It was the year 2023
when I, Balaji—Bala to my friends—found myself at the beginning of a new
chapter. Newly married to my wife Madhu, our life was everything we had hoped
for. We came from different backgrounds, yet our bond was undeniable. Our marriage
was an arranged one, a tradition we embraced, and with just a 10-month age gap
between us, we were still finding our rhythm.
I had always known
that Madhu and I were meant to be. But little did I know, our marriage would
soon take a surprising turn that would bring an unexpected connection to the
forefront. Madhu was pregnant—our first child was on the way. It should have
been the happiest time of our lives, but an unforeseen revelation shook
everything we thought we knew.
I learned that my
wife’s childhood friend, Sindhu, had played a pivotal role in supporting our
marriage. It was Sindhu’s influence that had given Madhu the courage to go
ahead with an arrangement that wasn’t exactly free from family complications.
Madhu’s parents had been going through financial hardships, and Sindhu, who
came from a wealthy family, had quietly helped bridge the gap during our
wedding.
But the story didn’t
end there. Sindhu herself had recently faced a whirlwind of her own. Her
family—equally affluent and respected—refused to approve of her marriage to
Manoj, a mine owner with a controversial past. Their disapproval wasn’t just
about their vast age gap of 12 years but also the fact that Manoj was a
divorcee with two children from his previous marriage. His story, full of
twists, was as far from ideal as Sindhu’s family would have liked. They felt
his past and age difference would be an obstacle to her happiness.
And yet, despite the
familial objections, Sindhu and Manoj had chosen love over societal
expectations. Now, only a handful of close friends supported their union, with
Madhu and me as the most unexpected allies.
Our relationship
with Sindhu grew even more complex as we learned more about her history. The
circumstances surrounding Manoj’s first marriage were anything but simple.
After a difficult divorce, he was granted custody of his son while his ex-wife
kept their younger child. The scars of their past were still fresh, and that,
too, had created a ripple of tension among both families.
But love, as they
say, is often not the most logical choice. Amid all this turmoil, Madhu and I
found ourselves not just supporting Sindhu, but also grappling with the
implications of our own choices.
As Sindhu’s wedding
day approached, the lines between family loyalty and personal beliefs began to
blur. There were whispers, judgments, and unspoken fears. But through it all,
Madhu and I stood by her—our friendship with Sindhu becoming a symbol of defying
societal norms and embracing love in its truest form, no matter how
unconventional.
This was just the
beginning of a journey that would forever change our lives, our relationships,
and our understanding of family.
The marriage between
Sindhu and Manoj went well, but Madhu was struggling with morning sickness
during her pregnancy and couldn’t attend the evening party that Manoj &
Sindhu hosted. The event, held at a lavish hotel, featured an assortment of
delicious foods and drinks.
During one of our
conversations, influenced by alcohol, Manoj casually revealed that the another
reason Sindhu’s parents hadn’t accepted their marriage was that Sindhu had been
undergoing psychological treatment. She had confided to her parents that she
wasn’t interested in a physical relationship with men and instead was in a
lesbian relationship with my wife, Madhu. Surprisingly, Manoj was okay with
this. He explained that he was willing to forgo physical intimacy with Sindhu
as long as someone was there to care for his child. He also believed that
Sindhu could contribute significantly to his business, given her MBA from a
prestigious institution.
With a hint of a
smile, Manoj casually mentioned that after going through a painful divorce, he
had come to appreciate the physical aspects of a gay relationship, particularly
with a male-to-female crossdresser. As he spoke, his fingers gently caressed my
left hand, and without thinking, he placed it on his right thigh. I was taken
aback, completely shocked and unsure of how to respond. In that moment, a
strange and unexpected urge surged within me to share something deeply
personal—that I’ve always secretly enjoyed crossdressing, revelling in the
freedom of wearing women’s clothes when I’m alone. But the words stuck in my
throat. I hesitated, afraid of what the consequences might be. The revelation
about my wife’s relationship with Sindhu was still echoing in my mind, leaving
me disoriented and unsure of how to process everything that had just unfolded.
