“There are many people who will accept you. And you will find them once you find yourself.”- Naina Singh

It takes most people a lifetime to embody, let alone impart advice like this, so you wouldn’t be wrong to imagine these words might have been uttered by an ‘adult’. Perhaps a parent or grandparent trying to direct their offspring towards a path of self-reliance. Then you consider that it could very well have been said by a teenager if said teenager had experienced more in their short lives than most do in their entire lifetimes. Naina Singh, a 16-year-old student of New Delhi’s Vasant Valley School, certainly fits the bill.

Over a single skype conversation a few months ago, I quickly learned that Naina was far from your average teenager. Even up until late last year, Naina was actually Krishna, and most would have identified her as a male student at her well-known Delhi school. When I first heard of Naina, it was through a friend of mine who phoned me up immediately to tell me that there was an amazing, young, transitioning teen in his school. Excited at the prospect of somebody so young being able to transition amongst her peers, with such open support from her own school, I immediately got in touch and we set up a date to Skype.

A few days before our call, I spoke to Naina’s mother, Mishi, on the phone. I told her that I had heard that she was the parent of a transgender teen and wanted to ask for permission to speak with her child. “It’s transsexual,” she corrected me. At the time of the call, I didn’t know Naina had already begun transitioning, but she had. For almost an hour, Mishi caught me up with what life had been like the past year. All the while, I paced up and down my balcony as my thoughts ricocheted inside my head. I was too overcome and emotional to be able to sit down. Goosebumps raked my flesh when Mishi told me that Naina had attempted suicide not once, but twice. The rate of suicide and suicidal attempts is actually shockingly high amongst transgender teens around the world, but it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach for anyone. Least of all, for a parent.

Mishi, however, didn’t flinch. In fact, right through her narration, I got the distinct sense that she wasn’t speaking to me as though I was a reporter, so much as somebody she had known for many years. The warmth was palpable as she called me ‘dear’ and ‘son’ consistently, and I couldn’t help but blink back tears more than a few times during our conversation. I’ve covered a lot of LGBTQ individuals’ stories over the years, but I don’t think i’ve ever spoken to a more supportive, understanding and informed parent of an LGBTQI teen in my life.

In her voice, I heard the emotion of someone who’s been through a lot in the past two years, her voice quavered when she talked of certain things, but beneath that, I also felt a strength resonate through when she spoke. Here is a mother who loves her child more than anything else in the world, I thought to myself. She is doing whatever it takes to make sure that Naina is happy and loved, because in her head, Naina deserves nothing less—and as a mother, Mishi will stand for nothing less. We settled on a date to Skype, a week after the phone call, once Naina’s exams were over.

In the mean time, I engrossed myself in Naina’s YouTube channel and read through some of her posts on her Ask.FM page prior to the interview.  In her first YouTube video posted four months ago, Naina introduced herself and highlighted the reason she started her channel—to help spread awareness about transgenders. For the past three months, Naina has been undergoing hormone replacement therapy (HRT). And in her videos, you can see the transition over time: her voice has changed, her face has narrowed, and the veins on her arms have disappeared. Overall, she looks softer, more delicate—not to mention infinitely happier and more confident. It’s clear, even without having spoken to her, that this was the right choice for her.

Across from me, separated only by a computer screen, Naina looked radiant. Before we begin, she lets out a shy, almost embarrassed laugh. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she clarified: “I’m so sorry, I’m so nervous. I was about to offer you a glass of water and then I realised we’re actually Skyping and you’re not here.” I warmed up to her instantly, much like I did with her mother.

We made small talk for a while. She told me about her school and about her gang of best girlfriends, her ‘squad’, who are fiercely protective of her: Shrishti, Navya, Ria, Ananya and Diya. I spoke to them as well, to get a sense of their bond. They all had the same thing to say: We love Naina and nothing has changed. They had always been close, but if anything, Naina’s journey has brought them even closer.

