I was returning to the train this morning, a lady was sitting in the seat right next to me. A cream-colored sari, a maroon tip on the forehead. The hair is brown. He was wearing a black shawl. Today's cold is also quite shivering. Especially the air in the train is unbearable. However, as soon as I got up and sat down, the woman herself moved away and gave me a place. He looked at me and smiled softly. How old will the lady be! Thirty-five this year. But her skin is radiant, and her smile is clear. As soon as I took out a magazine, the woman said, look at the thirty-four pages, she has given me a new back item. The voice did not die in her black shawl, so I realized she was not a woman. I realized that he was a big man. In common parlance we call it Hijra. I turned th...