Oh, Man!

I am male. For a while, I shall live with this gender identity. Details about the inner workings of my body are tagged ‘male’. What seems like a minor goof-up by the pathology lab has made me think about how we understand who we are.

After going through a battery of tests – I so love the phrase, it seems more important than just saying “many tests” – and letting the guy fill up three vials of blood, I have to go through this altered persona. Had he not poked the needle into what I think is feminine skin and flesh, and looked into my eyes as he took down details, eyes that I think are womanly, and then there was the rest of me, not to forget my name that would rarely conjure up a man, not even a metrosexual?

They had to send the samples for a recheck. So, hello, hello, I asked the lady over the phone, when will it be ready.

She asked, “Name?”

I told her.

“Okay…here, male?”

“Is that the report?”

Could my blood have a new gender?

“What male?” I refuted.

“It says F, male.”


“You are not F?”

“I am, but not male.”

“Then what?”

I was given a choice. Imagine that!

“Female,” I said in my most demure voice.

“Oh, I will have to make a new printout. Reports ready tomorrow.”

These technical assistants would make good précis writers.

So, today I went, and even dabbed a reddish gloss on my lips, and my blouse did have a sort of interesting neckline, just enough. I wore slacks that clung to me. And I wore open sandals to show my feminine feet. It was probably unintentional, but the subconscious is a killer.

After paying up for the three vials of blood, the receptionist said, “Are you only F?”

“No, I am more.”

“Then is this your report?” She went out to read all the stuff that was supposed to be tested. I said yes, yes, yes.

“Okay. Male?”

“What? Look, there was a mistake and I had told them and they said they had made the changes. FEMALE.”

“Changed, changed. Must be.”

I just took the file and reached home. The pages were neatly typed, the sections demarcated – low, high, normal range. I could not figure out most of what it said. Just as I was about to close it, my eyes spotted the column that said “Sex”.

“Male.” Typed clearly. On all the pages.

It’s no big deal, but I wonder why I have started slapping my thighs and laughing at my own jokes. My aim is still pretty good, though.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.