“What Naina has gone through is remarkable and we’re all so proud, we respect her so much—even if we don’t show it. She would often leave classrooms crying in the middle of the day and not come to school because she was depressed. But after she began to identify as transgender, she become a lot more comfortable with herself and things got a lot better. There are still a few down days every once in a while, but over all, she’s different—she’s happier, braver, kinder and more confident than ever,” says Ria.
When I think back to my school days and how the topic of sexuality wasn’t even whispered, let alone openly discussed, I admire these youngsters. “Please do come out! Growing up with Naina, I know how hard it is, I know that some people accept you and some people don’t. But trust me when I say that things do get better. Until you accept yourself, no one will accept you. Confidence is the key. Don’t hesitate to be who you are—you will be a happier person who won’t be weighed down. I think Naina is an inspiration for all and I’ve learnt a lot from her,” said another friend, Diya.

Still, while friends and family are a part of the puzzle, institutional support is quite another even in this day and age. This is what makes Vasant Valley’s unwavering support of Naina particularly notable. The school’s director declined to give us a quote politely, and their reason was even more powerful than their actions. To them, Naina is simply another student and they don’t want to highlight or sensationalise what they do for her. All they were willing to say is that their primary concern is to help and empower Naina and make sure she’s okay. They even sent out a mass email to teachers, students and parents, which said, ‘There is a transgender girl in our school and we are supporting her one hundred percent. As far as we’re concerned, she’s just another student.’ As far as the realm of gender and sexuality goes, most schools take it upon themselves to impart some form of sex education to their students. But the discussion of anything other than reproduction is simply not mentioned. So you have 300 kids sitting in a school hall listening to a doctor talk about sex, flustered and uncomfortable teachers lining the walls and a few minority (read: LGBTQI) kids in the audience feeling more and more alienated because they don’t understand what’s going on: nobody is paying them any attention and they’re too afraid to ask questions. And here, you have a school that’s pulling out all the stops to make sure a student is happy to go to school every single day.

In January 2015, Vasant Valley asked Naina to speak to the students of grades nine through twelve—they thought it was important that she shared her story. She accepted. “I remember seeing a lot of people crying,” she said. “After struggling with this for so long, it was so touching to see the level of empathy I was getting from so many of my peers. People were actually beginning to understand what I was going through.”

It was in August 2013, when she was 14 years old, that Naina (then Krishna) first came out as gay. Soon, she realised that she wasn’t being completely honest with herself. Eventually, she came around to the idea that she was actually transgender: a woman trapped inside a man’s body. She began experimenting with her appearance and wearing dresses, high heels and makeup. Reactions were mixed: some asked what was going on out of consideration, whether she was alright; others were cruel.

“There was this one girl who knew what I was going through and invited me to her party. I showed up in heels and she spent the entire evening making fun of me and taking pictures to post on her Instagram. This was early in my journey of self-discovery and I couldn’t handle it. I was really upset. She was supposed to be my friend and instead, she ended up making a fool of me. I had opened up to her and told her I was nervous, and she had assured me she would support me. But the exact opposite happened instead. Thankfully, my closest girlfriends were there and they took care of me. I’m so fortunate to have them, I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Naina is definitely luckier than many LGBTQI Indians. Her family is supportive. Even though her father’s side is relatively orthodox, they do their best to embrace her. In the beginning, however, they did ask her to be discreet about it. “Wear make up and heels at home first,” they had told her. “Why should I?” she shot back. “I’m a girl. Would you tell your daughter to dress up at home and not go out in heels if she wanted to? This is me. This is who I am. I’m not doing this to upset people. I’m doing this for me.”

She recalls one incident in particular that had a severe impact on her. “I used to be very close to my aunt, my father’s sister. When she got married, she told me I could only come to the wedding if I ‘dressed appropriately’ i.e. as a boy—in trousers and a shirt. I refused. She didn’t back down either. Ultimately, I didn’t go to her wedding. And we don’t speak any more. I have no room for intolerance or small-mindedness in my life. Being so young, people don’t take you seriously. The standard ‘you’re too young to know what you’re doing’ excuse is something that’s constantly thrown my way. But I know. Nobody goes around asking straight people ‘are you sure you’re straight’, right? So why are you trying to convince me that I have no idea what I’m doing?”
“I used to also be really close to my maternal grandmother. I used to spend the night at her house every weekend. But she wasn’t happy when I began to embrace my new identity. When I went to stay at house after I came out as transgender, she wouldn’t let me get ready at home. If I wanted to put on make up, I had to do it in the car. On the flipside, my grandfather, a former army general, said, “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. When you’re as old as I am, you tend to look back and regret a lot of things. When you get to my age, I don’t want you to feel like you regret anything. If being a girl makes you happy, be a girl. Just be happy.”

