Auntie!

What started as a favor – a ridiculous, life-bending favor – had somehow morphed into something entirely different. Two months ago, the plan had been simple: help Aunt Lakshmi keep her job while she recovered from cancer. Wear the saree, teach the classes, and keep the secret. But somewhere along the way, things got blurry. Now, I was starting to wonder if I’d stepped into a new role, not just in her classroom, but at home too.

It started small. A couple of chores here and there. Sweeping the floor, making sure the fridge wasn’t empty. You know, normal stuff you do when someone’s recovering from chemo and surgery. But Aunt Lakshmi, being herself, took full advantage of the situation.

At first, it was the occasional request. “Mohan, can you get the groceries this week?” she’d ask, reclining on the couch, barely glancing up from whatever highbrow novel she was flipping through. I’d nod and go about it, figuring it was the least I could do. She was still regaining her strength, after all.

Then it was, “Mohan, the laundry’s piling up,” or “Mohan, I think you’ll need to call the plumber.” Simple stuff, but bit by bit, I found myself doing everything. Cooking, cleaning, paying the bills. I’d be teaching her classes in the morning, then doing her laundry in the evening. At some point, I’d stopped being the nephew helping out his recovering aunt and started acting like… what? Her caretaker? Her stand-in adult?

It didn’t help that Lakshmi was getting her spark back, and with it, her mischief. She’d been slowly recovering her energy, and though her body was still marked by her battle – her chest flat and scarred from the double mastectomy, her hair short and prickly from the chemo regrowth – her spirit was alive and kicking. More than kicking. She was thriving on the absurdity of our situation.

One night, I came back from my usual grocery run and found her in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the couch, shirtless. Not in some weird or inappropriate way, but casual, as if she were just another person in a body without anything to hide.

“Auntie!” I dropped the bags on the floor, my voice louder than I intended.

She looked up at me, completely unfazed. “What?”

“You’re – uh…” I gestured to her bare torso, feeling my face heat up. “You’re not… wearing anything.”

She shrugged, completely unconcerned. “So?”

I stood there, dumbstruck, as she stretched her arms behind her head. “Mohan, I’ve got nothing to show anymore. No one’s looking, so why should I care?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. And honestly, she had a point. It was just skin, scars, and muscle. But still, it was unnerving, seeing her so comfortable in her body, so free, while I was the one bound up in a costume, pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

“I’ll, uh, make dinner,” I muttered, escaping to the kitchen as fast as I could.

The weirdness didn’t stop there. As the weeks went by, Aunt Lakshmi’s casual nudity became a regular thing. She’d wander around the apartment in various states of undress, unconcerned. She wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable – not exactly. I think it was more that she didn’t care. She’d survived cancer, lost parts of her body that most people cling to for their identity, and come out the other side stronger, but stripped bare – literally and figuratively.

Well, she was slipping further into my role.

One evening, after a particularly long day of teaching (and my aunt once again being the class clown), we sat down for dinner. I’d made dal and chapati, like always, and she – wearing one of my old T-shirts this time, thank God – stared at me across the table with an odd expression.

“You’ve really stepped up, Mohan,” she said suddenly, her voice soft, serious for once.

I looked up from my plate, startled. “What do you mean?”

She gestured around the room. “This. All of this. You’re basically running the house now. You’ve taken care of everything while I’ve been recovering. Thanks for everything!”

I shrugged, not sure where this was going. “I’m just helping out.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, leaning forward. “You’re more than helping. You’ve practically taken over.”

There was a pause, thick with something unsaid. I didn’t like where this was heading.

“And you know what else?” Lakshmi added, her tone playful again. “You’re starting to look the part too.”

My heart sank. “What are you talking about?” Does she know? Thankfully, she didn’t continue with it.

I opened my mouth to say something, but stopped. I stared at her, speechless.

Somewhere around the corner of my brain, I felt, I was becoming someone else slowly. I hoped, not entirely.

Was she referring to my chest? After months of wearing the corset day in and day out, it was shaping me. Literally. I’d catch glimpses of myself in the mirror sometimes, late at night, after a long day of playing professor and housekeeper, and I wouldn’t recognize the body staring back at me.

My waist was smaller, my posture straighter. I was becoming more and more convinced as a woman – at least, physically. The gynecomastia I’d spent years hiding? The corset made it even more pronounced, shaping my chest into something more feminine than I ever thought possible.

The irony was almost too much. I was hoping to one day bulk up and look like the hero I imagined myself to be. But now, with each passing day, I was slipping further into the role of my aunt. Not just at work, but at home too.

