It started with a horrific industrial accident. My dad was a manager at a steel plant; while inspecting heavy industrial machinery, a chunk of it fell on him, and crushed him to pieces. If that wasn’t enough devastation, my mom, while sorting out our financial situation, found that my dad had a gambling problem that he had expertly hidden from us.
The company he had worked for were misers. The paltry sum they provided us as compensation for their shoddy working conditions went towards paying off the loan sharks. With our bank accounts wiped off and abysmal job prospects for my mom who never held a job or went to college, we had to pack our bags and leave town. We moved in with my Grandma who lived in a small town far away from Chennai, the city I had lived all my life.
My Grandma was making ends meet with the small nest egg, my Grandpa had left her before he passed away. So I ended up in a tuition-free government (public) school. Having attended a good private school in Chennai, suddenly finding myself in an underfunded government school shook me to my core. The classroom didn’t even have a ceiling fan, teachers hardly showed up, and the worst part was, the kids picked on me like I was a juicy mango hanging off a tree.
Did I tell you I was a short and scrawny kid. My dad was a handsome man. He was 6 feet tall and always managed to stay fit. As a kid, I dreamed I would grow up to be like him. But, I took after my mom and never grew an inch taller than her 5’3”. I wasn’t a picky eater or anything, but for some reason I never could put on an ounce of weight.
Then there was my grandmother who thought the words of her Astrologer’s were the words straight from God. The Astrologer told her that I had a Dosham — a blemish in my horoscope called “Pitra Dosha”. Pitra Dosha is believed to arise due to the unsettled souls of ancestors. As compensation for the Dosha, I was told to grow out my hair for two years which would at the end be offered to a temple.
In the boy’s only school that I was enrolled in, there was not even one kid who had their hair past their shirt collar. Among the 500 boys who had neatly trimmed crew cuts, I stood out like a shampoo model with my lush mane. My mom, as meticulous as she was, applied coconut oil twice a week without fail. The constant oiling and brushing allowed my hair to grow thick and healthy. The pitch black tone of my hair never once faded.
The more my hair grew, the more people started to mistake me for a girl. My obvious male clothing didn’t stop from people misgendering me. Overtime, I got so used to it that I was surprised when somebody used male pronouns.
My mom insisted on putting my hair in a ponytail to keep my hair off my forehead; which led to the kids in school pulling on my pony tail. For some reason, they derived so much joy out of that act. As my hair grew even longer, she started putting it in a single braid. This lured the nicer kids too, to join the party; while the notorious ones couldn’t contain themselves and went a step further. One day, they tore up my school uniform, forced me into a blouse and skirt, applied bindi, and secured jasmine flowers to my hair with hair pins and made me parade around the school.
The teachers who hardly were there, finally showed up and saved me from further disgrace. The principal came to his senses and suspended the kids that had violated me. The suspension tempered the bullying, although there was some teasing here and there the kids kept away from me as if I was plutonium.
Although I didn’t inherit my dad’s height, I surely did inherit his ability to keep a secret. I had expertly hid the bullying that I had endured at school from my mom and grandma. But the parading incident spilled the beans. They were shattered hearing about what I had gone through for the last two years. But the incident didn’t move them enough to pick up a pair of scissors and cut my braids off. There were still two more months for the moratorium to end. So I was forced to wait it out counting my days.
Finally, the day arrived. We packed an overnight bag and boarded a bus to travel to the temple where I was going to offer my hair. We reached the temple town after a five hour trip on a bus that had seen better times. My mom had rented a room in a lodge to stay overnight.
The next day, my mom woke me up bright and early so that we could hike up the five mile trail to reach the temple on the hill. It was cold, but it didn't matter. I was excited, as I was finally going to get rid of the hair that had caused me so much grief over the past two years. For some reason, my mom didn’t seem to share the same excitement as I had. Instead, she seemed preoccupied with a deep thought.
At one point during our trek she said “I want to tell you something.”