My mind felt like it
had frozen, and without realizing it, I found myself on my fourth drink. Sindhu
approached us, her smile shy but warm, and I, being polite, congratulated her
once more on her wedding. She asked about Madhu, and I was taken aback. Madhu
and Sindhu had kept their relationship a secret, and I hadn’t expected Sindhu
to bring it up so casually. As she spoke, I noticed her eyes subtly shift to my
hand resting on Manoj’s thigh. The brief exchange of smiles between Manoj and
Sindhu didn’t go unnoticed, but I couldn’t make sense of it.
Sindhu sat across
from me, her phone resting on the table as she adjusted the blouse beneath her
saree's pallu. She pulled the pallu over her shoulder and tucked it neatly to
the side. It was as if she was waiting for my reaction, and I felt both awkward
and intrigued. I didn’t realize that both she and Manoj were observing me
closely. My gaze fell on the design of her blouse, and she caught me looking.
With a playful glint in her eyes, she asked me what I thought of her saree and
blouse. At a loss for words, I simply said, “It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes widened,
and she replied, “I’ll show you more when we move into our new house, just a
kilometer away.” I was left speechless, noticing her phone buzzing with
messages. Some were from Madhu, my wife, and others were from Manoj, sitting
right beside me.
Just then, Manoj
excused himself for a moment, and Sindhu took the opportunity to reveal
something I never saw coming. She explained, with an apologetic tone, that she
and Madhu had been keeping their relationship a secret from me. She said Madhu
was happy with me, and she hoped I would accept their connection and embrace
it.
I was utterly
confused by the sudden revelation. Sindhu quickly added that I shouldn’t ask
Madhu about it—she was three months pregnant, and this was a delicate time. She
grasped my hands, and her touch sent a chill through me, despite the four
whiskey shots I’d consumed. I took a deep breath, unsure how to process
everything. Then, almost without thinking, I blurted out something I hadn’t
intended to share: “I used to crossdress... I’ve sacrificed that part of me for
the sake of our marriage.”
The words felt like
a heavy truth spilling from my heart. I was about to leave, overwhelmed by
everything, when Sindhu gently took my hand and led me somewhere. I had no idea
where we were going, but I followed her without protest. She took me into her room,
handed me a glass of water, and the room fell into a heavy silence. For what
felt like an eternity, we didn’t speak. Then, to my surprise, Manoj entered the
room to check if everything was okay.
Sindhu politely
asked him to leave, telling him to manage the guests while she stayed behind
with me. As soon as he left, she excused herself to the bathroom. I glanced
around the room. The bed is scattered with various items—brightly colored saree
petticoats, elegant nightgowns, and scattered makeup items like lipstick,
eyeliner, and a compact mirror .I found myself inexplicably drawn to them. My
fingers brushed over the fabric, and a flood of memories and emotions rushed
through me.
Just then, Sindhu
returned, her presence quiet but commanding. She asked softly, "Do you like
them?" Her question hung in the air, but I remained silent, caught in my
thoughts. Before I could respond, someone knocked at the door, and Sindhu
quickly left to meet the guests. Left alone in the room, I felt an overwhelming
temptation that I couldn’t resist. Without fully thinking, I began to remove my
clothes, tied on the petticoat, and slipped into one of the nightgowns.
Standing before the full-length mirror, I admired my reflection, lost in the
moment.
I was wearing a soft
pink saree petticoat and a black nighty with a front zip. The fabric felt
incredibly smooth against my skin, and as Sindhu and I were of similar height
and build, the outfit seemed to fit my body almost perfectly. My fair
complexion added to the allure, and as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror,
I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the moment. The only issue was
that lack of breast, which caused the nighty to sit a bit awkwardly at the top,
not quite fitting the way it was meant to. I turned gently, admiring how the
fabric draped over me. In that moment, I instinctively smoothed the dress from
behind, just like a woman would, before sitting down on the bed, feeling the
softness of the petticoat & nighty envelop me.
I lost track of
time, completely immersed in my thoughts. Eventually, the door creaked open,
and I turned to find Sindhu standing there, her gaze fixed on me. As I glanced
at her reflection in the mirror, I realized she was standing just behind me. A
wave of fear washed over me, and I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes. But
then, gently, she placed her hands on my shoulders and turned me toward her. My
head hung low in embarrassment, but with tenderness, Sindhu lifted my chin, her
touch filled with warmth and care.
