A Feminized President: Losing Bet into the 3rd Gender

A Feminized President

  • Title: A Feminized President
  • Subtitle: Losing Bet into the 3rd Gender
  • Series: Hijra, the Third Gender
  • Author: Yu Sakurazawa
  • Gender Swap Type: MTF

[Introduction] Twenty-nine year old Rishab Tiwari has it all—health, wealth, a big-league company and a gorgeous wife. However, he squanders it all over an inebriated bet, which requires him to dress in drag for one whole year. Read more to find out what Rishab loses and the infinite things he gains, all in the name of Greek God of liquor, Bacchus.


Rishab Tiwari/Reena– is the tall, manly, 29 year old CEO of a top textile manufacturing company. In an inebriated state, Rishab agrees to a bet, which requires him to live as a member of the third gender for one whole year. On winning the bet, Rishab gets the opponent’s company; on losing it, he is supposed to transfer his own to the opponent. In addition, he must also castrate himself. ‘All in the Name of Bacchus’ traces Rishab’s bitter-sweet journey post-bet after he loses his company, status, wife, property and manhood.

Prerna- is Rishab’s tall, fair, slim, beautiful wife. Prerna loves her husband, but is unable to stand by him through the entire ordeal of humiliation both of them have to undergo owing to the nature of Rishab’s bet.

Mudit Bohra– is the owner of a company called ‘Bohra & Sons’ and the man who tricks Rishab into writing and signing the fateful contract. The reason behind Bohra’s conspiracy is vendetta. He has, in the past, had a love affair with Prerna and wants to avenge her leaving him to marry Rishab.

Sunil Jain– He is Rishab’s bosom buddy and the vice-president of his company Sunrise Textiles Ltd. Sunil is a fair-complexioned young man of medium height. He tries his best to prevent a drunken Rishab from signing the tricky contract in the pub. However, Sunil is unable to prevent the cataclysm Rishab brings upon himself.

Alexander Jones– is a blonde, blue-eyed, bisexual American man in his late 30s. When Rishab first meets Alex, the latter is a patent attorney at Wilson & Co., a leading American company.

Rukmini- She is a big, golden-skinned, extremely beautiful hijra in her mid 40s. Rukmini is the guru or leader of the Jamaat (transsexual community) .

Mr. Mehra– is the fat, middle-aged head of Ashakiran, an NGO working for the needs of the differently able. He isn’t aware that Rishab has started dressing as a hijra and invites him to a fundraiser.

[About “Hijra, The Third Gender” series]
“Hijra, The Third Gender” is a series of autobiography fiction. The narrator of each story tells you about her/his life – how and why she/he was thrown into the third gender and about her/his experience.

Hijra means a transgender individual adopted by a guru in the well organized transgender community believing in the same goddess and living in feminine attire. Hijra is referred to as “the third gender.” Rules and ceremonies for adoption, initiation, castration, etc. are well defined in the hijra community. Once you get nirvan (castration ceremony often done without anesthesia) you cannot go back to your former self.


[Sample text – less than 10% of the story is shown due to restrictions of KDP]

Chapter 1

An Unusual Contract

Hello, my name is Rishabh Tiwari. At the time all this started, I was 29 years old and already the CEO of Sunrise Textiles, which as the name suggests is a textile manufacturing company. Okay, you’ve got me there—the company belonged to my late father and I had inherited it, which explains the meteoric rise. However, this was by no means a reflection of my capabilities. I was a man with a vision and had the capacity to make my business a success from the long-term perspective.

Or so I had thought.

It all started in the name of Bacchus, the Greek God of liquour. While on a business trip to London many years ago, I had had a drink or two at the famous Red Lion. Since, then I was hooked to spirits and went to the pubs with the good old guys every week. While my friends could slosh two bottles of whiskey and still remain as sober as pallbearers, I got high on a single bottle. Also owing to my gene structure, I got addicted to drink sooner than any one of them.

My alcohol addiction got my family which, by the way, is a Marawari one, unnerved. We were traditional businesspeople who married early, consumed only vegetarian food and kept away from vices. ‘Oh come on, Papa’ I told my father when he expressed concern over my habit ‘drink doesn’t affect my productivity in the least!’. My father had to admit that was true, but he still wasn’t too thrilled. He shared his distress with my mom who suggested that they get me married. ‘No way, I am only 24!’ I squawked in protest to which my father calmly replied that he was 21 when he married my mom and that it was customary in our community to settle down early. So, they got me hitched to Prerna, the company president’s tall, fair, slim, beautiful daughter. Prerna had just completed graduation and was as fresh as a newly-blossomed rose. Soon we’d ecstatically celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary, but (much to the chagrin of our relatives) didn’t have any children yet. Childlessness didn’t bother me, in the least, because Prerna and I had a very passionate sex life. We just couldn’t keep our hands off each other; friends’ remarked that we were on a ‘perpetual honeymoon’. I took their comments as an ode to my virility and my wife’s femininity.

