From the streets of Pune to the world stage, Living Smile Vidya (aka Smiley) has transformed pain into performance and identity into resistance. A trans Dalit woman, artist, and activist, Smiley doesn’t just act—she confronts. Her raw, unflinching storytelling carves space in a world that long tried to erase her. Born in Tiruchirappalli, Tamil Nadu, Smiley grew up in a Dalit household where education was seen as liberation. She became the first graduate in her family and pursued a master’s in Applied Linguistics at Tamil University. The plan was simple: study, work, and build a new life. However, during academic pursuit, Smiley met her truth. “That’s when I realised I was trans,” she says. What should have been a moment of self-discovery quickly spiralled into despair. “I wanted to end my life,” she admits. Coming out wasn’t liberating—it was costly. Her family disowned her, and her hard-earned degrees lost meaning. “My father wanted me to be a government officer. But when I came out, my education became meaningless,” she says. “Sudd-enly, no one cared that I had a Master’s degree. I was trans—and that erased everything else.” Smiley moved to Pune and survived by begging on the streets. But a voice within her whispered: this has to change—and it has to start with me.The Stage as SanctuarySmiley’s return to Tamil Nadu came with a cruel condition: she’d be accepted only if she “lived like a man.” She refused. Instead, she turned to theatre—a space where her identity wasn’t questioned, but channelled. “Theatre gave me a voice,” she says. “It lets me express myself. But it was never just about art—it was political.”Tough TimesStill, barriers followed her into this new space. She feels that unless you’re from a dominant caste or linked to the film industry, you’re invisible. She says, “English theatre is seen as superior. Regional artists like me, especially those from marginalised backgrounds, struggle to be heard.” But Smiley stayed. Her theatre performance isn’t polite. It’s physical, raw, personal. She brings her whole body to the stage—and makes people watch. Smiley’s memoir I Am Vidya was the first by a trans woman in India and inspired a film that won two National Awards. She’s worked with directors from Tamil Nadu to France. Yet, she remains wary of token visibility. “Everyone wants a sob story. The media wants tragedy, not complexity. No one asks about our joy, our art, our ambition.” She doesn’t want to be boxed into trans roles alone. She says, “Let me play a teacher, a villain, a lover. Why must I only perform my identity?” Even in queer spaces, caste becomes a wall. “Dominant caste people take up space everywhere—media, literature, even queer collectives,” she opines. “There’s a layered exclusion. Your art gets noticed if it’s in English or made by the privileged. Otherwise, it’s dismissed as local or niche.”Tokenism Isn’t InclusionAnother battle Smiley fights is tokenism. “There’s a trend now to ‘include’ trans voices—but it’s often performative,” she says, adding, “Trans women are paraded on stage, celebrated for soundbites, but behind the scenes we’re unpaid, untrained, unheard. They hand someone a mic and say, ‘Talk about your rights.’ But what if no one ever taught her what those rights are?” For Smiley, true inclusion means more than visibility. “Yes, we want to be seen—but not as symbols. We want to be paid, trained, and respected. Let us write. Let us direct. Let us lead.”Leaving A LegacySmiley lights up when talking about the next generation. “They’re fierce,” she says. “Sometimes I wonder—maybe I was born too early. But maybe I cracked open the door so they could walk through.” That, to her, is legacy—not applause or awards, but space. Space for others to rise, to create, to thrive.
Source link