I asked her what it was. She replied “Never mind.” and continued walking fast. I literally had to jog to catch up to her. I let her dwell in her thoughts and didn’t press further.
Since we had moved to my Grandma’s place, my mom had started working on an online college degree in accounting and also had picked up some valuable hours of experience working for an accountant in town. The countless hours she had put in had bore fruit in the form of a job offer as a bank teller in Chennai. More than her, I was jubilant to hear the news, I couldn’t wait to offer my dreaded braids to the temple and go back to my old life.
Upon reaching the hilltop, we went to the temple tank first. Tanks are a standard feature of temples in India. It’s a large man-made reservoir of water that is usually located adjacent to the temple. My mom swiftly tied my hair in a tight bun and instructed me to remove clothes. The strange part was that she even made me remove my underwear. Ofcourse, she was afterall my mom who had borne me to term. But I was a teenager now and it had been more than five years since she had seen me fully naked. I hesitated. But my mom was insistent. I knew well enough that if my mom had made up her mind there was no point in trying to sway her. So with trepidation I peeled off my undies and skinny dipped in the temple tank. Atleast, there was nobody in the vicinity except her. The water was cold, but it didn’t matter, I would have gladly jumped into a frozen lake if the prize was getting my life back.
Once I dried myself, my mom asked me to step into a strange garment. She pulled it up and fastened the strings around my chest area. That's when I realized that it was in fact a saree’s petticoat. Indian women generally wore their saree petticoats in that fashion if they needed to bathe in places that had less privacy.
“Amma, why are you making me wear this?” I pleaded.
“This is part of the ritual. Shut up and do as I say!” she said categorically.
Defeated, I trudged along into the temple with my modesty held with a single cotton string.
Inside the temple, the priest was eagerly waiting for us. He had already set up a fire altar and was anxious to start the proceedings. He made me sit in front of it facing the east direction. East direction is considered auspicious in Hinduism, as it is the direction where the sun rises, symbolizing the beginning of a new day and bringing positive energy; most Hindus traditionally pray facing eastwards. He made me repeat various Sanskrit verses. I didn’t understand the language, so I had no clue what he was making me say. He even made me walk around the fire altar nine times as if I was being bound to somebody in holy matrimony. The customs that were being carried were very elaborate. I tried to plead with my mom using labored gestures, but it only resulted in inaudible scolding.
After a while, two women came out of nowhere and led me to a chair. They made me sit on it. The chair was stone cold, but I was too out of it now to complain. Then I noticed the table that was right next to me that had a number of needles in various sizes set on it. Seeing that I panicked and started shouting. I attempted to get up and run. But the two women were way stronger and forced me back onto my seat. My mom ran over and gave me an earful.
“Prashanth! Shut up and Settle down. Do as they say. It’s all part of the ritual.” she said. I had never seen my mom so agitated. I didn’t dare to get up after that.
They pierced both my ears and my right nostril. It hurt like hell. I cried like a baby. The wailing didn’t stop the women, they sure were consummate professionals. They cleaned the wound and inserted studs into the holes. Then they proceeded to shave off my sparse facial hair. They also removed the peach fuzz that had covered my arms and legs. But to my chagrin, they didn’t touch the hair on my head. At that point, I had perceived what was going on. Why else would they pierce my nose?
After denuding me off my sparse body hair, they applied turmeric paste all over. They made me sit on the same cold chair for more than an hour to let the turmeric do its thing before they washed it off with water that numbed my bones. They also undid my hair and washed it too. At that point I had become a zombie and accepted my fate.
After I dried myself, they applied talcum powder all over me. Then they adored my eyes with kajal (kohl). My mom gave me panties and a bra and asked me to put them on. The panties were bright pink, a cruel color that highlighted my plight. Understandably, I struggled with the bra. My mom, as considerate as she was, helped me with securing my first bra. The cups were of a modest size, probably an A cup — something appropriate for a girl my age. My mom, being the resourceful one, stuffed handkerchiefs into the cups to give them a little bit of shape. Both the panties and the bra fit snugly. The tight bra straps dug into my skin, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the sharp pain that still lingered around the newly made holes in my ears and nose.
