This story is part of our Pride Month collection, where parents of queer and transgender individuals across India share their journeys of love, unlearning, and acceptance.
In this first-person account narrated to The Better India, a doctor couple and parents — Dr Bela Sharma, Additional Director, Internal Medicine FMRI, Gurgaon, writes here, alongside her husband, Air Commodore (Dr) Sanjay Sharma (Retd).
They reflect on their daughter’s journey to womanhood, the healthcare gaps they encountered along the way, and how it led them to found ATHI, a not-for-profit working to build gender-affirmative healthcare systems in India.
There are stories that we read and recite, and then there are stories that we weave into our own realities and write ourselves. There are stories about our realities that become dreams, and dreams that we set aside to build new realities. There are stories in which we turn adversity into opportunity.
This is our story.
When people ask me, “When did your child come out to you? What was your reaction at that moment?” I don’t know what to say. How does one compress 20 years’ worth of coming out into a single moment?
The years we didn’t see
She had been trying to tell us her truth ever since she learnt to communicate, around the age of one and a half or two. She referred to herself in the feminine gender (“He’s just emulating his mother and grandmother”), draped herself in a dupatta (“He’s just play-acting”), and bought herself a Barbie (“Aww, what a lovely brother, buying a doll for his little sister”).
The couple’s daughter first expressed her gender identity through language, dress and play at around one and a half to two years of age. At puberty, the family recalled that emotional distress was initially dismissed as typical adolescent rebellion.
We didn’t understand.
Children are perceptive, intuitive and resilient. They know when to tell the truth and when to hide it. We, the parents, the “know-alls”, are often oblivious. We see and hear only what we want to.
Puberty, however, is a different story. It is a difficult time, when every illusion is shattered. Imagine turning into Ranveer Singh when, inside, you have always been Marilyn Monroe or Lady Gaga.
Even then, we adults find explanations for everything. Erratic behaviour, non-conformity and emotional outbursts are dismissed as “typical rebellious adolescent behaviour” in an intelligent, individualistic child.
Schools are content as long as the child performs well academically and brings home accolades in extracurricular activities.
Only one teacher noticed something was wrong. She instructed our child to wear a full-sleeved school shirt, even during summer, so that other students would not see the marks and tattoos on her arms and be “influenced”.
We, the collective adults, failed to see the truth staring us in the face for years.
As doctors, we tried to analyse the reasons for her unhappiness and came up with countless explanations: too much control, too much freedom, the problems of privilege, children of working mothers, neglect, the internet… the list was endless.
Sometimes, I shudder to think of the years my child spent playing that charade, pretending to be someone she was not. Imagine looking into the mirror every day and finding a stranger staring back at you, while carrying the weight of generations of expectations on your shoulders.
A school teacher was the only adult to notice signs of self-harm on the child’s arms during her school years. In 2016, the family began searching for healthcare professionals who could provide gender-affirming care while living in Delhi.
But she rarely talks about that period of her life. She has blocked those years from her memory.
My daughter came back to me as a grown-up — beautiful, graceful and loving.
The call that changed everything
As parents, we don’t really have many choices. I often describe us as bechara (helpless).
So when your child calls from another city, overwhelmed with anguish and asking why they should continue living a life of misery, you don’t hesitate. You book the ticket and bring them home.
Acceptance comes first. Understanding follows later.
This was in 2016. We were living in the nation’s capital and searching for healthcare professionals who could provide gender-affirming care.
The advice we received from colleagues ranged from, “It’s all Western influence,” and “Internet ki bimari hai,” to “Don’t give in to your child’s demands — give them a good thrashing instead,” and even, “You’ll have to go abroad. This kind of care isn’t available in India.”
Gender-affirming care — not possible in the land where Ardhanarishvara is worshipped, where Lord Vishnu appeared as Mohini, and where Lord Krishna transformed into a woman to marry Aravan?
By 2018, their daughter completed her transition and gained the freedom to go about daily life without fear or judgement.
Our culture is full of stories celebrating gender diversity, gender fluidity and freedom of expression. The erasure of that history is the real Western influence. Acceptance has always been the Indian way.