That evening, no more words were spoken. And, we finished with our dinner.

***

We had serious discussions, and arrived at a plan. It seemed simple.

By the end of the semester, get through the finals, tie up the ridiculous knot we’d tangled ourselves in, and switch back to our original lives. Easy.

I could finally be Mohan again – the real one this time – maybe hit the gym, get a haircut, and reclaim my body after months of wearing corsets and pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

And Aunt Lakshmi? Well, she could go back to being the no-nonsense professor, completely healed and back to her old life, no longer relying on me to be her body double.

She was already on her way back to herself, too. She’d buzzed her hair into a neat pixie cut, her energy was returning full force, and she was even back to talking about new research ideas she had for her classes. Everything was supposed to go back to normal. We both wanted it.

But, like everything else in this upside-down farce, normal was a moving target.

It was a Friday evening when Aunt Lakshmi dropped the bomb on me. We were sitting at the dining table, a pile of grading in front of me, my chest still compressed in a corset that had become more of a second skin than a disguise.

“Remember how we talked about switching back?” she said, twirling a pencil between her fingers. She had that tone – the one that usually preceded some earth-shattering revelation.

I barely looked up from the exam papers. “Yeah?”

“Well, there’s a small complication.”

I put my pen down and stared at her. “What complication?”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’re not going to like this, but… I got selected for the student exchange program today.”

I blinked. “What?”

“London University,” she said casually, like it wasn’t a massive deal. “They have this prestigious exchange program for literature students, and Mohan – well, you, I mean – got picked.”

My brain short-circuited for a good few seconds. “You mean you got picked as me?”

Lakshmi nodded, looking far too pleased with herself. “Yep. It was supposed to be a mock test and an interview on subjects. I just wanted to flex my old brain. dadrently, I impressed the selection panel. Funny how that works.”

I stood up, pushing the chair back. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t go. I can’t keep being you – I thought we were done with this after the semester.”

“Well, that was the plan, yes.” Aunt Lakshmi gave me a sheepish look. “But the university already sent the paperwork… under your name.”

I stared at her, feeling the room spin. “So what? You’re going to London as me for an entire semester? That’s insane!”

She nodded slowly, the grin fading from her face. “I know it’s crazy.”

I rubbed my temples, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I’d been living as her for months, suffocating in the role, but this was a whole new level of absurd. “What about me? What about the surgery?”

Lakshmi’s face softened. “I talked to a doctor friend of mine. The surgery can still happen, but the recovery time is the issue. You won’t heal quickly enough to switch back to being you before the second semester starts. And you definitely won’t match the photo in your passport.”

I sank back into the chair, my head in my hands. “So I’m stuck like this.”

She hesitated before answering. “For now. But only for now.”

Then, Aunt Lakshmi tossed me her phone, nonchalant, like she was handing over a napkin. “Here, transfer whatever you need. We should sort out the accounts.”

I blinked at her. “You sure?”

She leaned back in the chair, sipping tea like it was no big deal. “We’re in this deep already. Might as well make sure the bank doesn’t raise eyebrows. You’ve got my salary anyway, right?”

That’s how it started. A simple act of practicality. Aunt Lakshmi gave me access to her savings, her salary, and even suggested that I use her bank account. Meanwhile, I’d transferred what little I had from my old student account, the meager stipends and savings from my ‘Mohan’ days. For all intents and purposes, I was now Professor Lakshmi, even on paper.

“Don’t forget to transfer some of the old savings back to me, though,” she added with a grin. “I’ve got my own plans.”

The next few days were a blur of frustration, disbelief, and logistical nightmares. I kept replaying the conversation in my head, wondering how on earth we had managed to let this get so out of control. The surgery was supposed to be my ticket back to normalcy. My chance to finally get rid of these mounds and reclaim my body. But now, with Aunt Lakshmi heading off to London as me – as Mohan – the whole thing was falling apart.

And yet, deep down, I understood. London University? It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If the roles were reversed, I probably would’ve jumped at it too. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to swallow. I was still trapped, corseted and confined, watching my hopes for a fresh start drift further away.

A week later, Aunt Lakshmi and I sat at the kitchen table again, this time with her passport and a stack of exchange program documents between us. The air was thick with tension, like we both knew we’d crossed a point of no return.

“I’ve already sent in the confirmation,” Aunt Lakshmi said, not looking up from the papers. “You’re officially going to London.”

“Great,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hope you enjoy my life.”

