It is so sad that no one is standing up for a woman, who was a strong protector for the entire state.
Growing up chasing womanhood and finding liberation, freedom and dignity has taught me one thing—no matter what people say about developing a thick skin, if you’re born sensitive, you remain sensitive.
But then as you go through life, there will be protectors; those who inspire you to strategise, scale up and survive, yet retain your sensitivity.
To me, Amma was that protector.
I had met her when I was a 10-year-old on the sidelines of a political meeting that my grandfather had taken me to. Her unswerving vision for the state and her focussed gaze that could spot my darting eyes in a crowd of grown men touched me. It was a turning point. Her posture, poise and penchant for personal portrayal as a no-nonsense power inspired me. That’s how I wanted to be: decisive, dynamic, and very dignified.
Over the years, her stature and aura grew as the saviour of the state, and top leaders from across the world engaged with her.
I was in the 12th standard, and applied to be an intern at Jaya TV. I cleared the English Test for the news division and was told that Sasikala madam has seen my audition, and was happy to give me an opportunity. Sasikala madam was constantly looking out for Amma and ensuring everything was perfect around her—whether it a notepad, her spectacles, or if she wasn’t comfortable with a certain camera angle while the media pranced around for visuals.
Decades later, when at the Deccan Chronicle, I had the opportunity to work on the special edition for Amma’s birthday. I personally interviewed Simi Garewal to find out about Amma, and about her memorable interview. When we finally presented the newspaper to Amma, she was elated, especially because of the special oil painting I had gotten done of her by the well-known artist A P Shreethar. It was a lucky day for her. She had also just celebrated the Cauvery verdict that was delivered in Tamil Nadu’s favour. She sent us sweets for all of us at Deccan Chronicle.
I remember taking sweets home to my mom and saying, “Amma sent sweets”. She looked puzzled. I said Amma as in Jayalalithaa, my mom then said, “That’s where you should be. With her. She will recognise you for your ideas.”
I felt reassured that there will be a meaningful place for me in politics. After all, it was these two women—Amma and Sasikala—who instilled confidence in the lowest of cadres, especially the women.
In March 2016, the Tamil Nadu BJP leadership had introduced me to Amit Shah-ji and inducted me into the party at a Woman’s Day function. I was tasked with representing the party on women’s issues on national media. Sadly, I opted out due to a direct assault on my sexuality by some local politicians. I felt so unsafe. I quit and began writing a book.
One day, I got a call from AIADMK party headquarters asking me if I would like to join Amma.
A day before I was to meet her I got another call saying, “Ma’am I didn’t realise you’re a transgender woman, sorry ma’am. Till date MGR or Amma have not inducted anyone publicly on a stage from your community. Amma will get angry if we line you up for a membership.”
It hurt, I broke down and cried to my mom. Here I was fighting prejudice and trying so hard to find peace and dignity, and I was just one step away from my dream of meeting Amma as a full woman. Just being accepted by her would have meant so much to me. But dejected and disappointed I resigned myself to never knock on political doors or nurse those dreams again.
Then late around 11:30pm I received another call from Poes Garden asking me to come the next day.
I didn’t know how to react. I thought someone was playing a prank. I told the gentleman to get lost and hung up. The phone rang again. And the man said in an assertive tone: “Come to Poes Garden tomorrow.”
Hesitant, yet hopeful, with mixed emotions of strength and insecurity, I walked into the office of Amma’s Poes Garden home where I was informed: “Sasikala ma’am has read your work profile and has spoken to Amma and they want to give you a chance. Come to Arakkonam tomorrow.”
I can’t explain how I felt then. It was as if all my battles had evaporated. I felt worthy.
At Arakkonam, some members from the party headquarters were horrible, they poked fun, asked me to sit separately. I was sixth on the list yet they pushed me to the fourteenth position. They made me shift seats about 15 times.
Then Sasikala madam walked straight up to me and waved and said “Vaanga, vaanga (welcome welcome)”. That was enough of a signal for all the chauvinistic men and security personnel to back off.
On stage, I froze looking at the nearly 15 lakh people, bright lights and men-in-white prostrating in front of Amma. As I went up, Amma smiled, nodded at me and asked me to come closer.
By then, I had forgotten all the instructions from the men backstage, who had told me to fall at Amma’s feet and only speak if I was spoken to.
I said, “Thank you for making space for women like me, Amma.”
She smiled, and said, “Do good work. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.”
Her security officer was about to push me away, but Amma stopped him and allowed me to stand next to her for a few more minutes. She observed me closely as I adjusted my hair and gave me a warm smile.
I miss her terribly. Those that she helped nurture and put in positions of power are now parading her coffin for votes. Sasikala madam, who lived with her, is being unfairly termed a domestic help. The man who was constantly at their feet, OPS, is leading the charge of the classist dialogue.
Her home, which was a temple to many, has come under attack by women who popped up after her death claiming to be relatives. Her character is being attacked with demands for DNA tests.
It is so sad that no one is standing up for a woman, who was a strong protector for the entire state.
To me Amma was not just a woman who fought battles to rise. She was a spirited warrior who never stooped to the levels that are expected of politicians, and yet won every battle with class and dignity.
Apsara Reddy is a transgender woman and the first ever National Spokesperson of an Indian political party.