Kaveri Mary D’souza
Credit: DH Photo
Kaveri Mary D’souza (38) has worn many hats over the years — she has sold churmuri, opened a kirana shop, begged at street signals and engaged in sex work — all to support herself. Today, Kaveri dons a khaki jacket over her churidar, ready to drive residents of Pethri village, Udupi district, to their destinations in her most prized possession — a gleaming auto rickshaw.
Her efforts towards self-sufficiency have made her the first transgender woman in the state to make a living as an auto-rickshaw driver. Two decades of hard work, determination and persistence have culminated in this reality. It is for this set of qualities that she has won the respect and in other cases, the quiet tolerance of even the wary residents of Pethri and its neighbouring villages.
Kaveri has been an auto driver for over nine months now, having completed over 5,000 rides. Over time, she has been able to garner a loyal customer base.
Gulabi, a resident of the village, says she feels safe riding with Kaveri. In fact, she has come to treasure her auto rides.“Some auto drivers in the village do not treat us with respect, but I do not feel that with Kaveri. She feels like family,” she says.
At the tender age of 15, when Kaveri ran away from this village after experiencing intense gender dysphoria, the thought of settling down in the place where she spent her childhood was far-fetched. The ability to integrate with family, attend church, build a home and maintain a steady income, under other circumstances may seem ‘normal’, but for transgender people, these are triumphs in a system that is rigged to their disadvantage. “We are constantly forced to face sexual harassment, taunts and ridicule. We are told to not turn to begging and sex work but these are the only available paths for many in my community,” Kaveri says.
Kaveri too lived many years having to depend on these walks of life to sustain herself in Mysuru and Bengaluru. “I did not have a home to go back to and when they realise you are vulnerable and marginalised, people tend to take advantage of you,” she says. It was in Mysuru that she came across a trans woman, who put her in touch with an NGO that works with transgender people.
“I used to sleep in the office as I did not have a place of my own. The NGO cleared some funds for a gender-affirming surgery when I was 19. I even got a job there,” she adds. The two decades that followed were interspersed with jobs at NGOs as a public relations or operations official, and engaging in begging and sex work in the periods that she spent unemployed.
Credit: DH Photo
With little job security and the absence of the comfort of home, the thought of returning took seed in the back of her mind. The voice got louder and stronger until she gave in eventually. “In Brahmavara, there are not many transgender people. When I returned home, the whole village had gathered. Some people were crying, some accepted me, some others rejected me,” she says. This step required tremendous emotional resilience and courage, but it was rewarding to see her mother, and many other villagers, extend their support.
A brief stint of tuberculosis put into perspective just how vulnerable her living situation was and was one of many incidents that sparked in her a dream to be self-employed. “It was only at home that I was treated with love and care. My mother waited on me hand and foot. Coming back and staying in the house where I grew up was also empowering. When I looked at the rural landscape, it had so many opportunities to start something new,” says Kaveri.
Economic independence
The ideas, hopes and dreams turned into action when Kaveri moved back permanently to Pethri after her mother’s death. “I knew that I wanted to own whatever I started. So I started with selling churmuri outside the weekly Yakshagana performance,” she says. Even though she made enough money to get by, the work was seasonal.
Kaveri then decided to invest her savings in a neighbourhood kirana shop. While the shop was successful for a few months, the second Covid-induced lockdown dealt a death blow to the same.
It was back to the drawing board for Kaveri again.
Many years ago, when she was still in Bengaluru, Kaveri had the opportunity to try her hand at driving an auto rickshaw. “My partner at the time was a rickshaw driver and I had wanted to learn to drive a vehicle from a young age. I took it as a challenge,” she says. A skill she learned off-hand had turned into a lifeline.
Deepa Bhandari, a member of the Udupi division of the Inner Wheel Club, a women’s philanthropy group, describes the determination that Kaveri displayed during this time, “after an event that promoted women learning to drive and earn additional streams of income, Kaveri was the only one to approach us. Even during the loan process, her determination was evident.”
Once she owned an auto, there was no stopping her. “There is a sense of freedom and independence that comes with owning a business,” she explains.
Kajol, a radio jockey and fellow member of the transgender community, sets the context. “Being an auto driver is not easy, particularly for a trans woman. Our bodies are objectified and subject to harassment. Driving is also a male-dominated field. It is brave that she is doing this,” she says. By doing this, she was forging a new path, encouraging others to try their hand at professions hitherto inaccessible to the community, Kajol says.
Writer Rupa Hassan, who works extensively with sex workers and transgender people, explains why Kaveri’s work, which is public and involves considerable daily interaction with people, is important. She confronts people with their own biases. “The general perception is that transgender people only make a living through begging and sex work. A lot of people attribute stigma to their jobs and identities,” she says. The truth is that it is vulnerabilities that push them into being exploited. “Seeing Kaveri hard at work in a profession where even cisgendered women are rare, people will have no excuse but to reexamine why they hold such prejudice,” she says.
Recognising her commitment, Gulabi says, “Other auto drivers make us wait for hours on end, forcing us to show up late for many engagements, and even work. Kaveri’s commitment to work is unparalleled.”
While Kaveri is happy today with her achievements, she is quick to contextualise them. “People like to compare my way of living with those of my community members. I wanted to live a life outside of begging and sex work. This was possible because my family accepted me and provided me with moral support and a place to live,” she says. For other transgender people, social circumstances might not allow for such an outcome.
Nevertheless, she recognises that she is one of the first few in a tide that is turning. Many in her community have started their businesses in agriculture, animal-rearing or even entertainment, she says.
“In the future, I will do whatever is in my capacity to help other transgender people start their businesses. Outside of public and private employment, which now has a handful of trans people, this is a powerful way of ensuring a sustainable source of income,” she says. Until then, she hopes that her story is a compelling example for those who wish to find a way out but have not been able to do so.