Summary
Rubina shares her journey of growing up in a conservative Bangladeshi village, the challenges of societal expectations, and her path toward self-identity and freedom.
Biographical Information:
- Name: Rubina (pseudonym),
- Age: 22
- Place of Birth: Mirpur, Dhaka City, Bangladesh
- Current Residence: Mirpur
- Languages Spoken: Bengali, Hindi
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: Rubina, could you share your early memories of growing up in Mirpur?
Rubina: I always knew I was a boy inside. It felt as natural as the monsoon rain or the flow of the Turag River. But in my family’s small home, there was no space for that truth. To them, I was a daughter.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: How did your family express their expectations?
Rubina: My mother would braid my hair tightly, oil glistening on my scalp, and fix a nose pin that felt like a shackle. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw someone else’s reflection. The long hair brushed my shoulders like mockery, and the nose pin sparkled like betrayal.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: Can you recall a significant moment from your adolescence?
Rubina: When I was thirteen, my father bought me a black burka. “You’re grown now,” he said. “A RESPECTABLE GIRL COVERS HERSELF.” The burka swallowed me. It hid my broadening shoulders, my chest I longed to bind, my body already defying the rules of femininity. But it didn’t protect me — it brought ridicule. Neighbors whispered, “Why does she walk like a boy under that burka?” Some even laughed outright: “Looks like a man pretending to be a woman.”
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: How did you cope with this?
Rubina: I wanted to shout; I am a man. I am not pretending. But the words lodged in my throat. My voice, deepening earlier than other girls, betrayed me. It cracked and choked, turning truth into silence.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: Were there moments when you felt yourself?
Rubina: At night, lying awake, sweating in the humidity, staring at the ceiling fan, I dreamed of cutting my hair, walking bareheaded through the bazaar, wearing a Panjabi and lungi, speaking freely without shame. But by dawn, my mother would tug the burka over my head again, and the dream scattered like dust.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: How did you perceive your body then?
Rubina: I felt like thunder trapped in a clay pot. My body was not delicate or soft as expected. I looked awkward, even “funny” to others. But it was not comedy—it was pain, stitched into cloth, a battle between the soul and the shell.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: Did you find moments of solace?
Rubina: Over time, I learned to shrink, move silently, swallow questions. Yet occasionally—standing by the riverbank, wind tangling my hair, the burka clinging to my frame—I felt a strange power. Even if the world refuses to see me, I exist. I am here. I am Rubina.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: What was the turning point in your journey?
Rubina: When my family arranged my marriage, the rituals began—colors, bangles, whispers of celebration. Inside, I burned. The night before the wedding, I locked myself in my room and cut off all my hair, each strand falling like chains breaking.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: How did your family react?
Rubina: They wept, shouted, called me a disgrace. Yet I felt something else—release. I was no longer the bride they wanted. I had failed them, yes—but in that failure, I found freedom.
- Dipa Mahbuba Yasmin: What does freedom mean to you now?
Rubina: Like a pigeon bursting from a cage, I could finally breathe. For the first time, I wasn’t just surviving—I was free from the torment of gender dysphoria.
