Trading Smiles

Part 6 – The Proposal (Day 25)

A moment that began as curiosity, and became something irreversible.

✦ Morning: Sweat and Silence

The fan overhead turned lazily, too tired to make a difference. Outside, the early summer heat had already begun to creep in through the kitchen window.

Arya sat cross-legged on the tiled floor, back hunched, scrubbing a steel plate with practiced rhythm. Her blouse was damp at the back, stuck to her skin where sweat pooled beneath the collar. She paused to stretch her shoulder and winced slightly one of the straps had dug a little too deep today.

Vinish stood by the stove, preparing tea. His eyes lingered on her not with pity, but with a strange, unreadable intensity. He watched how she tied her loose pixie hair up with a rubber band looped around her wrist, how the sweat made dark lines under her arms and across her neck.

He brought her a steel tumbler of tea and sat down across from her.

She glanced at him, amused. “You made it strong today. Planning to keep me awake for night shift too?”

He chuckled but didn’t answer. The tea sat warm in their hands as silence filled the room.

Then, softly, he said, “Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we switched lives?”

Arya looked up slowly, blinking once. “You mean… like I sit behind the laptop and you scrub these dishes?”

“No,” Vinish said. His voice had lost its usual casual edge. “I mean everything. The work. The uniform. The bra. The GPS earring. All of it.”

Her face hardened. “What are you saying?”

“I want to live a day as you,” he said. “Not pretend. Not mock. Live. Your routine. Your discomfort. Your expectations.”

Arya leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Why? To prove something?”

Vinish shook his head. “No. I just… I feel like I’ve been watching you for nearly a month now. Every day, I see what you go through. I thought I understood it. But I don’t. Not really.”

Arya stared at him, her voice flat. “You think you can understand my life by tying a saree and scrubbing the floor?”

“No,” he said. “But maybe I can begin.”

✦ A Wall Begins to Crack

She let out a breath and stood, brushing crumbs from her lap. Her tone stayed cold. “Look, this isn’t a joke. I don’t wear a saree because I like the way it feels. That bra? It leaves bruises. The earring? It tracks my every step. And the blouse? It’s always one size too tight because I can’t afford better.”

“I know,” he said. “And that’s exactly why I want to do it right.”

Arya crossed her arms. “So what do you want? You want me to bring you my blouse and petticoat tomorrow morning? Want to see how cute you look with jasmine flowers?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

She blinked. The sarcasm hadn’t landed. He was serious.

“…Why?” she asked again, this time more quietly.

Vinish shifted on the floor, uncomfortable. “Because I’ve been feeling… displaced. Like I’m playing a version of myself I don’t recognize. And when I see you, I see someone who knows who she is. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s unfair. You still… show up.”

Her voice softened a little. “So you think being me for a day will help you… find yourself?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’ll just teach me to see better.”

Arya studied him in silence. Then she asked, “If you want to be me… does that mean I get to be you?”

He looked surprised for a second, then nodded. “Yes. That’s only fair.”

She grinned. “Then I want the works. Shirt. Trousers. Sitting under the fan. Pretending to be important while sipping tea.”

Vinish laughed. “Done.”

“But listen,” she said, suddenly serious. “If you’re serious about this, we do it properly. Saree. Bindi. Bra. Petticoat. The GPS earring, everything.”

“I have pierced ears,” he offered. “Temple piercing. My grandmother insisted when I was Sixteen.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then it’ll fit perfectly.”

He hesitated. “And… I don’t have body hair. Or facial hair. Never really grew any.”

Arya grinned. “Good. We’ll put a tiny bit of kajal on you. Light makeup. Maybe even plait your hair, tie it with an old ribbon of Meenu’s.”

His throat dried a little. “You’re really not holding back, are you?”

“You said you wanted the full experience,” she shrugged. “You’ll get it. You’ll smell like detergent and turmeric by lunchtime. Your blouse will be stuck to your back, and your legs will itch from the floor cleaner.”

