Story 2 Who am I?

In the year 2070, I am now old and will never get the freedom of motherhood. So I don’t have any grandchildren to listen to the story but there are some little Shihabs like me who have started listening to the story. Tell this story to them.

An Intersex kid tore the map of Bangladesh to pieces while playing. His father was very angry and said I am giving you 4 minutes to put the map of Bangladesh in the right way. The boy’s father came a little later and saw that the map had been properly attached. He wondered how it was possible for a boy in class 2 to pair the map of Bangladesh correctly! Then the father asked the son how did you put it together?

Then the boy said, “Dad, I didn’t attach the map, I drew pictures of some people on the back of the map.” They are neither boys nor girls. They are human. When I put the people in this picture together, the country came together automatically. We are also part of the country. Yes, no country can go beyond the Intersex population like us.

I am talking about the people behind the map, so the name of a person is Md. Ratul, he is an intersex person by birth. She thinks of herself as a girl. The name is boys, the family has raised him like a boy. He kept her hidden from everyone. So when he was very young he was sent to Boys hostel. No one ever wanted to know what he wanted.

Close relatives said to keep this Hijra away from home, otherwise you will not be able to marry your daughters. We have a respect in society. One of my uncles tells me I’m hell. I am the harvest of parents’ sins.

The boy’s father used to put his hands on his body, punch him in the words, break his nose, kick him in the blood, kick him in the lower abdomen and then he would get fever. That was his daily occurrence. In fact he was a burden to his family. Admissions to this secondary school are in the district Boys school. The machine is small ….. Laughter, jokes, mockery were his daily companions.

She always wondered if she would get the same opportunity to study as the boys or the girls. Or will there be a new law for him? When he was admitted to the university, he was forcibly transferred to the public room of the public university. Because he has to obey his family. In order to survive, the news money has to be taken from the family. He had to adjust with 40 boys in one room. When he got a room when he was a little senior. But even there, she had to share a bed with another stranger.

Gradually the girl became mentally ill. He needed someone to help him. Then he talked to those who work with diverse gender groups. But no one helped him, to give him the opportunity to study in a healthy environment. That girl has completed her studies leaving behind many hostile environment, family inequality, social inequality and now she has become self-reliant.

The Intersex kids I was listening to stories asked me, was Bangladesh lagging far behind in 2020? What was the condition of the Intersex people in Bangladesh at that time? I said no satellite was launched in the sky. But the Intersex people were lagging behind like dhutra flowers due to careless negligence. At that time, the identity of Intersex was also lost in the crowd of Hijra culture.

He has no regrets about the girl named Ratul whom no one helped, because when he sees the Prime Minister of Bangladesh in 2070, he is a transgender person. Out of today’s Intersex people, a new generation like Mark Zuckerberg and Malala Yousaf has emerged. Leadership like Bangabandhu, Nelson Mandela. Artists like Runalaila, Bobdilan. Then she prides herself on being an intersex.

Now he knows who he is? He is not an alien from an alien planet, nor is he physically disabled. People of the same sex, like men and women, are born naturally. Their diversity is not their disease but their beauty. There is a latent talent in him, a beautiful environment for the development of that talent. Because it has unique features. This distinctive feature of him is not his weakness, but his strength. The whole world has been illuminated by the light of his strong will power.

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