The Kasaragod-bound bus was packed. Passengers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, swaying with every sharp turn as the bus lurched through the road. Even as more people squeezed into every possible corner of the bus, one seat remained empty.
The seat was not broken. It was just next to Dr Anagh, an assistant professor and researcher, and Esha Kishore, a member of the Kerala State Transgender Justice Board.
To the commuters, the two queer passengers carried an invisible barrier.
"Throughout the journey, despite the bus becoming extremely crowded, nobody sat in the seat near us," Dr Anagh recalled. "Maybe because of the SC/ST Act today, people are afraid to practice outright untouchability with Dalit individuals. Trans people, however, are dealt with in this way. People come and start to sit, then they realise the person next to them is trans and refuse to sit."
This is the lived reality that Kerala’s highly publicised Priyadarshini scheme cannot easily fix.
When Kerala extended free bus travel to transgender persons alongside women, the move was welcomed as another step in the state's efforts towards transgender inclusion. For one of the country's most economically vulnerable communities, the promise of saving hundreds of rupees every month meant easier access to work, hospitals, education, and government services.
But for many transgender persons, the biggest barrier to boarding a bus was never the fare.
It was the fear of being stared at, mocked, accused of theft, mistaken for a sex worker, or watching fellow passengers quietly move away from the seat beside them. Interviews with transgender persons across Kerala suggest that while the state's latest welfare measure eases the cost of travel, it does little to change the hostility that continues to shape their access to public spaces.
Kerala has an estimated population of roughly 3.6 crores. The state does not have a suburban rail network, and only one city in the state has a functioning metro rail system. In such a situation, buses – both private and state-owned – form the primary mode of public transport.
According to the National Family Health Survey 5 (2019-2021), 24.2% of Kerala households own a car while 58.2% own a two-wheeler. Working-class and economically vulnerable groups still depend on buses as their primary mode of transport.
A 2018 study by the Centre for Public Policy Research in Kochi city estimated that around 54.5% belonging to the income group earning less than Rs 20,000 monthly used buses as their main mode of travel, while 12% used two-wheelers.
The Promise of the Priyadarshini Scheme
The Priyadarshini scheme providing free travel for women and transgender persons was announced as one of five Indira guarantees by the United Democratic Front in the run-up to the 2026 state elections. Less than a month into their term, on June 15, Chief Minister VD Satheeshan flagged off the project at the Thiruvananthapuram KSRTC Bus Terminal Complex in Thampanoor, Trivandrum.
The scheme provides for free travel in 3,125 buses of the ordinary category in its first stage, with future expansion plans tentatively announced. As per the scheme, a zero ticket, or a "Priyadarshini ticket", is issued to women and transgender passengers without requiring any special registration.
The scheme was initially announced with women as the only beneficiaries and was later extended to trans people following a petition to the Chief Minister by the Kerala Pradesh Transgender Congress (KPTC). In its letter, the KPTC identifies the transgender community as a particularly vulnerable group that would greatly benefit from the scheme.
“The transgender community is among the most economically and socially disadvantaged groups in society. Due to a combination of poverty, social marginalisation, and lack of family support, many transgender women struggle to meet their daily living expenses, making travel a burden,” the letter notes.
“Most people within the transgender community do not have private vehicles that they can use. But they are also not very keen on public transport because harassment is common,” said Raga, former secretary of KPTC. “It is our initiative that led to the inclusion of trans persons within the ambit of the bill. I’m sure this will help bring more trans people into public transport,” she said.
Addressing a gathering at the flag-off ceremony, Chief Minister Satheeshan said, “I don't see this policy as a favour that is being given to the women. It is my belief that this policy will have socio-economic benefits.” He identified working women, students, hospital-goers, and small vendors among other groups as the primary target of the scheme. “The beneficiaries have even calculated exactly how much money they will save and made plans on how to use that money.”
The Public Relations Department (PRD) briefing on the scheme also mentions these concrete socio-economic benefits, estimating that the scheme would reduce the financial burden of travel for families and increase disposable income for women. It estimates wide-ranging social and environmental gains for the state.
“It is also expected that with the removal of the barrier of travel expenses, women's labour force participation, education, and entrepreneurial activities will become more active. The government also points out that since a large proportion of KSRTC passengers are women, the benefits of the project will reach all families in the state. It is estimated that the shift from private vehicles to public transport will help reduce fuel consumption, carbon emissions, and traffic congestion.”
On the day the policy was introduced, reports stated that ridership in KSRTC buses soared 81% from the previous Monday (June 8).
Beyond the fare box: Stares and suspicion
Research published by the Gulati Institute estimates that the average wage of a regular male employee in the state is Rs 21,091, while for women it is Rs 15,237. For casual workers, this scale drops to Rs 11,231 for men and Rs 4,852 for women.
For trans communities facing discrimination, the economic vulnerability is particularly dire.
A study by the National Human Rights Commission in 2017 found that just 6% of transgender people were formally employed in either the private or non-governmental organisation (NGO) sector. About 5% engaged in sex work and domestic labor respectively. Thirteen percent sold food and other items, while 11% reported begging.
Within Kerala, the government has attempted to remedy this situation with interventions including scholarships and reservations. However, the lack of support systems for housing and transport has limited the extent of these schemes quite a bit. The situation in Kerala is only marginally better than the national average.
According to a survey undertaken in 2014 for the Directorate of Social Justice, roughly 58% of respondents dropped out of school before the 10th standard and 24% before the 9th. Only 11.6% of the population had been given access to formal employment. Further, 59% of the respondents who held ration cards fell below the poverty line (BPL).
While this is far better than the national average, the statistics show that a majority of the transgender community are economically vulnerable.