“I want it to be real,” he said again. “Every aspect of a working woman.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll get it.”

✦ The Deal is Sealed

They stood in the kitchen now, both facing each other.

Arya asked, “When?”

“Give me five days,” he said. “So you can take a half-day on last day. I’ll be ready.”

She nodded.

He hesitated before adding, “Can I ask one more thing?”

“What?”

“When I’m dressed as you… help me. Teach me how to walk, talk, act. Not like you’re showing a doll. Like you’re training someone to survive.”

Arya stared at him, unreadable.

Then she extended her hand.

He shook it.

“No turning back,” she warned.

“I know.”

As she stepped to the door, ready to leave, she turned once more.

“Vinish?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to regret this.”

He smiled, genuinely. “Maybe. But not today.”

And then she was gone, her anklet jingling faintly as she descended the stairs, leaving behind the quiet thrum of possibility.

Part 7 — Five Days to Become Her

The twenty-sixth dawn since Arya first entered Vinish’s home broke quietly, but nothing about that day would remain quiet. After the proposal on Day 25, time had lost its softness. There were five days before the full transformation, five days to undo a man and re-stitch him into a maid named Arya.

And they took every hour seriously.

✦ Day 1: Breaking the Basics

Arya arrived at 8:00 AM sharp, dressed in her usual blue uniform, a tiffin in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. Vinish stood at the door, freshly bathed but unsure, wearing loose trousers and an old T-shirt.

“No,” Arya said the moment she saw him. “That won’t do. Get used to wearing your innerwear properly from today.”

She opened the plastic bag and pulled out a faded but clean set: a wire bra with no padding, an old blue panty with a stretched waistband, and a folded sanitary napkin.

Vinish blinked. “Now?”

“You’ll wear this from now on. You need to get used to the feel. And the napkin too. No skips.”

He hesitated, but she pushed the items into his hands and pointed to the bathroom. “Inside. Wear it. You’ll be like this every day.”

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged in the same T-shirt and trousers, but with the undergarments clinging to his skin in strange, uncomfortable ways.

“It bites,” he muttered, adjusting the bra strap.

“It always does,” she said. “Get used to the itch and the pull. Real maids don’t walk around comfortable.”

From there, they moved into posture training. Arya made him stand with his ankles together, one toe turned slightly inward.

“Maids are not in a hurry. Don’t stomp like a boy. Glide. Drag your slippers. Let them slap a bit.”

He practiced walking across the room ten times. Arya clapped lightly. “Better. Now again — slower. Bend your knee more. Keep your hand near your waist.”

Before leaving for her second job at 2 PM, she left a checklist on the table: “Sweep the living room, clean under the sofa, boil rice for dinner, wear your bra and sit with it till 6 PM. No shortcuts.”

✦ Day 2: Scent, Skin, and Submission

The second day started the same. Arya entered to find Vinish already dressed in the faded blue saree she’d left for him not perfectly draped, but presentable by watching some youtube videos.

They had express ordered a 32C breast form with dark nipples that perfectly suited vinish's skin tone.

She adjusted the pallu over his shoulder. “This folds too sharp. Soften it. You’re not a lawyer.”

Today was about working while dressed. She handed him a mop and timed his movements.

“You can’t just work. You need to sweat. That’s how the stink forms. You’ll smell like us by afternoon.”

The house slowly filled with the scent of detergent, cooking, and sweat. Vinish, wiping his forehead, didn’t realize he had smeared a spot of rice paste across his cheek.

Arya pointed it out. “Don’t wipe it. That’s good. Maids don’t always look clean. We look used.”

In the afternoon, she taught him how to carry a coin purse inside the bra. “Keep it in the side that’s flatter. You’ll feel it poke you when you bend that’s how you know it’s safe.”

He nodded, feeling the folded notes and coins shift slightly against the weight of his breast form.

