‘Where Will I Go?’: Inside Delhi’s Trans Shelter Home As Care Networks Face Uncertainty

‘Panchhi banoo udti phiroon mast gagan mein,

Aaj main azad hoon duniya ke chaman mein.’

(Like a bird, I wish to soar merrily in the boundless sky; 

Today I am free in this garden of the world.)

Sanam, who identifies as a trans woman, quoted this song to describe how she felt after India overturned a 19th-century ban on homosexuality. However, she feels differently now. 

On the day the Trans Amendment Bill was tabled in the Rajya Sabha, Sanam, 22, was in Delhi’s Kalkaji, overwhelmed by anxiety. Unable to collect her thoughts, she broke down and cried all the way to the Garima Greh where she lives.

 “Men were catcalling me even as I struggled to catch my breath. They misbehave with us all the time, now they’ll feel emboldened to do so,” Sanam said gazing blankly from the balcony, her expression settling into a faint smile.

It has just been four days since she began hormone therapy. Now, with the President’s assent, she feels her existence hangs by a thread.

It has been over a year since Sanam left her home, where she said she was constantly monitored, and began living in the shelter home. She says she feels familiarity there—accepted for who she is. After the new Act, she questioned, quietly: “Where will I go? I don’t know what to do.”

Sanam lives with at least 25 other transpeople in Delhi’s Garima Greh, the only one enlisted on the government’s website in the national Capital. As per the 2011 Census, Delhi has 4,213 transgender persons, while India’s total stands at 4,87,803; a number the community members say is grossly underreported.  

As per an August 2025 Press Release, at present, the Department of Social Justice and Empowerment runs 18 such shelters across India, and approval has been granted to set up three more in 2025-26. A total of 429 people are currently residing in these shelters.

“These facilities are simply not enough,” said Ankit*, a trans man who works as a project manager at the shelter home. He explained that the shelter accepts anyone who comes seeking help, and while they try their best to manage, finances are often strained. With lack of access to shelter, the homeless transpeople may never come out, or take extreme steps like suicide, he said.

Kanta, the programme manager at the Garima Greh, which has been running since 2021, said they struggle with funding and sometimes go up to six months without support. The point of this scheme was to provide transpeople with a home, she said. “This is a government-run shelter home. We have not received a single penny from the government in this financial year,” she claimed.

The new act has removed the right to gender self-identification recognised by the Supreme Court in the landmark National Legal Services Authority v. Union of India in 2014 and introducing medical certification for identity recognition. 

It has also changed the definition of a transgender person, only including intersex people and socio-cultural identities as kinner, hijra, aravani and jogta, or eunuch.

With the changes, the community is faced with a range of unanswered questions about the funding of government run shelter homes, welfare schemes, the validity of the transgender identity cards which have already been issued, and access to the care community. 

“If the process of recognising identity becomes more restrictive, then access to these schemes will also become more uncertain,” Don Hasar, a Queer-Trans rights activist explained. It will affect how beneficiaries are identified, she said.

She continued to note that ideally, shelter homes should not require a trans ID card for entry. People often arrive through informal networks, referred by someone they trust, even if they do not yet have a trans ID. Shelters do not turn them away; instead, they provide support and help them obtain the necessary documents.

“Many of these shelters are run by community members,” she said. However, certain clauses in the new act raise concerns about how such support could be interpreted.

“Even if somebody wants to help somebody who needs shelter home access, a case could be filed against them, saying that this is allurement. So how will organisations function now?” she questioned.

In the new act, the government has introduced four new offences in addition to the existing ones, one of which carries a punishment of 10 to 14 years’ imprisonment, said Kanmani Ray, a trans woman and advocate based in Chennai. 

One provision addresses cases where a child is, by “force, threat, coercion, allurement, deception, inducement, undue influence or otherwise”, made to present as a transgender person and is then exploited for begging, solicitation, servitude, or any form of forced or bonded labour. 

