put my brave face on,
Clutch my bag,
And scurry past her,
As fast as I can,
I don’t even wait,
To spare a second glance.

And if she approaches me,
I’ll swallow my fear,
Be respectful and polite,
Even given her a smile,
And try to escape,
At the very first chance.

No, I wouldn’t be rude,
Or call her names,
One incident doesn’t define,
An entire gender type,
My fear is my problem,
I won’t make it hers.

Once I was robbed,
By a group of transwomen,
And it has deeply scarred my mind.
I’m petrified by their very sight,
But mistreating them all,
It can’t be justified.

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