✦ Day 3: Voice and Breath

Today was harder.

Arya stood beside him after chai, commanding him to repeat every sentence she spoke. “Say, ‘Yes madam, I will clean it now.’ But softly.”

Vinish did. Too loud.

“Again,” she said, lowering her tone.

His voice cracked.

“Control. Your breath must be shallower. Don’t use your chest. Use your throat. Speak like you’re apologizing for existing.”

He tried again.

Better.

“Now say, ‘Tea ready, madam. Shall I leave?’”

He did, in a voice half his usual pitch, uncertain, but real.

Arya nodded. “Still too educated. But we’ll fix that.”

Later that day, she practiced making him open the door with downcast eyes, offer a cup of water with two fingers under the glass, and sit cross-legged with the pallu covering his chest.

Every time he slipped, she would correct him sharply.

“You don’t get to be proud as Arya,” she said once. “You don’t even get to stand tall. Shrink.”

✦ Day 4: Smell and Struggle

Arya arrived to a house that smelled like a real maid lived there.

Vinish had followed her instructions to the letter: worn the same blouse and saree two days in a row, kept the sanitary napkin on all day, avoided bathing in the evening.

He looked exhausted. “I feel dirty.”

“You’re not. You’re real.”

That day, she taught him how to re-tie a loosened saree in public, how to sit and fan himself with the end of the pallu, how to scold a child without making eye contact.

“You'll need all this when Gokila sends you somewhere,” she said jokingly.

He nodded, wiping his forehead with the hem of his saree.

“You smell like me,” she said suddenly.

He looked up, surprised.

Arya smiled. “Finally.”

Before leaving at 2 PM, she left a new bra newer, tighter and a pair of anklets.

“You’ll wear this tomorrow,” she said. “Final day. And I’m taking leave from the other house.”

✦ Day 5: The Becoming

Arya arrived early 6:30 AM. No tiffin. No uniform. Just a bag and purpose.

Vinish was bathed and sitting silently on the floor, wearing the blue blouse and bra, waiting.

“You didn’t start?” Arya asked.

“I wanted you to do it.”

Arya knelt and oiled his hair again, then braided it tightly. “Tighter today. It needs to stay neat all day.”

She dressed him carefully: new blouse, new blue uniform saree with the Gokila Maid Services tag. She adjusted the bindi, tied a small ribbon at the end of his braid, clipped on the anklets, and slipped bangles over his wrists.

Then came the kajal, a slight powder on the cheeks, and a muted lipstick. “Not pretty. Just clean.”

“Where’s the napkin?”

“In your panty, already,” she said. “You forgot?”

He shifted awkwardly. “No. I feel it.”

Finally, she folded a five-hundred-rupee note and pushed it inside his bra. “Don’t lose this. Your emergency.”

She stepped back.

“You are Arya,” she said.

✦ 8:00 AM — Arya Becomes Vinish

Arya quickly changed into Vinish’s old trousers and half-sleeve shirt, the fabric slightly faded but stiff with starch. She combed her hair flat, parted it carelessly to the side, slipped on his black-rimmed glasses, and tucked a folded newspaper under one arm. She hadn’t worn proper men’s clothes, but the transformation was uncanny. Her shoulders seemed broader, her walk subtly more assertive.

She looked more like a man than Vinish ever did.

Vinish stood across the hall, his transformation complete and almost heartbreaking. His long hair was braided tightly with a little black ribbon at the end, the oil giving it a neat, dark sheen. A precise red bindi sat on his forehead. Kajal lined his eyes softly, and a muted brownish-red lipstick gave his lips a subdued warmth. A little talcum dust was visible at the base of his neck and under the arms where he had powdered to control sweat.

His blue Gokila Maid Services saree was perfectly draped now not in the glamorous way actresses wore them, but in the flat, practical, slightly tired way of working women. The pleats were sharp but looked lived-in. His chest curved modestly under the tight blouse, with the padded bra now holding the small emergency note snugly on one side. A barely visible safety pin held the pallu in place.