Many are unable and unwilling to access public buses for fear of harassment. “When we board trains, people generally think we’re there to clap and sing for favours,” said Esha Kishore. “In buses, the general public is reluctant to sit near us. They make evident their deep-seated anathema for other genders. It is hard to get people to accept us as their fellow-beings. As part of trying to evade these experiences, many in the community avoid public spaces, including public transport.”
When asked about harassment faced by the community, transgender activist Sheetal Shyam chuckled and said that the question of whether the community faces harassment feels absurd to her; it is an absolute given for every transgender individual. While she welcomes the policy as a step in the right direction, Sheetal said it cannot be meaningful unless the community feels safe and welcome on the bus.
“We dress on the basis of our sensibilities and aesthetic tastes, but people in public spaces view it differently, and in their heteronormative mindsets things are unacceptable. Kerala society has claimed progressiveness, but this does not extend to the trans community,” she said.
The harassment comes in all forms, from stares, teasing, and direct harassment to sexual harassment. Sheetal explains that at times, even the police join in. “In 2016 or 17, a group of us were sitting in the ladies' compartment of a train at the Trivandrum Central station when a lady police officer took exception. A group of five police officers came and asked us to get out, saying that we were making other passengers uncomfortable. They told us we couldn’t be there,” she said.
The enforcement occurred despite a lack of complaints from fellow commuters. “The people sitting in the compartment told the police that they weren’t uncomfortable. There were some students from the Loyola College in Trivandrum where I had taught as a guest speaker. They had been talking to us. Despite all this, the police wouldn’t let us be,” Sheetal recalls.
The officers finally relented only because Sheetal knew a top police official who intervened on her behalf.
Everyday criminalisation
Many people, however, do not have such access to institutional help. They are also the first to be blamed when things go wrong. “The approach from people when we use public transport: they behave as if they are doing us a favor by letting us exist in the same space,” said Heidi Saadiya, an influencer and trans rights activist.
Heidi recalls an incident involving the community's internal support networks: “I don't remember the exact year; we used to travel as "mothers" (mentors) and 'children' within the community. So, there was a 'mummy' who worked in the Metro. I, along with that person's daughter and another person, were travelling together. That girl hadn't undergone surgery back then. A co-passenger’s phone fell on the floor. This trans woman, who hadn't undergone surgery, was sitting two seats ahead. When the phone fell, without even checking the floor properly, the girl stood up and blamed the trans person, saying, 'I think this trans person took it.' She accused the person sitting two seats away, without ever casting a glance at the man sitting next to her or looking at the floor. The phone was found on the floor.”
Heidi explained that when such groundless accusations occur, the community receives no support or redressal from onlookers or the state.
“People still get up and leave when we sit near them on the buses, and in autorickshaws and such, people talk weirdly at times,” added Sreemayi, another activist.
Sherine Antony, a member of a district Transgender Justice Board, spends at least Rs 6,000 a month hiring private taxi services like Uber to commute. “In Ernakulam, private buses form the majority of public buses. I used to take private buses before. I stay in Fort Kochi and need to commute to Ernakulam on a daily basis for several programmes, assignments, and so on, but the conductor, driver, and some co-passengers started acting weirdly, making vulgar comments and such. That is how I stopped taking the bus,” she said. Because she is a full-time activist, daily travel is a non-negotiable, highly expensive necessity.
Sreemayi points out that while ordinary state-owned buses are frequent in capital corridors, peripheral and rural areas rely heavily on private operators. “For most of us, public transport is the only available mode of commute due to a lack of ownership of private vehicles. In such situations, we are forced to use these modes and take the harassment that comes with it,” she said and added that while seat reservations specifically for trans individuals might not be logistically possible, true access requires concrete protections alongside a broader, structural transformation in social acceptance.
How much does "peace of mind" cost?
Free public transport yields documented net-positive effects. Kerala is only the latest in a string of states, including Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Punjab, and Delhi, to implement such schemes.
Studies by the Citizen Consumer and Civic Action Group in Tamil Nadu showed clear socio-economic gains, with two-thirds of surveyed women reporting savings of Rs 400 a month, and others saving up to Rs 1,000.
A WRI India study in Delhi highlighted an average savings of Rs 600 per month alongside increased independent mobility. Another estimate by the Impact and Policy Research Institute (IMPRI) puts average monthly savings at Rs 888 for Tamil Nadu (up to 14% of income for low-wage workers) and around Rs 2,000 in Delhi (8% of household income).
The government estimates the Priyadarshini scheme will translate to a 15% to 20% increase in the income of working women. Extending these benefits to the trans community should theoretically catalyse better representation in social spaces and allow the reinvestment of funds into education and healthcare. But to avail these benefits, the community must first feel accepted. As it stands, many choose the heavy financial burden of private transit to escape the psychological toll of public transport.
“Many who have undergone gender reassignment surgery say that they are hesitant to use public transport for fear of harassment. I’ve heard many members in the community talk about how they used funds that were set aside for other needs for the purpose of emergency mobility,” Heidi Saadiya said.
“Comfort is what matters most. After undergoing major surgeries, we cannot travel comfortably... Rather than suffering the harassment and the awkward attitude of people while using public transport, many post-surgery trans women choose to hire a private vehicle even when it becomes an economic burden. Because ultimately, everyone wants peace of mind. We already carry a lot of trauma from childhood. We are struggling on one side just to heal from those traumas. So, there is no need to add to it,” she explains.
Until that social transformation occurs, a zero-rupee ticket remains a passport to a space where transgender individuals must still pay with their dignity. The Priyadarshini scheme proves that the state can readily remove financial barriers with the stroke of a pen. Yet, as long as a vacant seat on a crowded bus is treated as an isolation zone, the true measure of inclusion will not be found in the ridership numbers celebrated by the government.