Tritiya Prakriti (Sanskrit: तृतीयप्रकृति) - "third nature" or "third gender," referring to individuals who are neither exclusively male nor female in body or mind.
Tritiya Prakriti acts as an umbrella term, sometimes associated with hijras (transgender/eunuchs) and various other classifications described in ancient texts.
Ancient Indian literature often viewed those of the third sex as having unique, sometimes spiritually powerful capabilities due to their ambiguous nature. While western colonial laws, such as the Criminal Tribes Act, heavily marginalized gender-variant people, contemporary perspectives are reviving the pre-colonial understanding of their respected role.
In the context of performance, their dance is not merely art but a ritualistic act of channeling divine energy.
Shiva is intimately connected to this concept through the androgynous form of Ardhanarishvara, representing the seamless merging of masculine and feminine principles, making him a central figure representing gender fluidity and transcending the binary.
In South India, Shiva is worshipped as Thaiyumanavar ("he who became the mother"), embodying the maternal role to assist a devotee in childbirth, further highlighting his ability to shift gender roles.
Historical Note: This character depicts a historical eunuch—a male who underwent castration before puberty. The absence of testosterone naturally influenced their physiological development, leading to a distinct androgynous appearance. It is crucial to understand that despite their feminine aesthetics, high-pitched voices, or specific mannerisms, they were historically recognized as a unique category of men, not women. Secondary sexual characteristics and social expressions—such as clothing or gait—do not redefine biological sex; they illustrate its diverse manifestations across cultures. My goal is to reflect the authentic diversity of the male experience throughout history, free from modern ideological projections.
On Aesthetics and Artistic Intent: For over a decade, I have encountered the misconception that depicting effeminate or androgynous men is a "fetish." This view ignores a vast cultural heritage. From the courts of Byzantium and Persia to the traditions of India, China, and Japan, feminine-presenting men (including eunuchs, actors, and aristocrats) were a standard and respected part of the social fabric. To label these historical aesthetics as "perversion" is to ignore centuries of human culture.
Furthermore, there is a striking double standard in how we view gender expression: while masculine clothing on women is widely accepted as a stylistic choice, feminine expression in men is often unfairly sexualized. To suggest that "femininity" is inherently shameful or sexual when adopted by a man is, in itself, a devaluation of the feminine. As an artist, I reclaim the right to explore these aesthetics as a matter of style, history, and human expression, rather than a niche "fetish."
Addressing the "Misogyny" Paradox: I am frequently asked: "If you like feminine aesthetics, why not just draw women?" This question is rooted in a deeply sexist assumption—that beauty, grace, and adornment belong exclusively to women. To suggest that an artist "must" be a misogynist to find beauty in a feminine male form is a bizarre inversion of logic. In reality, the true prejudice lies with those who believe that femininity is so "low" or "shameful" that it should be off-limits to men. If you view a man in feminine dress as a "perversion" or a "fetish," you are the one sexualizing and devaluing the feminine. You are reducing a vast aesthetic tradition to a mere kink.
On Artistic Intent vs. Modern Projections: The accusation that I "cannot draw men" or "secretly want to draw women" stems from a narrow, modern-Western gaze that recognizes only one type of masculinity: the hyper-masculinized warrior. However, throughout the history, the "effeminate" male was often the peak of aristocratic and spiritual refinement. I am not "replacing" women; I am reclaiming a lost chapter of male history. I refuse to limit my creativity to satisfy modern gender binaries that are, historically speaking, a mere blink of an eye.
A man has every right to look and dress as he pleases while remaining a man. My art is a celebration of that freedom, not a fetish, and certainly not a projection of hate.
A Note on Bodily Expression in Art: Some might argue that the very act of focusing on the physical beauty and grace of a character implies fetishization. To this, I counter with the entire history of classical art. From the nude male marble statues of antiquity to the semi-nude deities, Apsaras, and Gandharvas adorning thousands of ancient Indian temples, the human form—clothed, draped, or exposed—has been used as a vessel for the divine. If grace is sexual, and a beautiful male body is a 'kink', then all temple architecture and classical painting are perversions. True art transforms the physical form into a spiritual and aesthetic language. It is the viewer’s responsibility to look past their own modern hang-ups and understand the culture being depicted.
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This is an offering, my offering to you and in giving this offering to you, I enrich myself. I am doing this because, as they say “time is of the essence” and because I come from a lineage that finds spiritual work in the giving of gifts. My mother and my maternal grandmother gave food as offering, feeding those they loved made them full. For me, currently, fullness looks like sharing the food of my thoughts. My mind has been racing, during this current moment, as I am sure so many of us can relate. Growing up in a world that doesn’t like Black people talking outwardly about how we are, made me fold into myself and convene with my shadow self. There I dreamt a lot and there I became used to silencing my voice. But there inside of us all, is a key to unlearning the socialization of quiet and the making of smallness from the weight of violence that comes from being seen.