His ankles gleamed faintly from oil and bore the soft cling of silver anklets. His feet were slightly cracked and dusty from morning sweeping. The flat slippers slapped lightly with each careful step. A waistband string peeked just above the edge of his petticoat, to which a spare key and a small cloth pouch of coins were tied, adding faint, rhythmic weight to his movement.

Finally they unlatched the gps earrings from arya's ears and fitted them in vinish's ear lobes, making him officially leashed

They stood facing each other.

“You look like her,” Arya said slowly. “But do you feel like her?”

Vinish didn’t speak. He lowered his gaze in that now-practiced submissive gesture, adjusted the pallu over his chest as if by muscle memory, and stepped slightly to the side. His voice came out soft, hesitant, dripping with humble routine.

“Tea ready, Sir. Shall I leave?”

Arya blinked not because she didn’t expect it, but because it was so real.

“Perfect,” she said, stunned for a beat. Then her voice firmed with authority. “Now go clean the back room.”

Vinish nodded with a respectful tilt, turned, and walked toward the back. The pallu flapped once against his waist as he moved, and his anklets jingled faintly. His arms lifted naturally to pin the end of the pallu over his shoulder as he passed the narrow corridor a habit Arya hadn’t even taught.

In the next half hour, Vinish worked like any other maid.

He wiped down the switchboards with a damp cloth wrapped around two fingers, crouched under the cot to remove a long-forgotten plastic bag, dusted window sills using a rag tucked into his waist cord, and folded three dry towels into tight, even rectangles. When a bit of floor grout resisted the brush, he removed the bangle from his dominant hand and used a toothbrush Arya had designated for scrubbing corners.

His blouse stuck to his back with the first round of sweat. The sanitary napkin inside his blue panty itched a little, making him shift awkwardly while squatting, but he didn’t complain. He knew now how to carry it. It was part of her life.

He paused once at the kitchen to refill the boiled drinking water, automatically wiping the outer surface of the filter with a half-damp cloth. Then, he returned to clean the fans climbing the stool slowly, with one hand holding the edge of the saree between his knees to preserve modesty while reaching up.

By 9:15 AM, he had washed one bucket of clothes by hand and was rinsing them on the stone slab, his blue saree now slightly stained near the hem from splashed soap water. His anklets were quiet now, dulled by the froth on the floor.

Arya sat in the front room, sipping tea and reading the newspaper watching, observing, and secretly... respecting.

Vinish, from across the hall, glanced toward her only once and then back down at the clothes.

He was now Arya not just in saree or makeup, but in breath, rhythm, and burden.

✦ 1:42 PM — Knock, Knock

As Vinish finished drying dishes, the bell rang.

They froze.

Arya adjusted her glasses and walked to the door like she belonged in the apartment.

Two women were at the door one in a crisp government sari with a tablet in her hand, the other in a blue uniform.

The woman in the sari smiled politely.

“Is Arya here?”

Arya didn’t flinch.

Behind her, Vinish’s fingers clenched on the edge of the basin.

The woman repeated, “We’re from Welfare Board and Gokila Maid Services. Biometric check, GPS audit. We need to verify Arya. Please call her.”

Arya turned halfway toward the kitchen, voice calm.

“Arya?” she called. “Come here, someone’s asking for you.”

Vinish stepped out braid swinging, shoulders rounded, pallu tight across his chest, anklets faintly jingling.

The woman scanned him quickly.

“Name?” she asked.

Vinish bowed his head slightly. “Arya, madam.”

The woman raised her tablet. “Please sit. We’ll begin.”

And with that, the charade would either live or unravel.

Part 8 – Etched in Skin, Bound by Law

The knock came at 1:42 PM, just after Vinish had rinsed the mop and placed it by the back door.