My mom made me wear a skin tight blouse that left my midriff completely bare, like the sultry actresses in Indian movies that gyrated their hips. The blouse was so tight that I was afraid the seams would come off if I raised my hands. Then she made me step into the skirt and knotted the cotton string this time just below my navel. Then she pleated the pallu of the half saree and pinned it to the left shoulder of my blouse and tucked the other end into my skirt. The skirt and blouse were a bright purple, while the cocoa brown half saree contrasted it perfectly. The skirt and blouse hems were covered with high quality Kanchipuram Silk.
She completed my look with a thin golden necklace, some of her nicest bangles, and anklets that reminded me how I was dressed with every step I took. No good Indian girl was allowed to step out without flowers in her hair and a bindi on her forehead. And my mom wasn't ever going to let that happen, so she secured jasmine flowers with hairpins and applied a perfectly round bindi on my forehead. I didn’t get to see the new me until after the ceremony was over. Not being overly dramatic, I almost fainted when I finally saw myself in the full length mirror in the lodge. The reflection on the mirror was that of a beautiful Indian teenaged girl dressed in her half saree and ready to take on the world.
The image in the mirror was proof that Prashanth ceased to exist and was replaced by Priya. Later on, both my mom and my grandma confided in me that they had known all along that I had a severe case of Pitra Dosha and the only way for me to satisfy the Gods was to live as a girl for three years.
Once we returned to my Grandma’s place, we trashed all of my boy clothes and boarded a train to Chennai. My mom had rented a one bedroom apartment in the city for us to stay. She had also enrolled me in a girls only school. I was still moping around barely speaking to my mom. I cried so much that it was a miracle that my tear ducts hadn’t given out.
But my mom, as relentless as she was, never gave in. She treated me as if I was a girl all my life. She taught me how to cook, made me do household chores, and she even didn’t hesitate in being less modest around me. She would casually drape her saree even if I was in the bedroom. After a few months it became commonplace. I didn’t bat an eye when she did it.
Most importantly, she made sure that I presented myself as a girl all the time. My closet was filled with hand-me-down from her friend’s daughter. Churidhars, kurtas, salwars, lehengas, skirts, maxis, midis, and skinny jeans, I had it all. My mom had even got me a beginners makeup kit and encouraged me to try them out.
I met Aparna — the girl who would change my world upside down, for the first time about a month after we had moved to the City. I was busy drawing a kolam (a decorative drawing created with rice powder.) under my mom’s tutelage outside the front door. Aparna walked by us and enthusiastically said
“Hi Aunty!”.
Then said “Hi!” looking at me.
“Did you all move in recently?” she enquired.
The chance meeting outside my front door blossomed into a friendship. Soon enough we became as thick as thieves. As inquisitive as she was, she quickly discovered the secret I was hiding in my panties. Surprisingly she was chill about it. She pitied my plight and was very supportive. She in fact became my second teacher and taught me all things “girl”. In no time, I started using hand gestures when I spoke, moved gracefully like the girly-girls did, kept my legs together when I sat — even if it crushed the balls that I was packing in my panties, giggled more, and became touchy with people around me. I became an expert in color coordinating my outfits and made huge strides in learning how to apply makeup.
Summer quickly passed and school reopened. The terrifying moment where I had to face a school full of girls as a girl arrived. The rigorous training that I had gone through under my mom and Aparna should have given me some confidence, but sadly didn’t, the dread I felt wouldn’t ease. Aparna promised that she would be on my side as a loyal soldier and help navigate the enormous challenge that lay ahead. True to her word she gave me various tips to ease my nerves.
