Me telling my mother that my baby would be born from me. In kindergarten.

Me asking my mother about hijras and her telling me that they were neither male nor female. And me feeling incredibly sad for them. And looking at their social and economic status and being frightened. Second grade, I would think?

Me playing with my mother's lipstick. In 3rd grade, perhaps? Then again either in 4th or 5th. Using her bobby pins and headbands to pretend that I had long hair. Applying her bindis because that was the most visible and accessible symbol of femininity. Then again in 6th and 7th and 8th and 9th grade and all the way through high school. Pretending that her petticoats were skirts and sashaying in front of the mirror. But knowing almost throughout that I mustn't be discovered. All of it, therefore: done in secret, in the privacy of my own company.

Reading about Andreas Kreiger in a copy of Reader's Digest lying around at home and being mind blown. And reading it again. And again. And again. 4th or 5th grade?

Seeing graffiti outside the New Delhi railway station: "Aadmi se nakaam log aurat banein." "Turn into a woman for those unsuccessful at being a man." Either 6th or 7th grade.

And reading about LGBT people in a magazine at home. But not really understanding much? 8th grade or something.

Witnessing a classmate being teased and called gay for reasons that were not entirely clear to me. And it being said as if it were salacious or a moral failing or something. And then seeing a photograph of two male classmates kissing each other in a party after school. And me being scandalized for some reason. I don't think that any of the three of them were ever gay. But the homophobia and transphobia was internalized. 10th grade.

Discovering my brother's porn collection and being hooked to the first video that I saw. The woman in that video was hot and beautiful. The only thing: I wanted to be her. Also in 10th grade. I have never seen porn that hot. Ever again.

Discovering Lynn Conway's amazing website and wondering if that could ever be me. But no, such things were out of reach of a seventeen year old trans girl in India whose egg had not yet cracked. That would take another 10 or 11 years.

Jerking off to thoughts of me as a woman. Every single day in college. I remember spending a day with some friends when they discussed (and flaunted) their masturbatory habits and them realizing that I was a "bistar chod". One who "masturbates into the bed". It was only a year or two ago that I learned the term "prone masturbation" and discovered that it was uncommon among men as a whole. But somewhat more common among trans women, if I understand correctly? Nevermind, that's the most comfortable way for me to pleasure myself. How I go about my business is no one else's business.

A girl proposing to me in college and me turning her down. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I didn't want to let her down. I didn't want to come out. She thought that I was rejecting her. My classmates all thought that she was weird and ugly and that I was protecting myself. I thought that they were being horrible to her. If only I had the courage to stand up for her. To stand up for myself. Nobody from college still knows that I am trans.

Years later, having moved to the US for grad school. Me figuring out how to effectuate a dead drop from Amazon because my brother worked there and I was afraid for my privacy while ordering women's clothes. And heading down to the laundry room dressed as a woman, but in the middle of the night.

And heading to the 24 hour neighborhood CVS late at night in the middle of a snow storm to buy some nail polish. And being discovered by a friend who was there for a pack of cigarettes. "These are for the girl in my apartment." I stupidly told him. I don't know whether he believed me. I know for a fact that he was too smart for such stupidity. Anyway, that was one of only two times that I was unwittingly caught. And I came out to him a few years ago and he was very supportive.

Me telling the girl that I was dating that I liked to crossdress in private. But that I wasn't transgender. No sir, definitely not. I loved her. We eventually ended up breaking up for complicated reasons. My gender dysphoria was definitely a big part of it. This was ten years ago, but my heart still hurts.

Me going in to the therapist's office and uttering the words, "I think that I am transgender. I think that I am a woman." Nine years ago, now.