He froze mid-step, the corner of his blue saree trailing in soapy water. The wet cotton clung to his thighs. His ill-fitting blouse, made worse by folded napkins tucked in place of breasts, pinched beneath the arms. His braided hair was tight, scalp still stinging from Arya’s forceful morning redo. Sweat had soaked through his petticoat, and beneath the light dusting of jasmine talcum, a stubborn mix of detergent, turmeric, and body odor lingered.

The door rattled. A soft but firm voice: “Inspection for maid and verification. Open up.”

His fingers instinctively reached for the corner of his saree pallu, draping it across his modestly made-up face. A thin line of kajal stung his right eye from the morning's rushed application. His anklet chimed faintly.

Arya stood. Still in Vinish’s shirt and pant, she straightened her posture, adjusted her glasses, and answered the door.

Two women entered. One wore a badge pinned onto a stiff cotton blouse:

District Identity Regularisation Officer – DIRO
A government welfare officer.

The other wore a stunning blue chiffon saree with a high bun and no-nonsense heels.

Gokila Maid Services – Senior Inspector

The Gokila officer looked at Vinish first. Her eyes swept over the sweat-damp pleats of his saree, the uneven blouse fitting, the thin gold chain around his neck.

“Your maid?” she asked Arya.

“I’m Vinish,” Arya said, deepening her voice. “She’s Arya. Comes part-time. Been regular for a month.”

“Only part-time?” the DIRO woman asked.

“She also works in one more house nearby,” Arya replied quickly.

They turned toward Vinish. He dropped his eyes and folded his hands instinctively. “Vanakkam, madam.”

“Your full name?” the DIRO woman asked.

“Arya Kumari,” Vinish said.

“Caste?”

His lips trembled. “Scheduled caste, madam.”

“Proof?”

“None,” Arya cut in. “Orphaned. Lives with her little sister in the slums.”

The DIRO woman smiled coolly. “Then she qualifies for immediate integration under DSWRS. Fast-track caste verification and identity tagging.”

Vinish blinked. “Fast-track…?”

“DSWRS,” the Gokila woman explained, already unpacking a kit. “Domestic Scheduled Worker Re-integration Scheme. It’s mandatory.”

✦ I. The Fixing of Flesh: Biometric Submission

Vinish was made to sit under the open window, sunlight hitting his forehead as his iris scan was taken. Then ten fingerprints, palm vein mapping, jawline photo analysis, and body heat regulation charting. All logged instantly into the Gokila Worker Database.

The machine beeped. Then:

“Please state: ‘I, Arya, confirm I am present and ready for maid service duty today.’”

He hesitated. The Gokila woman didn’t blink.

“Say it. Three times.”

His voice cracked on the first attempt. “I, Arya…”

“Again.”

The third time, his voice wobbled into a soft, tired lilt. The recording saved as:

ARYA_KUMARI_994 – ID MATCH COMPLETE

The Gokila woman nodded. “Now for the implant.”

Vinish panicked. “Implant…?”

The woman lifted a slim injection pen, silver and cold.

“Behind the ear. Subcutaneous. GPS-enabled. Standard for mobile domestic staff. Prevents fraud, absconding, and theft.” No need for the earrings from now on.

Before he could reply, it was done ,a sharp click under the skin. A dull ache radiated along his jaw.

“You're now traceable anywhere,” she said. “Even in your sleep.”

Then came the rubber stamp.

The DIRO officer uncapped a thick tube of permanent blue ink and pressed it to the inside of Vinish’s right forearm.

ARYA – GOKILA MAID ID#2210

It stung. The ink began to seep into the skin irregular, permanent, and unmistakable.

“Ink fuses with dermal layers in 72 hours,” she said. “Laser removal will trigger a criminal identity mismatch alert in the caste-welfare grid.”

✦ II. Bureaucracy Without Exit

They spread out his new identity file. The pages fluttered with the weight of institutional inevitability.

“Sign here,” she said.