I barely slept before the night of my first day of school. One of Aparna’s tips was to wear my cozy pink nightie to get a good night's sleep. But that trick turned out to be a dud, I was wide awake most of the night fretting about what lay ahead. I woke up with a splitting headache, after barely sleeping for a couple of hours. I quickly brushed my teeth and drank my morning coffee to soothe the pounding in my head. Soon enough, I got into getting ready mode. As a girl, getting ready took way longer than I was used to. I threw my nightie, panties, and bra into the laundry basket and jumped into the shower. With hot water running, I shaved my legs and arms extra smooth. Then I patted myself dry just as Aparna had shown me and checked my face for any overnight stubble. I didn't see any, but I still went ahead and gave it a good shave after I exfoliated my face.It was ironic that in my previous school I tried so hard to look like a boy, while now I went to insane lengths to present myself as a girl. With the shaving all done, I expertly tucked my junk and stepped into a fresh pair of panties.I admired my smooth front for a bit and then hooked on a bra like a pro; I made sure to stuff the cups with new handkerchiefs to give myself pseudo boobs.Then I dressed myself in the school uniform that consisted of navy blue salwar pants and vest along with powder blue kameez. My mom helped in putting up my hair in twin braids using powder blue ribbons. As advised, I went for a makeup free look. I just dabbed some talcum powder to keep the sweat under control. I wore plain studs in both my ears and nose. I admired my nose stud in the mirror for a few seconds, after the pain had subsided, I had grown fond of my nose piercing and had even built a little bit of a collection to adorn it.
The first day in school turned out to be way better than what I had imagined. The girls in my class were super friendly and by the end of the school day I had become part of a friend group. The difference between the previous school and this one was like night and day. I was thriving and even started enjoying being a girl. The clothes sure seemed more fun than the drab ones I wore as a boy. Girls were far nicer than boys, they were less competitive, instead more collaborative. The positive experience I started having in the school slowly thawed the frosty relationship with my mom. I took pride in the daily morning kolam I drew outside the front door, I found joy in surprising my mom with new recipes I found on the internet, and most of all I loved chatting with her endlessly.
I think it was the first day of summer, a year had passed since I had become Priya. The year turned out to be one of the best years of my life. I had put the misery behind me and was truly enjoying life as a girl. I had worked hard on perfecting my rasgulla recipe and finally that day it clicked. Aparna, my best friend forever, was the first person I wanted to share the delicious rasgulla with that I had made. I transferred a few rasgullas onto a container and practically ran to her apartment. Her mom was busy in the kitchen so I proceeded to her bedroom. The door was closed, I didn’t bother to knock and opened it.
Aparna had just stepped out of the shower; she was humming a tune and dancing with her towel when I barged in unannounced. We looked at each other in shock. She shouted on the top of her lungs, while I dropped the container of Rasagulla to the floor. In the process, her towel fell to the floor and stood there naked as the day she was born.
She had a beautiful figure. She was about 5’6”, three inches taller than me. Her head was a mass of curls that cascaded way beyond her shoulders, her eyes were so big that you could lose yourself in them, her nose was pronounced and added to her allure, and her lips were plump and kissable. Her budding breasts were perky and were topped with puffy nipples, the entire areola and nipple area looked like a small raised mound. My eyes spent extra time on her chest and slowly descended to her midsection that had packed some fat. The packed fat had spread through her hip, butt, and thigh areas giving her a nice full figure. Her butt especially divine, one could spend years admiring its shape. Thanks to her diligent grooming regimen, she was completely hairless except for her pubic area that matched the curls on her head.
While I was admiring her body, Aparna had come to her senses and used her hands to hide her boobs and pubic area. Coming back to my senses, I picked up the towel and handed it to her. She vigorously grabbed it from me and swiftly tied it around her chest area to reassert her modesty.
Flabbergasted, we stared at each other for a long while in silence. At least the noise from the blender that Aparna’s mom was using had given us a break by cutting out Aparna’s shrill. Nobody wanted to deal with an irate parent at that moment. Luckily, I had brought my rasgullas in a plastic container, if not we would have had to use the lone towel Aparna was hanging on to clean up the mess.
I tried to apologize for barging in like that. But she wasn’t ready to listen, instead she asked me to leave. Chiding myself, I set the container of Rasagulla on her table and walked back home. That shocking incident underlined the fact that although she had treated me as a girl, deep down she hadn’t forgotten what I was hiding in my panties.