Ray stated that there are already kidnapping and abduction provisions under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, which are regularly being invoked. Introducing a new set of offences was not needed. 

“Of course, as long as it is a criminal offence and it is not explicitly stated, the State has the burden to prove that they have a case. But let me make this clear, it is not about whether you did the offence or not. It is about the fact that the process is the punishment,” Ray said.

At Delhi’s shelter home, hope has dimmed. Community members, some employed, some undergoing hormone therapy, some recovering from traumatic experiences at home, and others still finding their footing, are struggling to understand why the new law has redefined their identities.

“I had so many plans. I wanted to apply for a job, but who will hire a trans woman like me now?” said Himanshi, currently pursuing Class 12. “I want to do something in my life.”

Himanshi had to leave college due to struggles at home, where her family did not accept her identity as a woman. After moving from Uttar Pradesh, she said things began to improve once she found the shelter home, having undergone hormonal therapy. 

But the future she had carefully planned now feels uncertain. “This act is not appropriate for any of us. I had never hesitated to live my true identity, but suddenly I feel scared.” If 18 years at home could not make a trans person conform to what society wanted them to be, how can a single line in a law do so, she added.

Shelter homes are integral in the lives of trans people, who rarely receive support from their families, friends or wider society; to survive in unfamiliar urban spaces, where safety and finances remain constant concerns, Ritika, a trans woman at the Garima Greh, explained.

Having come from a rural town in Rajasthan, she said that without the shelter, she might have ended up on the streets in Delhi. “Safety is a huge issue in our country. When even men are not safe, how can one expect kindness towards a trans person?” Ritika questioned.

Explains Shaman Gupta, founder of the Misfyt Transgender Youth Foundation, who has run shelter homes in the past, “The chances of parents coming and accusing a shelter home of kidnapping is very, very high. They come with huge police forces, politician support and try to accuse a shelter home, and such cases have happened in government-run shelter homes as well.” 

He explained that such cases are more common with trans men than trans women. Children assigned male at birth who identify as women are often seen as a disgrace to their families, and are pushed out of their homes. Few families want them back or try to bring them back. 

“The huge comic part right is that the government is supporting 18 shelter homes, while they are saying trans women, trans men, non-binary people do not exist for them, who is going to stay in the shelter homes?” Gupta said.

Hasar explained that if identity becomes harder to establish, then both individuals and organisations may face more barriers. “So the impact may not be immediate, it will definitely reshape how funding works for shelter homes.” 

Beyond shelter homes, the act will affect activists, NGOs, and guru chelas system, and a silent threat for medical professionals, Kanmani said. “While it is not an intended consequence of the provision, unfortunately, it is empowering everyone to set up an architect, a mob violence kind of situation, where you are constantly under the threat of surveillance.”

Ritika recalled the experience of acquiring the ID card, wondering if it remains valid after the new law. It took her three years and two rejections before she received her ID card just a few months ago. 

“I cannot imagine what it would be like with a whole new administrative procedure with medical supervision in place,” she said.

The government claims that they want the trans community to find livelihood beyond gharana systems and ‘badhai tradition’, but with passing of bills like this, what options is the community left with, Ritika questioned.

The shelter home is undergoing renovation. A long hall with over 15 beds serves as a recreation area and shared bedroom—clothes strewn about, lipstick marks covering the paint beside a mirror—and a space where the bonds of a chosen family take shape.

The rainbow-coloured walls, marked with “queer and proud”, hold memories in the making and identities taking form—an open space for trans people to exist freely, especially since as they say, they face difficulties renting accommodations because their appearance does not match the sex on their official documents.

The usual bustle of the home has now given way to quiet consolations. “Do not worry, I am here for you, we are a family,” Himanshi said, pulling Sanam into a tight embrace. 

Sanam, unable to meet her eyes, said she is now questioning whether to continue with hormone therapy, concerned less about the cost and more about the consequences of living openly as a trans person.

(name changed to protect identity)