The silk felt strange against my skin, cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the rough cotton shirt and worn-out jeans I usually wore. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, a stranger in a sari. Bhanumathi. That was my name now, at least for the next few hours. Or maybe, if things went well, for much longer. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the delicate fabric. It felt like a costume, a disguise, but it was also so much more. It was my last, desperate gamble, a step into the unknown.
Just a few years ago, my life had been… normal. Well, as normal as it could be after Mom and Dad died in accident. I was ten. They were gone in an instant, a blur of flashing lights and hushed whispers. My older brother, Ravi, stepped up, took over. He was barely more than a kid himself, but he did his best. He even married Avanthika, a sweet, quiet girl, shortly after I finished my intermediate exams. I went to college, tried to focus on my studies, but the shadows were always there, lurking at the edges of my vision.
Ravi had taken on a lot to keep us afloat – loans, debts, promises he couldn't keep. He worked himself to the bone, but it was never enough. The weight of it all crushed him in the end. One sweltering afternoon, I came home to find… I don't even like to think about it. The image is seared into my memory. He'd taken the only way out he could see.
Now, it was just Avanthika and me. She’s not educated, so she started looking for work immediately. I quit college, of course. What was the point? We needed money, not degrees. I pounded the pavement, went to every business in town, but no one was hiring a sixteen-year-old kid with no experience. Desperation clawed at me. We were losing everything. We even had to sell the small house we grew up in to cover some of the debts. We were forced to move to a new city, thanks to Avanthika’s friend, who found us a place to stay.
Then, there was the IP. I had to put up some land we had as collateral to get some money to pay off the most urgent debts. But it was only a temporary solution, we needed something more permanent. Avanthika worked as a seamstress, but it barely covered the rent. And then… then she got sick. A visit to the doctor brought more news, a new challenge. She was pregnant.
The world tilted on its axis. Another life to be responsible for. Another mouth to feed. Avanthika needed rest, the doctor said. She couldn’t work. The weight of the world settled squarely on my shoulders. I had to do something. Anything.
I went back to searching for a job, more frantically than ever. But it was the same story – too young, no experience. Then, Avanthika’s friend, Sruthi the one who helped us find the apartment, mentioned something. A saree shop. They needed female staff. My heart sank. I knew what she was going to suggest even before she said it.
"You could…" she hesitated, then blurted it out, "You could dress as a girl."
The idea was absurd, ridiculous. Disgusting, even. My first reaction was a hard, visceral "No!" But then I looked at Avanthika, pale and exhausted, her hand resting protectively on her still-flat stomach. I thought of the mounting debts, the landlord’s impatient knocks, the gnawing hunger in my belly. I thought of the baby that was coming.
And slowly, reluctantly, the "no" turned into a "maybe." Then, a "perhaps." Finally, a desperate, whispered, "yes." They told me I had to shave the little bit of hair on my face. It felt weird, but I did it. Then, they gave me a cream and told me to put it all over my body before I took a bath. It smelled funny. After my bath, my skin was smooth. All the hair on my body was gone, except for the hair on my head. I looked… different. coming to my hair ,I am having hair upto my neck .My hair was short, just to my neck. It wasn't long enough to look like a girl's hair. Avanthika's friend, Sruthi, got some hair extensions. She clipped them into my hair, and then braided it, making it look even longer. Now, I had a long braid down my back. It felt weird, but I looked more like a girl.
Avanthika’s friend helped. She and my sister-in-law worked together, transforming me. First, the sari. It wasn't just a piece of cloth; it was a whole process. Avanthika's friend showed me how to drape it, the pleats falling just so, the fabric swirling around me like a second skin. It felt strange and constricting at first, then surprisingly elegant. Then came the padded blouse, filling out my thin frame, giving me curves I never had. The petticoat, tied tightly at the waist, anchoring the sari. It was all so new, so foreign.
Next, the makeup. Avanthika’s friend, who seemed to know what she was doing, carefully applied foundation, trying to even out my skin tone. She added a touch of kohl to my eyes, making them look bigger, more expressive. A hint of lipstick, a soft pink, nothing too dramatic. It felt weird, like I was wearing a mask. But when I looked in the mirror… it was startling. The boy I knew was gone, replaced by someone else. A girl. Bhanumathi.
Now, here I was, standing outside the saree shop, the silk cool and smooth against my skin. My stomach churned with a mixture of fear and nausea. This was it. My first day. My new life. A lie built on desperation. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. It was just for a few hours, I told myself. Just until we got back on our feet. But deep down, a chilling premonition whispered in my ear. This was just the beginning. And it was going to change everything.
