Face:

Junaid had learnt to sneeze silently. He would purse his lips tightly and close his eyes, concentrating on making as little noise as possible. It had been a few years nobody had really noticed him and he planned to keep it that way. When he sneezed his burkha veil would be blown away a couple of inches and fall back gracefully to caress his dark lips. So he painted the inside of his veil with planets and stars. Every time he sneezed, he would kiss the galaxies and stars far away, hoping to visit them someday.

Junaid was all of 21. He was born slender with curly brown hair and dark eyes. When he was born, his father was apparently so overjoyed that he bought biryani for the whole hospital. You see Junaid was born a girl, the only girl after five brothers. He was born Jumaina. His mother had passed away shortly afterwards, a sudden brain stroke. Junaid’s Abba was left with 5 boys and one very tiny baby girl. You see his Abba could manage the boys, boisterous and strapping all of them but Junaid was more or less left alone. Girls are fragile, Abba would say. He build Junaid a whole library, where he could spent hours reading and flipping through fairy tales. He was also a rather sickly child. But as he grew up, he realised something wasn’t quite right. He hated when the blood would flow between his legs every month, he hated his budding breasts and he hated having to maintain long hair, it would get everywhere. He disliked looking into the mirror, his round face caused him much unhappiness and binding his breasts every morning almost became a ritual. The burkha you would think was a hassle, but he welcomed it, he could be himself under it. He left his facial hair grow, thick curly side locks and bushy eyebrows. He pretended to go to the women’s salon every month but actually changed mid route and sneaked off to the movie theatre alone. There he oohed and aahed at the Bollywood heroes, their muscles straining against the vests, fighting every stereotypical villain there ever was.

His Abba would never understand. The only joy he had ever brought to his Abba was when he thought he was a girl and he couldn’t take that away from him. Junaid when he turned 18, started taking steroids to look more like himself. His jaw grew broader, his facial hair became darker and thicker and his voice much deeper. He grew quieter and quieter and what was funny was that nobody noticed. Most of his brothers had left town by now and his father didn’t have much to say to him, apart from barking a few orders. They didn’t realise it but they had been unknowing participants in his entering manhood. When the first strands of hair grew above his lip, he toiled in the kitchen an extra hour and made halwa for everyone. When his period stopped, he fried puris for everyone. It was a slow journey, but with Junaid’s confidence, his family’s cholesterol also grew. Fortunately everyone had forgotten what Junaid really looked like too.

Today the day had come when the burkha would finally go. Junaid was ready. No one knew what he looked like anymore, he had to go and find a job to fund his sex reassignment surgery. He packed a little bag and sneaked his brother’s shirts and trousers in. Emptied his purse into a battered wallet of his father’s and hesitated before taking his burkha off. All he had to do now was to let go of his burkha. His ally, his aid all these many years. He had sheared off his long hair a few months earlier with the kitchen scissors. He wondered if he should sneak out in his burkha, one last time. But then realised if he did, people would think Jumaina had run away. Jumaina has to just disappear, not run away. He peeled off his burkha and veil, letting the last symbol of femininity fall off. He looked at his face in the mirror now, caressing his stubble and smiled. It was time to leave, time to kiss the galaxies for real.