We didn’t see each other for almost a month. That whole month was one of the most excruciating times of my young life. On one hand, I missed my best friend in the whole wide world, on the other hand, I couldn’t erase the image of her perky breasts topped with puffy nipples from my mind.
Not only did I want to touch them, I also wanted to grow a pair just like that.
My dreams were filled with me magically becoming a girl in every sense. I fantasized about having wider hips, a round bottom, and a smooth front. I even dreamed about having periods. Yuck. Aparna had advised me to carry sanitary pads to throw nosy girls off my scent. Earlier it was just an act, but now I wanted to experience it for real. For some strange reason, I wanted to experience the bloodiness, PMS, and even the bodily pains that came with the territory. I was thoroughly jolted by one of the dreams I had, in the dream I was a blushing bride dressed in a bright Red Kanchipuram Saree decked out in jewelry from head to toe and was having a mangalsutra tied around my neck by none other than Aparna.
When we finally met after the hiatus, my desire got the most of me and I kissed her on the lips. Shell shocked, she slapped me and walked away never to return. I wept continuously for God knows how long. The estradiol tablets that I had been secretly swallowing kept the tears flowing like the freebies the government gave out. My mom, who had no clue what was going on, but still tried to console me, but she just couldn’t. The new found hormones had a mind of their own.
Over the summer, Aparna’s family moved to Bangalore. The official reason was that her dad had got a new job; I surely knew what the real reason was through.
My final year of school wasn’t any fun without Aparna — my partner in crime. The only bright spot was that my body was developing curves that it was not supposed to. Thanks to science, pumping estrogen into my bloodstream allowed me to reshape my body as my mind wished. Soon I was filling out my B-cup bras and relieved the handkerchiefs from it’s duty. My nipples developed like little berries, if only I were a giraffe, I would have relished its tartness. My tush had rounded off so much that it had its own mind when I walked.
I foolishly thought that I could hide the changes in my body from my mom. But one day, when I was watching a movie with her on TV, my nipples decided to become erect and make their presence known during a romantic scene. Since I had started washing down those girl pills, my sexuality had taken an interesting turn. My fascination for the female body had cratered, instead, I started to get the hots admiring the male specimen. The hero in the movie we were watching was so stupendously hot that my poor nipples couldn’t contain themselves.
My mom was mad; obviously. She was so mad that she disregarded the Astrologer's word and cut short my Pitra Dosha penance. She picked up a pair of scissors and gave me the ugliest boy’s haircut one could ever get. As mad as she was, she dumped every article of clothing that was in my overflowing closet and I was relegated to roam around the house covering my top and bottom with the discarded handkerchiefs that had lost their prominent role.
She forced me into boy’s clothes that looked drab than they ever had. The waist bands of those God forsaken undies chaffed me up like crazy. The chunky cotton undershirts clung onto my smooth torso like there was a never ending glue duct underneath. Don’t get me started on my mini boobies that were jumping all over the place.
My moms futile effort to bring back her son Prashant was doomed from the start. The boy’s clothes that she forced me to wear looked comical over my new found curves. She tried hard to make me walk, talk, and sit like a man. But the grace in my step, gestures of my hands, and shelf consciousness in hiding the color of my panties from the world had become second nature that it was impossible to lose them. In reality, her son Prashanth was long gone.
After six months of her losing campaign, my mom realized that I had crossed the fine line both physically and mentally. The doctor’s medical report reinforced it. Begrudgingly, she had to accept reality and allow me to be Priya again.
It has been over five years since my best friend left me forever. I hope I do meet her one day. But at least, my dream of being a blushing bride dressed in a bright Red Kanchipuram Saree decked out in jewelry from head to toe became true. The lucky one to tie the mangalsutra around my neck was a hunk that I met at work. He spoils me so much that he bought diamond earrings and a nose ring.
Between us, he keeps my surgically created plumbing well dilated.
