This thought blasts my mind with the force of a hurricane.
—Sharma, S.K: Hijras: The Labelled Deviants,

Ishvari strode, naked and bronzed, past the bakula thickets and the banana groves, past the whispering tilaka trees and the golden umbrellas of karnikara swarming with black-and-gold striped honey bees, past the river that gurgled beneath her home on top of the hill, moving indomitably toward the site of greatest heat in the valley. When she reached the concave dip above the mouth of the river, she performed twelve surya namaskaras in total surrender, then stood motionless in the pose of the warrior, joining her palms at her heart in profound gratitude.

This was the season of relentless heat that fried the brain in its own juices...

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