The reason we eventually found the right professionals was twofold. First, we were both doctors and had access to the right networks. Second, our daughter had already done her homework. She handed us the WPATH (World Professional Association for Transgender Health) Standards of Care.
Finding our people
Support came from family, friends, colleagues, SWEEKAR – The Rainbow Parents, and many others who simply said, “We don’t fully understand what you’re doing, but we’re with you.”
Our greatest source of strength was my father-in-law, then 95 years old. He told us, “It is your duty to stand by your child. I am with you. Ankh moond kar daud, main tere saath khada hoon (close your eyes and run toward what you seek. I am with you).”
I remember one conversation while planning her transition.
My daughter asked me, “What are we going to tell Nanu and Nani (maternal grandfather and grandmother)? That their grandson died?”
Following his daughter’s transition, Air Commodore (Dr) Sanjay Sharma left the Air Force to train in gender-affirming healthcare. The family founded ATHI (Association for Transgender Health in India), with two wings — IPATH and KHEM.
In the end, there was no need to explain anything.
They came to visit her in hospital while she was recovering.
A new beginning
The year 2018 marked a turning point for all of us.
Our daughter finally removed the drapes covering the mirrors in her room.
She could travel in the ladies’ compartment without fear. People addressed her as “Ma’am”. She could buy make-up, heels and dresses without being judged.
My husband, Air Commodore Dr Sanjay Sharma (Retd), now had a new mission.
His military training had helped him analyse the situation, and he was deeply troubled by the glaring gaps in the healthcare system that he and I had spent our entire careers serving.
Why had no one recognised the warning signs?
How could trained professionals overlook them for so long?
If we, as doctors, struggled to find the right care, what hope did parents without medical knowledge have? What about children who lacked the language to describe what they were experiencing? What about the countless people forced to live lives that did not reflect who they truly were?
Building the path that didn’t exist
When there is no path, you build one. If you want to cross a river, you build a raft.
That is exactly what we did.
In 2020, ATHI published India’s first Standards of Care for transgender healthcare, ISOC-1. ATHI has since conducted annual conferences under IPATHCON to train healthcare professionals across the country.
My husband left the Air Force, attended the WPATH conference, completed Foundation and Advanced courses in Gender-Affirming Healthcare, and established ATHI (Association for Transgender Health in India), a not-for-profit organisation.
ATHI now has two wings: IPATH (Indian Professional Association for Transgender Health), its professional arm, and KHEM (Knowledge, Healthcare, Empowerment, Mainstreaming), its social arm.
Since then, we have organised annual international conferences through IPATHCON, trained healthcare professionals, and conducted workshops across the country.
In 2020, we also published the first Indian Standards of Care (ISOC-1), recognising that Indian families, bodies, and social and legal systems differ significantly from those in the West.
Today, ISOC is widely referred to as the Manual for Transgender Healthcare across India. The second edition will be released soon.
(For more information about ATHI’s work, visitwww.athionline.com.)
What we tell other parents now
From being a confused family struggling simply to stay together, we have come a long way.
Today, when parents or children approach us, frightened because they don’t know what lies ahead, I tell them to take it one hour, one minute, one breath at a time.
I tell them we are the chosen ones because we have been entrusted with something extraordinary.
I ask children to be patient with their parents.
And I ask parents to simply love their children, because that is what parents are meant to do.
It may have taken the Sharma family some time to see their daughter clearly, but not a moment’s hesitation to love her completely.
Our children are not here to fulfil our ambitions.
They are not here to realise our dreams or to become trophies we display with pride.
They are individuals.
They are here to live their own lives, make their own mistakes, and learn from them — or not.
Our role is simply to guide them, cherish them, and love them unconditionally.
Unconditional Love
We speak of
Unconditional love,
And then
Place conditions
Everywhere.
Do you
Love me
More
When I fulfil
Your expectations?
Meet your standards?
Does your love
Diminish
Every time
I fall
In your esteem?
Is your love
Quantifiable,
Measured
On a scale
From minus ten
To zero?
I thought love was
All-encompassing,
Limitless,
Unquestionable.
Or
Is it?
