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I'd seen Shahnaz clapping flamenco-style at a wedding feast and spoken to her once at a Sufi mystic's shrine.Giving out my home phone number and address to eunuchs seemed dodgy, so I asked a go-between to fix a rendezvous nearby. Normally, bothersome locals at Humayun's Tomb will back off when I utter my practised line: "I have come here for silent contemplation.

Youthful misfits from the villages seek out the hijras and many eventually submit to a crude operation, which slashes away the testicles and penis with one cut. I did not have anything cut off." Shahnaz's lap appeared completely smooth beneath her limp tunic, but a true hermaphrodite would not be so flat-chested.

Bleeding is crucial: "It lets the male energy spill out," Shahnaz said, and the wounds are cauterised with a hot iron rod. "Destiny has me dance as a hijra, even though my mother brought me up as a girl.

A few eunuch queens wield their power with cruelty, while others develop business acumen and invest for the group's benefit.

Ailing elders are nursed and property is passed down after a guru's demise.

The trio wore pancake make-up and shouted obscenities to the traffic.

Eunuchs seem such an anachronism in a world with gay pride parades and video drag queens.

Finally I tipped a guard to keep strangers away, and we crept behind a screen to chat.

In conversation, I wondered whether to call Shahnaz he or she. Now s/he lives and works with a band of bawds who appear like bad fairies at marriages and births.

Please go." It bewilders them and lets me stroll in peace. Instead, gardeners and sweepers, who rarely look any memsahib in the eye, kept warning me about my rough company. "We don't allow their kind - hijras - in here," a ticket collector spat at me.

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