I found myself smiling inwardly many times throughout our interview. Naina seems to possess the same inner fire that her mother does: one that gives them both the courage to speak out, not only for themselves, but also for those who lack a voice of their own—Naina and her mother spoke on LGBTQI issues at the launch of Thrive Magazine earlier this year too.

She might be only 16, but she exhibits a remarkable amount of maturity and level-headedness for a teenager. “For every one person who has positive views, there are ten who have negative ones. India really has so far to go. But I’m willing to help. I’m willing to work towards it. I’ve been blessed with a wonderful family, especially my mom, who’s my rock. And if by speaking out I can make a difference to even one kid who’s conflicted about his sexuality, it’ll be worth it.”

In January, Naina and Mishi visited Mumbai. “My trip to Mumbai was a huge defining point for me. I had already come out as transgender nearly a year before, but my mom, though supportive, had never let me wear a dress. And I had been patient. I knew she needed time to come around completely—which is what I keep telling young transgender people who contact me: give it time, be patient. When we were in Bombay, we went shopping, and for the first time ever, I tried on a dress. I was so happy. And I begged her to buy it for me. She agreed. Later that evening, we went out to dinner and she let me wear the dress.”

Mishi, too, had told me about this over the phone when we had spoken. “I understood that my son was not really a son, but a daughter. I’ve always known Krishna (she still calls Naina that) was a girl. She’d always want to wear chuddis and wear mehendi when we went to weddings. I’d indulge her and let her get a tiny henna Om, but she’d want her entire hand covered,” she laughs.

“As a parent, I can say without any doubt in my mind that Krishna has always been a girl. Obviously you will question it a hundred times over, but ultimately you come to a point where you accept the truth.” She admitted, however, that it wasn’t easy. “I kept asking Krishna: why can’t you just be gay? It would be so much easier.” But then I realised that you can’t will something for your child—especially when it’s something as intrinsic as sexuality. When I saw him in that dress at Zara, I felt like I was seeing my child for the first time. He was so happy. That’s when I decided that we would do whatever it takes. I was not going to lose my child over anything. We came back to Delhi and began the HRT process. It’s been a few months now, and it’s been amazing. Most people have been supportive, especially her school. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without them—Naina even goes to school in the girls’ uniform now. When I look back, I realise we’ve come such a long way.” Even the helpers at Vasant Valley have been briefed and kept up to speed with Naina’s journey—everyone from kitchen staff, to security, and even the gardeners.

“It hasn’t all been easy, of course,” Naina said. “An eighth grade kid came up to me once and said that I should kill myself because transgender people don’t deserve to live. That was a big blow. It really, really hurt. I still don’t think I’ve completely recovered. This happened in May, before I had even started transitioning, and I wasn’t strong enough to take that kind of an attack. It really affected me. I even went through a phase where I frequented the temple. I thought maybe God could help me because no one else seemed able to. When I took a pandit into confidence and told him what was bothering me, he told me I was a demon and that my parents should kill me. I never went back after that.”

“The struggle within myself has probably been the toughest,” Naina confessed. “I tried to commit suicide twice. Thankfully, neither attempt was successful. The first time, I swallowed a bunch of pills which knocked me out for over 16 hours, but that’s it. The second time was scarier. I would probably have been successful if my friend hadn’t called me up at that exact moment. We had a brief conversation and all she said was, “I love you.” That was the first time any of my friends had said that to me. After she hung up, I didn’t feel as lonely any more. I realised that I am loved as a person. I will never forget that moment. Now, it unnerves me to think how close I really came to ending it all—and how if I did, I would have robbed myself of everything I’m experiencing right now.”

