Thanuja: A Memoir of Migration and Transition by Thanuja Singam is a work that defies easy categorisation, because it is at once a story of exile, survival, self-discovery and profound transformation. At its heart is the experience of a Tamil refugee fleeing the violence of the Sri Lankan civil war, making her way first through India and then to Europe. The journey is shaped by political turmoil, family ties and the dislocation that comes with forced migration. Yet woven into this narrative is another journey that is just as urgent and life-altering, the recognition and affirmation of her identity as a woman. The two stories unfold together, making the memoir both a chronicle of geopolitical conflict and a testament to the intimate struggles of gender transition.
Thanuja’s recollections are infused with the pain of displacement and the relentless search for belonging. She describes the bewildering process of adapting to new countries and cultures while carrying the trauma of violence and loss. Her path is not linear. It is filled with moments of confusion, of unexpected pleasures, and of sharp betrayals from people and institutions she hoped might offer understanding. These conflicting experiences shape her gradual acceptance of her womanhood, showing that self-recognition is never a simple act but a process complicated by the expectations and prejudices of others.
The memoir reaches a major milestone with her gender reassignment surgery, an act that confirms in her body what she has long known in her mind and spirit. Yet this does not mark the end of struggle. Instead, it opens a new chapter of negotiating stigma, bureaucratic barriers and the weight of social norms. In one of the most striking reflections of the book, she writes that no one can imagine what happens in a trans woman’s life, and that attempts to understand her existence through mainstream norms, laws, culture or literature fall short. She insists that transgender people have been betrayed by history itself, excluded from the very frameworks that are supposed to guarantee dignity and recognition.
Her words carry particular force because they are grounded not only in personal reflection but in lived reality. Thanuja moves between countries, between languages, between shifting legal categories of refugee, migrant, citizen and woman. Each of these identities comes with challenges imposed by the state and society, whether through the hurdles of immigration bureaucracy, the rigidity of gender laws, or the prejudice of those unwilling to accept her. The book portrays the precariousness of a life lived at multiple margins but also the resilience and creativity required to carve out a place of safety and authenticity.
Alongside political and social struggles, the memoir devotes equal attention to the intimate dimensions of life. Thanuja recounts family tensions, moments of sexual awakening, the complexities of romantic relationships and the pressures of work life. These episodes are not presented as side notes but as essential parts of her story, illustrating that her humanity cannot be reduced to either refugee status or gender identity. They reveal a woman who experiences joy, desire, heartbreak and hope, even while carrying the burdens of war and displacement. The contradictions she embraces are not signs of weakness but affirmations of the richness of her life.
What makes the memoir particularly moving is its refusal to present a neatly resolved narrative. Thanuja does not claim that surgery solved all problems or that migration led to unambiguous freedom. Instead, she acknowledges the persistence of ambiguity, the coexistence of hardship and celebration, the daily work of negotiating dignity in spaces not designed for her. In this sense, the book stands as both testimony and challenge. It testifies to the resilience of a refugee and a trans woman who insists on being fully human, and it challenges readers to question the cultural and historical frameworks that deny such lives visibility and legitimacy.
Thanuja: A Memoir of Migration and Transition is therefore more than one woman’s story. It is an intervention into how we think about identity, belonging and justice. It shows that migration and transition are not parallel stories but deeply intertwined journeys, each shaping the other. It reminds us that history is not neutral but selective, and that reclaiming one’s body and citizenship requires courage, persistence and imagination. Above all, it offers a portrait of a woman who has endured war, exile and prejudice, yet continues to claim joy, complexity and dignity against the odds.
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