Amit’s karwachauth

Amit stirs awake in his small bedroom at 4:30 AM, careful not to disturb Priya Ji in the master suite. He rises from under the plain cotton sheets draped over a simple bed frame devoid of adornment. Amit's slender body is draped in a sheer baby doll nighty trimmed with delicate lace and embroidered flowers, the diaphanous fabric barely concealing his feminine curves underneath. His long hair tumbles over bare shoulders as he reaches up to adjust the glittering bindi affixed to his furrowed brow with kumkum paste. The sacred red sindoor line is smeared in a bold streak across his hair parting just above the forehead, marking him visibly as a married woman.

Jewelry adorns every possible piercing – dangling earrings swing from his lobes while six additional studs glitter in each pierced hole. Nostrils flare with jeweled nose rings inserted into both nostrils and catching the faint light filtering through closed curtains. A belly button ring winks from below the lace trim of his nighty as it graces his navel, while toe rings encircle slender digits peeking out from under the hem.

Amit slips silently out of bed, careful not to wake Priya Ji in the adjoining suite. He pads barefoot across the cold marble floor towards their attached bathroom, anklets and bangles jangling with each step. Entering the spacious room tiled in white Carrara marble, Amit reaches up to remove his nighty, wig and jewelry except for his mangalsutra and toe rings and begins the process of meticulously cleaning himself from head to toe using a sharp blade.

After bathing and drying off with a rough towel, Amit selects panties and a bra with falsies to create the illusion of voluptuous curves. He slips blouse and petticoat swathed around slender hips before draping an elegant saree over one shoulder and knotting it securely at the waist. The silk fabric pools gracefully as he steps into strappy sandals that add three inches to his height.

Amit sits down gingerly at the vanity bench, opening the drawer where brushes, powders, kohl pencils and lipsticks are neatly arranged in their compartments. With practiced motions, he applies makeup – foundation smoothed over flawless skin until it resembles porcelain, kohled eyes framed with dramatic flair, shimmery eye shadow swept across lids, blush dusted on high cheekbones to create the appearance of perpetual flush. Finally, his lips are stained a deep crimson red that offsets the fairness of his complexion.

Jewelry is added – dangling earrings plus additional studs in six piercings per lobe, jeweled nose rings screwed into nostrils until they're stretched taut by the weight, sindoor smeared across hair parting as a visible signifier of marital status. Bindi affixed above furrowed brows while bangles jingle at both wrists and anklets tinkle with each step. Finally, he settles the long hair wig on his head, adjusting it until the sleek black tresses drape artfully over bare shoulders.

Amit emerges from his bedroom looking every inch the quintessential housewife – saree draping elegantly around voluptuous curves accentuated by a slender waist cinched tight under layers of petticoats. bangles jingle and anklets tinkle as he pads barefoot across cold marble floors to begin his daily cleaning ritual.

The foyer and adjoining drawing room are expansive spaces occupying the bulk of their penthouse apartment on the 30th floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around two walls overlooking Mumbai's glittering skyline – towering skyscrapers jutting into an azure sky while traffic crawls along arteries far below. Sleek black leather sofas flank a marble coffee table in the center of the drawing room, plush velvet cushions tossed casually atop. Amit's eyes skim over expensive artworks adorning walls and priceless antiques perched on side tables.

Grabbing his mop bucket filled with soapy water, he begins scrubbing at marble floors until they gleam like mirrors, getting down on hands and knees to reach every corner. Furniture is wiped clean of dust while windows are washed till not a speck remains obscuring the panoramic view of Mumbai stretching out endlessly in all directions.

After meticulously cleaning drawing rooms and balcony until it shines like new, Amit sets about creating an elaborate rangoli design at their front doorstep. The intricate patterns are drawn freehand using powdered chalk in hues of red, pink and orange tracing the designs onto the marble floor. Flowers, paisleys and geometric shapes take shape under his nimble fingers as he bends over the artistry.

Once the rangoli design is complete, Amit steps into their home temple located just off the foyer. Candles are lit around an altar bearing framed portraits of various deities – Durga Mata, Ganeshji, Lakshmi Devi among others. Incense coils burn fragrant tendrils of smoke curling up to the high ceiling as Amit settles cross-legged on a silk cushion before the shrine.

He bows his head reverently, palms pressed together at chest level in prayer pose. Eyes squeezed shut tightly, he silently beseeches the gods for Priya Ji's health, wealth and long life – this is his sole purpose as her devoted husband and caretaker extraordinaire. Tears prickle at lids as desperation seeps into his voice on an involuntary sob.

After prayer, Amit makes his way to their gourmet kitchen equipped with every conceivable appliance – top-of-the-line refrigerator, gas stove, convection ovens and more. He sets about preparing an elaborate breakfast spread fit for a queen – poha stirred in aromatic spices like cumin seeds, turmeric powder, mustard seeds sizzling in hot oil before being doused with tamarind water to lend tartness to the flavor profile. Coconut chutney is ground fresh using desiccated coconut flakes crushed fine along with green chilies and curry leaves while coriander chutney contains chopped cilantro leaves tossed into yogurt thinned out by buttermilk.

Amit plates these offerings on bone china crockery heeded from a cabinet stocked full – golden rims gleaming dully under the pendant lights illuminating their kitchen island. Fruits are arranged artfully around the rims of platters – ruby red strawberries glisten enticingly alongside amber mango wedges and emerald green kiwis cut into neat slices. A teapot filled with aromatic ginger tea perfumes the air as it brews, releasing wisps of steam that curl lazily upward.

Amit's stomach cramps violently from hunger pangs stabbing at his insides – he hasn't consumed any water since sundown last evening. This is his final day fasting for Priya Ji during the week-long karwachauth celebration when married women abstain from eating and drinking anything, not even water, until sunset to pray for their husband's long life.

Amit derives immense satisfaction knowing that through this act of devotion he is upholding a sacred tradition which has been passed down through generations – an ancient ritual where wives show reverence towards their husbands. For Priya Ji deserves nothing less than absolute loyalty and obedience from her devoted bride husband who exists solely to fulfill her every whim.

Usually, women fast only on the eve of karwachauth but Amit feels compelled to go beyond mere convention and abstain from all food for an entire week leading up to the main puja ceremony at sunset. He derives strength not from sustenance but rather through fulfilling his duties as a devoted bride husband – cooking, cleaning, praying and anticipating Priya Ji's every need.