Chapter 1: The Policy
Rohit Menon had always considered himself a straightforward man. He dressed in grey shirts, dark trousers, and kept his desk minimal. As a junior analyst at Vireon Tech Solutions, a high-end software consultancy in Chennai, he believed that performance mattered more than appearance.
Until the HR email arrived.
Subject: Mandatory Participation in Gender Sensitivity Campaign (Phase 2)
The message explained that all junior staff were expected to participate in a month-long “gender empathy program,” meant to promote inclusivity and challenge unconscious biases. Each male employee would be paired with a female mentor and would experience “daily life through a reversed gender lens”—including dress codes.
At first, Rohit thought it was a prank. But the next morning, his team leader Divya called him into a meeting.
“HR has selected you as part of the internal case study,” she said, half-apologetic. “You'll be switching roles—attire, pronouns, behavior expectations—under guidance. It’s just for four weeks.”
“But... I’m not comfortable,” Rohit replied flatly.
“You signed the employee code of conduct, remember? Clause 17.2 includes compliance with training and representation activities.”
He stared blankly at the contract on her screen.
He hadn’t noticed that clause.
Chapter 2: Assigned Identity
By Wednesday, his workstation label had changed.
Rohita Menon.
He was asked to sit through a session on posture, voice modulation, etiquette, and wardrobe. HR gave him a new access badge with his revised name and photo—wearing a plain cotton saree. They also provided a stipend for “appearance alignment”: eyebrow threading, makeup sessions, and modest jewelry.
The first time he stepped into the office in a saree, heels clicking awkwardly on the marble floor, people stared. Some snickered. Others whispered. His face burned with humiliation.
His mentor, Janani, a poised and experienced senior executive, greeted him kindly.
“You’re not here to look pretty,” she said. “You’re here to understand how much performance gets overshadowed by perception.”
Chapter 3: A Different Lens
Days blurred into routines.
Rohita had to attend meetings and presentations in full female corporate attire—salwar kameez, pencil skirts, and sarees. She was expected to smile more, keep her voice gentle, and multitask without complaint. Her opinions in meetings were often interrupted or ignored until repeated by a male colleague.
By the second week, something shifted.
Rohit, now dressed in formal kurtis and flats, started to notice patterns he'd never paid attention to. How his ideas were taken less seriously, how people talked over him instead of to him. How dress affected perception. How exhausting it was to manage appearance and performance.
But beneath the discomfort, there was a strange sense of control in the presentation of Rohita. She began anticipating reactions. She navigated small talk better. Clients warmed up to her. Even Janani looked impressed.
“You’re learning,” she said one day, during coffee.
“Is that good or bad?” Rohita asked quietly.
“That depends on whether it’s you learning—or someone else emerging.”
Chapter 4: Complications
At the end of week three, HR surprised everyone. The “experiment” was extended—for “more conclusive data.” There was even a company-wide internal feature about Rohita’s transformation, showcasing her “graceful adaptation.”
Rohit wanted to scream. It had gone too far. The line between role-play and real identity was thinning.
Then came a client meeting with an international investor—Rohita was the one scheduled to present. It was the biggest pitch of the quarter.
She stood in a maroon saree, her presentation slides open, lipstick perfect, posture poised. And she nailed it.
Afterward, the client smiled. “You carry yourself with elegance and clarity. A pleasure to work with, Ms. Menon.”
She smiled back. “Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure if it was Rohit or Rohita speaking.
Chapter 5: The Choice
The program ended the following Monday.
Rohit was offered a choice: resume as his old self, or stay in the current role.
He sat silently in HR’s office.
“What will it be?” the HR lead asked.
Rohit looked down at the folded clothes on his lap. A men's shirt and trousers.
Then he looked at his reflection in the glass—longer hair, light kajal, neutral-toned saree. A face the world had learned to listen to, or dismiss, based on presentation.
“I’ll... take some time to decide,” he said.
A month later, Rohit walked into the office in a neatly-pressed formal kurta and dupatta, hair pulled back, ID card reading: Rohita Menon (Strategic Lead).
Not because anyone forced him now.
But because, in navigating the performance of a woman, he had discovered something deeper about himself.
Not transformation.
But evolution.