I’ve been exploring the theory of radical transparency. I came to use this term after my HIV diagnosis. Slowly I emerged from a place of restrictive secrecy, fully embracing who I am and who I’ve always been, there lurking in the shadows. I had some failed periods of disclosure and became deeply depressed, because the world suggests and imposes perfect disclosure when you’re HIV positive. To disclose means your good and to not disclose means you’re bad. There is no grace. At this moment, feeling deeply ashamed, I had some time to sit in silence. Sitting in silence made me remember the power of folding into myself, of looking at the deepest parts of me and coming to a place of reconciliation. Reminding myself that performing goodness is something that has imposed itself on me and that my duty or job in life is to augment my energetic offering and that happens through brutal honesty. That means that I don’t live at the behest of perfection. It was in those moments that I discovered the necessity of sharing.
Radical transparency is a term that I would learn was used before, to critique government and also discuss information technology but that isn’t what conjured for me. It meant the folding out of my shadow self, the banning of the dishonesty that comes when we curate our stories to be digestible to others. It meant that when asked how I was, I would respond forthright. Not sugarcoating anything, simply stating my day is bad, if indeed it was a bad day. In embracing this new practice I found that the anxiety of judgment was suspended, I found sanctuary in telling my truth unedited. Before I would never contend with my shadow, I would make it my burden. It was like holding the weight of the world while also carrying its shadow value. What I mean by shadow value is that when you think of the labor of carrying the world, there is that which is unaccounted for the work it takes to even stand. This compounds the burden we assume is ours. I’m here to tell you that it isn’t. Those projected debts we shoulder because we assume our very existence is a burden, isn’t ours, it belongs to the systems we find ourselves within.
I come to you with a full heart, giving this food, as is a custom in my lineage. Sharing my thoughts at the moment and wanting to be heard. I guess I’m here to tell you that the fruits are blessed, there is sanctity in the way you disrupt the world. I’m here to tell you that while there are penalties, in this world, for your Blackness and queerness, there is power in your profane. The way you rage, the way you tell the truth, isn’t for anyone else but it can heal the world. So, my offering is to show yourself onto yourself and therefore become free of the gazes that glance at and mock you. When you see your shadow, don’t run, sit still in it’s silence and beautiful magic will arise. Say this with me: “I am my own question, that I hold the answer to.”
Àṣẹ
A Note on attribution: When I discuss penalties for Blackness and the power of the profane, I take graciously from the language of my comrade and sibling Shani Akilah.
Abdul-Aliy A. Muhammad is a Black queer HIV positive organizer and writer from Philadelphia.
Pour into Abdul’s work: Cash App: $Dulle Venmo: Abdul-Aliy
Talked with my family today about calling me by my preferred pronouns. I have been wanting to ask them to call me by she/her as I’ve been passing as female now for five months without any mid-gendering! Yay!
A few times I found myself with my family at dinner, shopping and staying at the hotel and occasionally would be misgendered by my family that made me feel self conscious,
For example, when I was shopping with my grandmother she would constantly say ‘he’ and ‘him’, and one time at Albertsons, it got bad:
The cashier comments “You ladies find everything you were looking for?” as I replied
“Yes we most certainly did! Even more then expected!”
The cashier scanned our groceries and looked to my grandmother “Would you like any help out today?”
“No I have him to help me.”
The cashier glanced at me, tight lipped as a man waiting in line who seemed friendly at first glared at me as I just wanted to go.
For a few hours, I dwelled on all I’ve experienced as I thought ‘I can’t afford to take her shopping.’
I was cooking dinner and walked over to my grandmother as I said “I need to talk to you about something that might be hard to hear; but I liked it if you called me by my preferred pronouns. She...”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I like you to please call me she or her when we are out. I am mostly passing now as female, I present myself accordingly and besides, I am legallly female now.”
I then explained my reasoning “Today shopping, the gentleman behind us just glared at me...judging me. I was highly uncomfortable!” “Even though nothing happened, one day you might identify me as being trans and someone messed up in the head might feel my existence is a threat to their ideology and end up shooting or stabbing me!”
“I am sorry.” she says as she nods her head “So you want to be called a woman...”
“Yes.” I reply.
“Okay, though might take me awhile to get use to it.”
I nod, smiling. “I understand...I am still learning myself.”
When my mother and sister came home, I was wondering how to present this change to them (as before, I never required anyone to call me Mira or a woman...but with my transition tipping the scales towards feminine). Surprisingly, grandmother broke the news as I nodded, saying that I understand it will take time.
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I'm approaching six months on fairly low dose of T prescription and feeling down. People are quick to see female when they look at me. I get ma'am and miss on the spot and don't understand. What's wrong with me? Why haven't I changed?
