The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, was already a deeply flawed piece of legislation. Conceived without meaningful consultation, passed despite widespread opposition, and implemented in ways that ignored the lived realities of trans people, it was never truly ours.

How do I know this? I'm a trans man who was navigating his own transition just as the Trans Act (2019) came into force. Watching its rules get published hurriedly in 2020 – with no safety net, no clarity, no support – wasn’t an abstraction for me. It was a lived experience.

Now, in 2026, the central government seeks to amend the Act further, limiting the definition of “transgender” to those with socio-cultural identities like the kinnar, jogati, aravani, and intersex people. This is not mere bureaucratic tinkering. It is erasure. And, a betrayal of trans men, non-binary folks, trans women who are not a part of hijra gharanas, and gender non-conforming people at large.

It also jeopardises the futures of trans people who obtained or applied for transgender identity cards in good faith, believing it would make their lives easier. What about their hopes now? What happens to the lives they had hoped to lead?

To now claim that only certain socio-cultural identities count as “transgender” is absurd. It goes against the spirit and letter of the Supreme Court’s NALSA judgment (2014), which affirmed self-identification as the cornerstone of trans rights. The irony of trans people having to mobilise, to protest against an amendment to an Act we opposed since its very conceptualisation as a Bill, is not lost on anyone.

The erasure of trans masculine people

During the pandemic, trans masculine people were left to fend for themselves. While we were busy dealing with toxic families and abusive households, job loss, lack of access to healthcare and hormones, etc. during the Covid-19 lockdown , the rules of the Trans Act were published with no thought given to how trans men would survive.

The pandemic merely held a mirror up to what was already true: that trans masculine people had never really been in the room when decisions were made.

Being a Mumbaikar, I was appalled to find out that the Transgender Welfare Board in Maharashtra had zero trans masculine members. Let that sink in. It wasn’t an oversight, but a typical representation of the systemic exclusion the trans masculine community has always faced–being a minority within a minority. Most of us were raised and socialised as “girls.” A lot of us may still be perceived as “women” by friends, family, colleagues, and strangers alike. This means growing up, you try to stomach a confusing cocktail of patriarchy, restrictions on mobility, and the burgeoning awareness that one is trans while being forced to pretend otherwise.

Unlike some trans women, who may have access to alternate support systems such as jamaats (or hijra gharanas) and live together, trans men have no such structures in place. The hijra, aravani, jogati, and kinnar communities have themselves evolved over centuries. To freeze them as the sole definition of transness is to deny the dynamism and fluidity of gender diversity.

As A Revathi writes in her book, A Life in Trans Activism: “My deepest desire is that their [trans men’s] stories should create awareness among parents, policy makers, professionals and the general public so that they are sensitive to their needs and concerns.” Revathi amma’s desires remain unfulfilled. And unless the definition of “transgender” is expansive, it will remain so.

To assert the existence of trans masculine people loudly and proudly in the face of erasure is not just about visibility. It is about survival. It is about creating a space where trans and cis people alike can learn about trans masculine lives.

A contradiction amid dangerous definitions

The current amendment conflates hijra, trans, and intersex communities, and this fundamental flaw in its ‘definition’ of the term transgender has been criticised since the conception of the Trans Act (2019). These are interrelated communities with some overlap, yes, but they are not the same. To collapse them into one category is to erase the diversity of trans and intersex experiences.

There is a certain high-handedness. The government is forcefully fitting people into the “trans” category – like all intersex folks, some of whom do not consider themselves trans. This, while excluding trans men entirely. 

This contradiction exposes the hollowness of the amendment. It denies recognition to those who desperately need it, while imposing an identity on those who don’t identify as trans. It is both exclusionary and paternalistic, stripping people of their right to self-identify.

Direct harm to trans masculine people

When trans men are excluded from the legal definition of “transgender,” the consequences are immediate and brutal. Without recognition, we won’t be able to update our identity documents, which blocks our access to housing, education, employment, travel, and even voting. Accessing healthcare will become more precarious than ever: doctors can misgender us, deny treatment, or insurance providers can refuse us coverage.

Why is there no mention of employment or skilling in the Act and the proposed amendment to it, or even the promise of education minus discrimination? 

When such guarantees vanish, they leave trans men vulnerable to bullying, dismissal and harassment.

I respect the choice of those trans people who don’t want to be out, but being forced into stealth mode is not a measure of safety. It is exposure to potential blackmail, assault, violence by one’s natal family, and more.

Latest NCRB data tell us that 35 percent of deaths by suicide occur in the 18-30 age group. Research also tells us that there is a clinical pathway from stigma to suicide. Can you put two and two together by now, or should I spell it out? (Don’t even get me started on the mental health crises and suicide risk that rears its ugly head when you push people into hiding.)

But predictably, there are objections.

- What about ‘fake’ trans people?

No such thing. What has been done to incentivise transness in India? Let me guess: social ridicule, stigma and ostracisation. Clearly, every cis person is just dying to switch places.

The numbers suggest it’s actually a case of poor adoption and not the system being gamed. According to the Census of India (2011), there were nearly 5 lakh trans people (4,87,803 to be precise). In 2023, a Lok Sabha reply indicated a significant pendency rate in transgender ID card applications through the National Portal for Transgender Persons.

- Self-identification is standard.

Please tell me how many of you have had to present yourself before the bureaucracy and medical boards to prove the very intrinsic understanding of whether you’re a man or a woman? Also, the Supreme Court, in its NALSA judgment (2014), affirmed that individuals have the right to self-identify their gender, without requiring medical interventions such as gender-affirming surgeries. Any amendment that undermines this is unconstitutional.

The way forward

Despite systemic neglect, trans masculine people have found ways to survive and connect with each other. The Internet became our refuge: through social media, messaging apps, and trans masculine-themed content online, we’ve built fragile but vital networks. These virtual spaces enable us to share, even when mainstream representation is largely absent. 

What is needed is not a narrowing of definitions but an expansion. Our lives need not be framed as hyper-real or undeniably tragic. We are just as flawed and fabulous as the next person.

The definition of “transgender” must be broad enough to encompass hijra women, other socio-cultural identities, trans women, trans men, non-binary people and gender non-conforming folks. Anything less is unacceptable.

Policy makers must listen to trans people and not the other way around. Welfare boards must include trans men and non-binary people. Identity documents must be accessible through self-identification, minus medical gatekeeping. Schemes facilitating education, employment, and healthcare must reach all trans people, not just those who fit narrow definitions. The media must represent the diversity of trans lives. Families must be sensitised, professionals trained, and society educated. It’s going to be a long road, I know.

Trans people are not a monolith. Our experiences are shaped by the sex we were assigned at birth, our gender, caste, class, religion, geography, disability and more. To reduce us to a handful of socio-cultural groups and intersex people is to erase this complexity forcefully. What we needed is expansive recognition, inclusive policy, and genuine respect.

“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

We do. We always have. And, we will not be erased.

Prithvi Sahir Vatsalya (he/him) is a communications professional.

Complaining about the media is easy. Why not do something to make it better? Support independent media and subscribe to Newslaundry today.