Art as activism

This streets-to-stage story portrays a transgender artiste's evolution as a social reformer

From Manjunath to Manjamma: The Inspiring Life of a Transgender Folk Artist

B. Manjamma Jogathi with Harsha Bhat

HarperCollins

Pages: 240

Price: Rs 399

As we leave the excitement of Pride month behind us, Padma Shri Matha Manjamma Jogathi’s – or simply (and fondly) Amma’s – memoir keeps the spirit and variance of art and sexuality alive. The book,  From Manjunath to Manjamma, shares a glimpse of Amma’s journey and struggle to create an identity as a transgender, as an artist and, finally, as a figure of social reform; and is an appeal to live life “as humans and not aberrations”.  In 2021, a video of Manjamma Jogathi went viral for bestowing on President Kovind a traditional blessing at the Padma Shri Award ceremony.

Born as Manjunath Setty – in a body that didn't feel her own – in Karnataka's Kallukamba village, to a mother who bore 21 children – of which only four survived – and a father who addressed him as a son till the end, Manjamma had to walk a long, rocky path to become who she is today. “It was certainly not easy but it is what I wanted – to be a woman,” writes Amma. This unbecoming of Manjunath and the becoming of Manjamma begins with initiation into the Jogathi troupe – a transgender group of dancing and singing worshippers of the Yellamma Goddess – to follow a life of rules and restrictions. But it does not end here. Rejected, beaten (in “good faith”), abandoned, molested and suicidal, Manjamma’s is a streets-to-stage story; from margins to mainstream, from rejection to recognition and respect, “the pavement to the President’s court”.

With a humility unique to her, she gives a voice to the unheard – many who live grey lives beyond society’s convenient black and white lens. In her tale of transformation, she addresses the social and cultural paradox (and the bigotry) that surrounds transgenders – their (selective) auspiciousness that hides beneath the “disgrace” they bring to their families and the community – and emphasises the need for a deep-rooted intervention. Reading her story, we realise the hollowness of imposed normative behaviours. In making empty promises of tolerance, sensitivity and inclusivity, we fail as a society. Even though we now legally recognise the transgender identity, we still have a long way to go.

Accorded with the Rajyotsava Prashasti by the Karnataka Government in 2010 and the Padma Shri Award – the fourth-highest civilian award of the country – in 2021 and conferred an honorary doctorate by Sharnbasva University, Kalaburagi, Manjamma Jogathi has been the only transgender president ever of the Karnataka Folk Academy and now runs a trust for the upliftment of the trans community in India. She dedicates her success and glory to her Guru Matha Kalavva Jogathi – one “with a throat of bronze” – for teaching her the art of Jogathi nritya and giving her life a purpose – using “art as survival”, paving the way for many others and highlighting the importance of kindness and of finding the right guidance in life.

From searching for a place to belong to being surrounded by a life of Chowdki and Shruti  – the instruments of the Goddess – she has come a far way as an artist and an activist of trans-rights.

Her message is simple: we need to build inclusive societies, preserve dying cultures and traditions such as “organic, interactive theatre” in empathetic and proactive ways. The Amma in her name is no longer a gender-affirming suffix but a sentiment, true to her personality.

As I realise the importance of Manjamma’s story in print and out on the stands, I am instantly reminded of the opening line of The Phobic and the Erotic: The Politics of Sexualities in Contemporary India  – a collection of essays edited by Brinda Bose and Subhabrata Bhattacharyya: “It is finally time for this (volume) to ‘come out”.

For sexuality is political and, in many ways, economic, in nature. As an asset and a capital, it entails a power play and the rules (no matter how redundant they might be) govern who gets to wield this power – how and how much. Manjamma’s memoir is no less. It gives voice to those who live on the edges – stereotyped, outcasted and as underrepresented minorities. In an open and honest, albeit short memoir, Manjamma says what we fail to think: the privileges of human life are nobody’s to collectively own and control. Life is above all rules.

If after reading Manjamma’s heartfelt memoir, you are left wanting more like I was – more depth, detail and analysis – I suggest a reading of Anjum Katyal’s essay “Performing the Goddess: Sacred Ritual into Professional Performance” in the book  Sacred to Profane: Writings on Worship and Performance. <p> Books like these are the light at the end of the tunnel, echoing the rising call and Jogathis blessing: Udho, Udho, Udho.   

The reviewer is the host of The Green Book Club on Instagram.  @read.dream.repeat