All this talk of sexuality got me thinking of the sexual minorities. Of the Indian hijra community, in particular. I read, researched and reflected much on them. I had also been invited as the VIP guest speaker at seminars organized by NGOs working for the welfare of the transgender community.

Once, at a booze party, my friend Sunil Jain, acquaintance Mudit Bohra and I started discussing the state of transsexuals in India. ‘The hijra is as good as a male or female’ I started off ‘It’s just a question of their not being employed by corporate houses and government offices. If they got equal employment opportunities as anyone else, they can be as good (if not better) than anybody else. In the absence of respectable work, they are forced to resort to begging and prostitution’.

‘Do you think it is only that?’ Mudit Bohra laughed contemptuously ‘must say you capitalists have uni-faceted thinking pattern’.

His tone enraged me. ‘Could you please elaborate?’ I asked icily.

‘You guys think only money rules the world’ Bohra expostulated ‘Whereas, the success of a unit (region, state, nation et al) is an aggregate of many factors—economic, most definitely, but also cultural and social’.

‘The pseudo ‘human rights activists’ sermon again’ I thought in my mind ‘These socialist bastards, saale. Guess that’s the motto Bohra uses to run his company’. I inwardly showed him the middle finger.

However, it would never do to show how furious you were outwardly. People would presume you were insecure. ‘I still didn’t get you, Mr. Bohra’ I showed my pearly white teeth in a fake grin.

‘You know very well what I mean, Mr. Tiwari’ Bohra grinned ‘It’s the social and cultural stigma attached to being a hijra that leads to their cataclysm. Giving them jobs is not the solution. The whole set-up needs to be revamped. Attitudes have to change for the better’.

Now, one thing about me was that I couldn’t handle anyone opposing my theories. I was a self-opinionated, domineering male and the slightest sign of dissent or argument roused my ire. In addition to this, I had tippled 2 entire bottles of whiskey. That was enough to bring out the old warhorse in me.

‘Suppose I was a hijra’ I said the tenor of my voice rising ‘I am sure I’d continue being the capable and respected CEO of Sunrise Textiles and persevere to elicit the respect of my employees and the loyalty of my clients’

‘Ha ha’ Bohra laughed in a singularly annoying fashion ‘your employees will leave you in spite of incentives and the clients will scoot no matter how much you lower the costs. The mighty Sunrise Textiles will be bankrupt in no time!’

‘Bastard!’ I realized I had bellowed the expletive out aloud’ ‘Are you contesting my words?’ I could hazily remember standing up erect. My body language had turned belligerent.

‘Calm down, Rishab’ my friend Sunil Jain tried to placate me. Dear Sunil Jain. My bosom buddy. He was the vice-president of Sunrise Textiles at that time. After my father-in-law retired, I intended giving Sunil a promotion and making him the president.

However, at that time, I was having none of his mollifying. ‘Chood bey!’ I pushed him aside roughly ‘Leave me alone!’.

‘Mr. Tiwari, is the so-called CEO of an eminent company’ Bohra gibed ‘And he can’t handle a simple difference in opinion’.

“It’s not a ‘simple difference in opinion!’” I roared. ‘My word is the gospel truth!’

‘Ha! What arrogance!’ Bohra said.

His words provoked me; it seems, beyond the point of no return. ‘You have the gall to sneer at me!’ I roared’ ‘Okay, let’s have a bet. I will dress and behave like a hijra for a year to prove that my business will continue to grow. If I win, I get to keep your goddamn factory. If I lose (thought there is no possibility of that!), I will emasculate myself and become a bona fide hijra—for life!. Capiche?’

‘Capiche’ Bohra said calmly ‘Now let’s put that down in a contract’.

‘Where’s my pen?’ I said, my speech garbled with too much booze ‘Sunil, give me a pen!’

‘Are you out of your mind, Rishabh?’ Sunil hissed in my ear ‘Can’t you see this man (he meant Bohra) is trying to trap you?’

I was in no state to listen to Sunil’s well-meaning advice. At this point, my fury had reached such pinnacles that I was ready to go to any lengths to prove my point. ‘Just give me a pen, yaar!’ I yelled.

Sunil had no option but to produce a pen. After all, I was his boss and he had to follow my instructions. I didn’t give him any special powers or privileges just because he happened to be my best friend. Slick as a sorcerer, Bohra had manifested a sheet of paper out of nowhere. He held it in front of me.

I scribbled something in my drunken state.

Bohra had a look at it. ‘It’s fine’ he nodded ‘All it requires is your signature, Mr. Tiwari’. I scrawled my signature at the designated place. Bohra put his too. He went to the nearest Xerox shop and kept the Xerox copy for himself. I took the original and went home to my pretty wife.

Losing Bet into the Third Gender: All in the Name of Bacchus (Hijra, the Third Gender)

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