She looked up at me, eyes soft but determined. “Look, I know this isn’t what we planned. But think about it – once I’m back, we’ll switch everything. You’ll get the surgery, I’ll return to teaching, and you can go back to being the real Mohan.”

Easy, right?

Except nothing about this was easy.

And now, that fight was postponed. Again.

So here I was. Stuck. Aunt Lakshmi would be leaving soon, heading off to London as me, while I stayed behind in our twisted role-reversal limbo.

***

The day Aunt Lakshmi was supposed to fly to London as me was supposed to be a quiet affair. She’d pack, we’d hug, maybe share a final cup of coffee, and then she’d be on her way, taking my passport and my future with her, while I stayed behind, staying into her life for a little while longer.

But, of course, nothing about this story ever goes according to plan.

It seems, Aunt Lakshmi announced had contacted my parents, and let them know that she – “their son Mohan” – had been selected for the exchange program, so that my parents, who’d barely spoken to me since I chose literature, would get to appreciate me.

Eventually, it worked, and they decided to pay us a visit.

“Send-off visit,” they said over the phone.

And that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

They showed up on a humid afternoon, their faces beaming with pride. My mother, of course, brought sweets. She practically floated into the apartment, eyes shining, and clutched “me” – or rather, Aunt Lakshmi dressed as me – in one of her bone-crushing hugs.

“We’re so proud of you, Mohan!” she gushed, holding “Mohan” by the shoulders, pride dripping from every word. “We always knew you were destined for something great! And, you look great too!!”

Aunt Lakshmi, to her credit, played the part flawlessly. She stood there, a warm smile on her face, hands folded in that exact, respectful way that my parents loved.

“Thank you, mom,” she said in my voice, glancing over at me with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “It’s all thanks to your blessings.”

And here I was, dressed like her – hair buzzed short, saree draped awkwardly over my corset-bound body, trying to blend into the background as much as possible.

My father walked in next, his usual stern expression softened. He hadn’t said much since I’d chosen to study literature instead of engineering, but now… now it seemed like all was forgiven. Or at least, forgotten.

“Good job, Mohan,” he said, giving a rare smile in Lakshmi’s direction. “The London program. Prestigious. I always knew you had potential.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, hidden behind the folds of my aunt’s saree. Yeah, sure, I thought. Now you see the potential. But all that came out of my mouth was, “Shall I make some tea?”

My mother waved me off – with concern. “No need, Lakshmi. Sit, sit.”

But it wasn’t all smiles and sweets. The air grew thick as my father, who had been hovering around the living room, finally locked eyes with me. No, not with me, but with “Lakshmi.” His sister.

It had been years since the two of them had really spoken. Ever since she’d rebelled against the family’s expectations, pursued her academic career instead of marriage, their relationship had been more of a cold war than anything else.

He took a deep breath, then approached her – me, I mean.

“Lakshmi,” he said, his voice soft, almost tentative. “How have you been?”

For a moment, the room went silent. Aunt Lakshmi, who had been doing such a good job of pretending to be me, faltered slightly. I could see it in the way her smile tightened. This was the part of the charade neither of us had prepared for: the brother-sister reunion.

“I’ve been… good, brother,” I said, though there was a strange thickness in my voice. “Better now.”

Dad’s eyes softened, and he nodded.

“I’m glad,” he said, then added, almost as an afterthought, “I heard… you are doing good with your job.”

I watched as Aunt Lakshmi’s face softened, her usual teasing confidence melting away. For a second, I saw the real her – the one who had fought through surgeries and chemo and who still wore her scars like armor. She looked up at my father, and for the first time in years, the connect was something real. Something unspoken.

“Thank you, brother,” I said quietly.

We didn’t hug. That wasn’t the style of my father and his sister. But the room seemed to hum with the weight of everything. Old wounds and new scars, both visible and invisible, coming together in this ridiculous, half-constructed reunion.

And there I was, standing in a saree, watching my father – who thought he was talking to his rebellious sister – give a moment of approval to the son he thought had finally made it.

By the time my parents left, the mood had shifted. My mother gave Aunt Lakshmi one last crushing hug, then turned to me with that gentle, pitying smile.

“Take care of yourself, Lakshmi,” she said softly, her hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

As they walked out the door, my father gave a stiff, but respectful nod to both of us. “Good luck in London, Mohan,” he said to Aunt Lakshmi. “Make us proud.”

When the door finally clicked shut behind them, the apartment fell into silence.

For a long moment, neither Aunt Lakshmi nor I said anything. Then she turned to me, grinning that familiar, mischievous grin. “Well, that was both good and awkward, wasn’t it?”