Vinish stared at the documents:

1. Reclassified Aadhaar Card

Name: Arya Kumari

Sex: Female

Caste: SC – Category B58

Linked occupation: Maid – Domestic Full-time

Past identity: NULL

2. Work Record Book

To be signed daily by all employers.

Missing a signature results in flagged non-cooperation.

3. Caste Identity Card

Contains:

Caste code

GPS work zone radius

Domestic Dependency Clause

Classification: “Service-Class Dependent Female”

“Work zone?” he asked weakly.

“Three kilometers. If you leave the radius during work hours, the implant notifies us.”

4. Scheme Enrollments (Auto-Enrolled)

Menstrual Hygiene Program: Monthly supply of 12 sanitary napkins

Gokila Meal Program: 1 banana + 500ml milk per workday

Housing Waitlist Scheme: Dormitory eligibility after 180 days

5. Public QR Tag & Profile

A thin plastic sticker was sealed onto the inside of his saree blouse, near the collar.

It read:

ARYA KUMARI – GOKILA WORKER
SC Category B58 | Maid Verified | Menstrual Scheme: Active
Legal Status: Service-Class Dependent Female (SCDF)

Vinish swallowed hard. “What does SCDF mean?”

“It means,” said the DIRO woman without emotion, “you are classified as a low-income, caste-linked, unmarried working woman with dependents, typically eligible for marriage schemes and family subsidies.”

Arya stepped forward, voice stiff. “She’s not interested in marriage.”

The Gokila woman laughed. “That’s not your decision.”

✦ III. Banking the Trap

A thin, laminated pink ATM card was slid across the table.

Gokila Union Account – Female Class IV

“The employer pays directly into this. No hand cash allowed. Withdrawal requires biometric scan and voice code.”

“Union fee is 5%,” the DIRO officer said. “Two percent goes into the Fertility Development Fund.”

Vinish blinked, confused. “What fund?”

“For future mothers,” the woman replied, as if talking about groceries. “All women of reproductive age are required to contribute. Even if unmarried.”

“But I—” Vinish began.

“You are Arya Kumari now,” she interrupted. “And Arya is fertile, caste-linked, and marriage-eligible.”

✦ IV. Unavoidable Matrimony Grid

The Gokila inspector pulled up a glowing screen.

“Adding Arya Kumari to Domestic Union Matrimony Index…”

The DIRO officer spoke flatly:

“Based on caste, income, and occupation, you’re eligible for government-curated proposal delivery. Expect suitors to be assigned once matched.”

Arya’s voice dropped. “Assigned?”

“Via bio-matching algorithm. Compatible grooms will be shown Arya’s public profile and caste markers.”

Vinish’s heart raced. “What if I refuse?”

“Refusal is flagged,” she said. “Three flags trigger social cooperation penalties.”

“And if I disappear?”

The Gokila woman smiled faintly. “GPS implant. Biometric locks. QR traceability. You won’t.”

✦ V. The Uniform Cage

From the inspector’s briefcase came a sealed blue packet.

“Your permanent uniform. Size: Extra Small. Company-fitted. Wear daily. Laundry is your responsibility.”

He opened it. The blouse was smaller than what he wore, and the skirt had no elasticity left. The Gokila logo glinted like a curse.

“If found in public without uniform during duty hours, you’ll be fined.”
.

✦ Epilogue – No Undo Button

He sat by the edge of the cot. Arya said nothing.

In his hand were:

The Gokila ATM card

A pouch of sanitary pads

His public identity book

The blue saree packet marked XS

And on his forearm, in deep blue ink:

ARYA – GOKILA MAID ID#2210

His voice trembled. “You said it was a game.”

Arya looked away.

“It’s not a game anymore.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It never was.”

He touched the sore spot behind his ear. The GPS throbbed with his pulse.

His transformation was complete not in disguise, but in status, code, and law.

He was now Arya in name, in data, in skin, and in matrimonial eligibility.