"From Ponytail to Pallu"

The second morning didn’t feel much different—until Vansh rolled over and felt the soreness in his lower back. He groaned, rubbing the side of his waist. The saree pins had left faint marks on his skin. He had tossed and turned all night in the loose cotton gown his mother had given him, but nothing helped the ache that still clung to his spine.

A knock came.

“Uth jao, Vansh,” Vinita called. “We have work to do.”

He mumbled something incoherent and sat up, blinking against the light. His hands reflexively reached up to tighten his loose bun before he shuffled to the bathroom for his bath.

After he came out, towel wrapped around his waist, he stopped short.

On the bed wasn’t another saree.

Instead, a neatly folded yellow salwar with a bright pink kameez was laid out. A matching pink dupatta sat on top.

Vansh raised his eyebrows. “Ma? This isn’t a saree.”

Vinita entered just then, carrying a plastic box full of bangles. “Yes. Thought you’d get too used to the saree. I have… bigger plans for tomorrow.”

He stared at her, half-relieved, half-wary. “So today’s a break?”

“If you can call this a break,” she said, chuckling. “Put it on. Fast.”

He dried up and pulled the yellow salwar up first. It was snug but far more flexible than a petticoat. The pink kameez came next—it fit like a slightly-too-tight kurta and ended just above his knees. The neck was slightly deep, and it had back strings near the nape.

“Turn around,” Vinita said.

She tugged the strings and tied them into a neat bow. The cloth tightened slightly against his chest and upper back. Vansh felt the fabric clinging to his freshly shaven skin.

“This is actually... okay,” he said. “It’s just like kurta-pajama.”

“Hmm,” Vinita muttered. “We’ll see after a few hours.”

She then sat him down and began stacking bangles on his wrists—double the amount from yesterday. Pink and gold glass bangles, reaching almost halfway up his forearms.

“Is this necessary?” he asked, trying not to wince as the cold glass clinked against his skin.

“Of course. Don’t want your arms to feel empty,” she said flatly.

She handed him a pair of gold jhumkas, slightly larger than yesterday’s. He pierced them in with minor effort; his earlobes were already sore.

Then came the pink bindi.

“Look at you,” Vinita said, tapping his cheek. “Today’s look is festive.”

“Yeah, a festive hostage,” Vansh muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

Finally, the hair.

Vinita looked at him in the mirror. “Tie it in a loose ponytail today. Keep it low. We’ll keep it simple.”

He sat down, unpinned his bun, and let the long, wavy hair fall loose. Even without oil, it shone in the morning light. He brushed it thoroughly, starting at the ends, slowly working his way up, avoiding tangles. Then, carefully, he tied it into a low ponytail near the nape of his neck, letting the remaining hair fall down his back.

Vinita nodded in approval. “Clean and neat. Much better.”

“But this much bangles?” he muttered, wrists already clinking loudly.

“It’s tradition. And besides—Alka bai’s not coming today.”

“What?”

“She had a family emergency. So, congratulations—you’re the maid now.”

Vansh sighed and followed her into the hall.

“Start with jhaadu,” Vinita said, handing him the broom. “From pooja room to balcony. And I want corners done properly.”

He bent over, starting with the corner behind the shoe rack.

The moment he bent, he groaned.

“Ow—my back...”

“Back pain already?” Vinita called from the kitchen. “You lift weights, don’t you?”

“This is different,” he muttered.

As he moved from room to room, the dupatta kept slipping, the tight kameez clung to his back with sweat, and his jhumkas bounced against his neck.

Then came pocha (mopping). Vinita handed him the bucket and cloth and walked away.

By the time he was halfway through the living room, his knees ached. He wiped his forehead, panting.

“God,” he whispered. “Why is this harder than squats?”

After sweeping and mopping, he washed his hands and joined Vinita in the kitchen.

“Cut onions and tomatoes,” she instructed.

He picked up the knife and began, but the sleeves of his kameez kept sliding down his wrists, and the bangles clinked non-stop.

“Do girls really work like this every day?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Vinita said, stirring the dal. “We don’t complain.”

As they sat to eat, he reached for the roti, but Vinita stopped him.

“Oldest girl eats last.”

“What?”

“You’re helping like one, dressing like one. Then follow all rules. Serve me and Nehal first. Eat after us.”

So he did. He served his mother and sister, then sat on the floor, cross-legged in the kitchen, and ate alone.

Next came folding and ironing clothes. The ironing board was too low, and his back hurt from hunching. After that, it was utensils—scrubbing oily kadhais and plates, stacking everything neatly.

When he finally sat on the sofa, exhausted, Nehal grinned at him.

“Your posture’s changed.”

“What?”

“You sit straighter. More… ladylike. Your dupatta even falls like mine.”

He looked down. She was right.

Before he could respond, Vinita handed him a comb.

“Do my hair. Quickly. I have to go pick up Nehal’s tuition books.”

As he did her hair, she said, “You’ll be alone for some time. Don’t open the door to anyone. Except if it’s the sabzi delivery.”

“Fine.”

First Public Encounter
Sure enough, around 4 p.m., the doorbell rang.

Vansh adjusted his dupatta, cleared his throat, and opened the door slowly.

A young delivery boy stood there with a bag of groceries. He looked at Vansh and gave a polite nod.

“Madam? Delivery.”

“Yeah,” Vansh said, voice slightly deeper.

The boy blinked. “Oh... sorry. Bhaiya?”

Vansh nodded.

The boy smiled awkwardly, handed over the bag, and left quickly.

Didn’t even realize I was a guy till I spoke, Vansh thought, heart thudding.

When Vinita returned, she smiled mischievously.

“Get ready. We’re going to the temple.”

“What? Like this?”

“Yes. Dupatta straight. We’re going by foot.”

They walked to the nearby temple, and as they neared the gate, Vinita tugged his hand.

“This way.”

“This is the ladies gate.”

“Yes. You’re with us. The men’s queue is long.”

A security lady eyed Vansh carefully. “ID?”

Vinita slipped her a folded note.

“Chalo chalo,” the guard said, waving them through.

Vansh was mortified.

They did darshan quickly, and on the way back, Vinita said casually, “Didn’t even look odd, you know. You blended right in.”

That evening, they ordered from Swiggy. Vansh helped set the table, served everyone, and then sat again on the floor to eat with his hands.

Once done, he washed all the dishes, wiping them dry with a towel.

Nehal came in as he was finishing. “Tomorrow’s going to be fun.”

“Why?”

“Ma said she’s picked something special.”

Vansh froze.

He changed into his cotton nightgown, removed the bangles with effort, and sat down in front of the mirror.

Vinita came with a small bowl of warm oil.

“Scalp must be sore.”

She parted his hair and massaged slowly. The oil dripped into his roots, and her fingers moved gently across his scalp.

“You did better today,” she said softly.

“It’s exhausting,” he whispered.

“But you didn’t complain.”

After the massage, she tied his hair into a loose braid, and he got into bed.

The fan spun overhead.

He lay there, sore, oiled, and wrapped in pink nightwear.

What could be bigger than today? he wondered.

He was too tired to think. The bangles still left faint dents on his wrists, and the memory of the temple guard’s stare lingered.

As his eyes shut slowly, one thought remained:

What have I gotten myself into?