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The latter example is particularly telling, sińce Sulekha colours her commentary with a series of flat-handed claps for added emphasis, a gesture so much a part of the hijras’ interactional style that we have chosen to represent it in the transcription system with an asterisk. With five claps occurring in seven short sentences, Sulekha’s commentary stands in sharp contrast to the other pas-sages ąuoted in this chapter; the import of her words is further underscored by her use of maculine self-reference in the finał two lines: mai jhut,h kahta^m hu? nahi kahta^m hu [‘Do I tell"¹ lies? No, I don’t tell"¹ lies!‘].

A finał example of first person masculinity comes from an inter-action that took place among members of a third community in Banaras. Ali born into Hindu families who ostracized them, the hijras belonging to this community have adopted the religious prac-tices of the Muslim families they live with - families who in many ways suffer a similar marginalization as residents of a city that is thought of throughout North India as the ‘holy Hindu city’. The 80-year-old Shashi is the leader of the group, and after 69 years of speaking like a woman, we rarely heard her use any masculine speech. The third time we visited her, however, Shashi’s favourite disciple had fled back to her own yillage after a serious financial scuffle with another community member. Shashi was feeling intense ragę at the cause of this dispute, as well as deep grief for her loss. Wailing mera beta, mera beta [‘my son, my son’] and clapping in anger, Shashi screamed about the punishment that the hijra who precipitated the fight would receive, venting her anger entirely through use of the masculine first and third person. It would seem