Joy Family

Becoming Jerusha - Joy Family

Part 1: "A Boy with No Place, a Name Without Grace"

Kathir stood near the rusted iron gate of his house, watching the evening sun throw long shadows across the red clay courtyard. The house, if one could call it that, leaned like a tired man -its broken tiles, sun-bleached plastic chairs, and soot-stained walls all whispered stories of years lived without joy. The scent of stale toddy drifted from inside.

He was only seventeen, but his face bore the quiet grace of someone older. Long, wavy hair coiled over his shoulders, soft and well-kempt despite everything. His skin was almost translucent in the low light, the sort that turned golden when the sun kissed it. Lean, slight, and fair-skinned, he looked like someone plucked from another world and dropped into the wrong script. His features were so gently drawn - arched eyebrows, a delicate nose, and that uncertain, low voice - that strangers often paused a moment longer than necessary when they first saw him.

His name was Kathirvel, but everyone just called him Kathir. And nobody at home really saw him.

Inside, his father sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes red, skin darkened from years of sun and arrack. A half-empty bottle sat by his knee, swaying gently every time he scratched his chest. His elder brothers, Ramesh and Kumaresan, sat on the verandah wall, tossing beedis between them, laughing at something crude. Neither of them had studied past Class 10, and both were well-acquainted with the inside of the local wine shop.

"You going to Chennai, uh?" spat Ramesh suddenly, the beedi dancing between his lips. "College-ku ponaa enna, CM aagiduvaan-nu nenachaya?"
(You think going to college will make you the Chief Minister or what?)

Kathir didn’t reply. His grip tightened on the strap of his bag.

"Velai panna solraangale! Namma veetla velai irukku da. Farm-la poi kadalai purichikittu vaa. Seekiram kaasu varum."
(They say work to earn... there’s work here only. Go catch groundnuts in the farm. Quick money.)

"Don’t waste time with dreams, dai. Avlo build illa avanukku. Nee vera…" Kumaresan grinned darkly, looking him up and down with that same mocking smirk Kathir had seen a thousand times. "Look at him. Like some paavam girl from one B-grade TV serial."

Kathir stepped back.

“I’m not staying here,” he said quietly.

"What?"

“I’m not staying,” he repeated, this time louder. “I’m leaving. I got admission in a Chennai college. I’ll study part-time. I’ll work. I’ll earn. I’ll never set foot in this house again.”

His mother looked up for a second from the aluminum vessel she was scrubbing, water streaks cutting down her cracked wrists. She didn’t speak. She never did. He wasn’t her concern - not like her elder sons. He was always too quiet, too soft, too… strange.

His father scoffed and stood up, wobbling.

“College-ku poi enna pannapora? Beautician-aagapora?”
(What are you going to do in college? Become a beautician?)

Everyone laughed. Kathir didn’t flinch. He slung the second bag over his shoulder and turned.

“Your farm can go to hell. And you can too.”

He stormed out before the rage boiled over, before he began to cry in front of them. That was what they wanted - to see him crumble.

Outside, the mud path was still warm. His slippers made soft sucking noises as he walked to the road, where the government bus stood, engine grumbling like an old cow in pain. He climbed in without looking back.

It was an overnight bus. He dropped his bags near the middle row and sat by the window. The seats were sticky with sweat and plastic, and a faint radio crackled somewhere up front.

As the driver pulled out onto the road, an old man wearing thick round glasses and a veshti sat down next to him. He peered at Kathir and smiled.

"Paapa, unga appa enga irukaangaa?"
(Dear girl, where is your father?)

Kathir blinked.

“I’m not… I’m a boy.”

The old man chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, sorry sorry. Apdi theriyala pa. Nalla azhagana mugam.”
(Sorry… couldn’t tell. Such a pretty face.)

He shuffled to another seat near the front.

Kathir sighed and leaned back. He wasn't angry. Not really. It was almost… normal now.

As the bus rocked gently through the darkening fields and the sleeping towns beyond, something fluttered down near his seat. A leaflet, folded in three, dislodged from the fan above.

He picked it up.

Bright blue letters read: "Joy from Jesus Ministries – New Hope. New Life."
There was a picture of a smiling family-mother, father, daughter-all holding hands under a cross.

Kathir stared at it for a moment.

"Joy…" he whispered to himself, not knowing how that word would soon become a name he couldn’t escape.

He closed his eyes. The air smelt of jasmine, diesel, and something new.

Author’s Note 🌸

Hi hi! I’m Jerusha Anne Joy 💫. Before you dive into Joy Family, let me tell you a tiny tale behind the tale.

So, this story? It didn’t start off all dreamy and warm. I was planning the usual---swap, crossdressing, bits of humiliation, blah blah. But… somewhere along the way, something happened. I started feeling more than just the twisty plot. I started caring. And then...oops...I fell in love with the heartwarming stuff. The hugs. The soft dinners. The found family. So... I threw out the old draft and began again, this time writing with all my heart.

I worked in batches (usually four parts a week, depending on how dramatic I was feeling), and over two whole months, this grew into a huge story-baby of 40 parts and 250,000 characters (It was like a mega serial ). I had to trim it down to a neater 125,000-ish characters so it wouldn’t become… y’know… a full-blown biography. 😅 Some deleted chapters were turned into little one-shots (which I might post if you’re curious ).

Honestly, I was super nervous to share this. I thought maybe it wasn’t spicy or wild enough (that's why I came up with 'Trading Smiles'), that readers might yawn and click away. But then I reminded myself - there are people like me out there. People who love soft things. Slow things. Sweet things. Maybe you're one of them? If so, this story’s for you.

A lot of this is stitched from my own world - snippets of real places, real habits, even the characters carry shadows of people I know. It’s weird and personal and probably a little fantasy-heavy, but it’s mine, and now… it’s yours too.

I really hope Joy Family brings a little light to your day. Or at least, gives you something to hug your pillow about.

With love,
– Jerusha Anne Joy 💖
(Yep that's the Protagonist's name too 🐱)