While Naina was open to sharing all this information, I noticed one very tell tale absence in the story: she hadn’t mentioned her father at all. So, I prodded. “I don’t talk to my father anymore,” she said, and for the first time I saw her carefully reigned in emotions begin to show. She brushed a French-manicured hand through her hair and began to fidget, twirling strands of her now nearly shoulder length hair between her fingers. “It’s not that he doesn’t accept me—he does. He even bought me my first pair of heels. He accepted me even before my mom did. He told me that if this was what I wanted, he’d replace my entire wardrobe for me. He just wanted me to be happy. My two suicide attempts had shaken him badly. But apart from that, he hasn’t really been a part of my journey. My parents are separated and my dad lives in New York. Not once has he said anything to me during my journey. It’s so much more than just offering to buy new clothes. I didn’t even want that. I just wanted him to be proud of me and say ‘I love you.’ He’s never once said that.”
Naina also has an elder sister who currently lives in France. Her sister had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that her baby brother would soon be her baby sister. “When she broke away, I cried every day. I couldn’t handle not having my big sister around. She used to be my support system. Growing up, we were as close as could be. She eventually came around and apologised—which is still something I’m waiting for my dad to do. It’s so hard because you expect your sibling to be your ally through everything. But I’m so grateful we’ve moved past it.”

“Even though being transgender is now technically legal, it’s the social mindset that hasn’t changed. We’re still nowhere, especially with Section 377 in force. It really annoys me. We have so many bigger issues to worry about: hunger, poverty, disease…why is being LGBTQ such a big deal?” huffed Naina.

Mishi, on the other hand, is more optimistic. I had commented earlier saying that gay marriage is probably never going to be legal in India. She interrupted me: “It will. We’re going to fight for it and we’re going to make sure it happens—and gay adoption, too. We’re going to have a revolution one day—and the government will be forced to listen. I don’t understand why the urban, Indian middle class has such a problem with alternative sexualities. We’re educated, for god’s sake! In the past, people have actually come up and said: why don’t you try shock therapy? I turned back and replied: why don’t you piss off?”

 “I know there are many others who aren’t as lucky as me,” Naina said. “The rate of attempted suicide amongst transgenders is 41 percent. That’s a ridiculous number.”

I asked her what advice she has for kids who aren’t as fortunate as her—who don’t have the same, incredible support system she has. “The ultimate goal is happiness. You have to really decide what makes you happy. Will you be content with not being yourself just so society will accept you? Or do you want to be true to yourself and create your own society? My friend Ananya once said, ‘Friends are the family you choose.’ And there are plenty of allies out there for the LGBTQI community, it’s just that we’re not as evolved and exposed as the West. It’s not as easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. There are many people who will accept you. And you will find them once you find yourself. Don’t be scared to ask for help.”
Naina and I spoke for over an hour, and at the end of it, I found that I had developed a great fondness and respect for this incredibly brave young woman. Coming of age is a rough time for most, and it’s never easy realising you’re different from your peers, which is exactly what LGBTQI youngsters go through. They experience the regular teenage angst coupled with an almost debilitating sense of questioning: ‘who am I? Why do I feel the way I feel?’ These differences start subtly and begin to creep up to the surface and become more and more noticeable over time until one day you can’t ignore them any more. And school can be a difficult place. Kids can be pretty ruthless: peer pressure, the desire to blend in, the cliques…it can be overwhelming.

There’s no doubt that Naina’s story is the exception, rather than the norm. But that is precisely why it must be told—and shared. It is a story of victory against one’s inner demons, a story of rising to embrace diversity, of finding happiness, and above all, a story of a young woman who has now come of age in the truest sense.

[Now Delhi shot a wonderful video of Naina, which provides even more insight into the young woman’s world. Watch it below.] 

Words: Neville Bhandara

Images & Video Courtesy Now Delhi 

[Now Delhi is a web-based documentary series which showcases progressive Indian sub-cultures via video time capsules. It documents the non mainstream ‘scenes’ of a city. It is an exploration into how artists interact with cities, and how the cities, in turn, influence them in their work. New Delhi just happens to be its default canvas. The website is a self-funded, not-for-profit venture initiated by Akshat Nauriyal]