She smiled and
complimented my choice of dress, her voice soft and reassuring. But then, with
a hint of guidance, she mentioned that a matching petticoat would complete the
look. With a gentle motion, she opened her suitcase and pulled out a black
petticoat, offering it to me with a quiet suggestion to wear it. Her concern
for the smallest details spoke volumes of the care she always showed.
She smiled warmly,
her eyes filled with understanding, and said, "You are who you are, and
here, you can live your life as you choose. Be yourself with us, and the
outside world doesn’t need to understand." With those reassuring words,
she gently placed a bindi on my forehead, her touch soft but empowering. Her
eyes scanned me from head to toe, a quiet assessment that felt both accepting
and comforting before she gestured for me to sit beside her.
Before the
conversation began, Sindhu stood up, walked over to the door, and closed it
with a soft click, ensuring our discussion wouldn’t be interrupted.
Sitting down next to
me, she began to ask questions with a calm yet gentle curiosity. "How long
have you been crossdressing?" she asked, her voice steady but kind.
"What draws you to it? What kind of clothes do you feel most comfortable
in?"
The alcohol haze
still lingered, but a strange clarity washed over me. I had never imagined this
conversation would unfold like this, nor did I think I would be caught in such
a vulnerable moment. Despite the swirl of emotions, I began to speak honestly,
one answer flowing into the next. "It started when I was around 10 or
12," I said, remembering the quiet moments of my childhood. "Back
then, I would sneak into my mom’s wardrobe and try on her clothes. I always
felt a connection to traditional Indian outfits. There’s something about them
that makes me feel complete, like they align with something deep inside
me."
The weight of the
truth felt lighter with each word, and I found myself opening up more than I
ever expected.
She asked softly,
"Does Madhu know about this?" I replied, "No." Sindhu
studied me for a moment before asking, "Do you want to keep dressing in
secret? And would you be okay if I shared this with Manoj?"
A wave of anxiety
washed over me, and I hesitated before answering. "I'm terrified about the
consequences for my family. What would my wife and my parents think?" I
confessed, my voice tinged with worry.
Without a word,
Sindhu gently placed her finger on my lips, silencing me. Her gaze was steady,
reassuring. "This stays between you, me, and Manoj. Not even Madhu, your
wife, will know. Is that alright?" she asked, her tone calm but firm.
I was taken aback by
her words—it was a surprise, but somehow, I felt okay with it. Before I could
process my thoughts, Sindhu pulled me into a warm hug and whispered, "I’ll
buy you lots of things to help you feel like the beautiful lady you are."
I was a little
confused by her statement, unsure of what she meant. But before I could ask,
she picked up her phone and dialed her beautician, exchanging smiles through
the phone as they spoke. As she chatted, she began jotting things down on a
piece of paper—items like breast forms, artificial vagina, butt pads, hair wigs
etc.,
After our
conversation, Sindhu walked over to me with a gentle smile. She reassured me,
saying, "Don’t worry, you can be Balaji for Madhu, but for me and Manoj,
you’ll be Madam Bala from now on. Just be yourself with us, and we’ll take care
of you and Madhu." She leaned in and kissed my forehead, her voice warm
and comforting. "If you ever want more vanilla vodka, red wine, or a
Cosmopolitan, just let us know."
With that, she
suggested I switch from the pink petticoat to a black one, to match the
nightgown I was wearing. As I stood to head to the washroom, she gently held my
hand and guided me to change in front of her. While I was adjusting the
petticoat, she kindly advised, "When tying the knot, do it on the right
side—it'll make it easier when you wear sarees in the future.
She complimented the
way I tied the knot on my petticoat, then gently adjusted my nightgown. With a
soft, lingering touch, she guided me to the wall and kissed me tenderly.
"Stay here with me tonight," she whispered, her voice full of
affection. However, knowing that Madhu was alone at home, I felt compelled to
leave. After a moment, she released me, and I quickly changed into my clothes
and rushed back home.
As I made my way
home, my mind raced with everything that had happened throughout the day. It
all felt surreal, and by the time I reached the door, I was still processing
it. I was greeted with a warm smile from my wife, and something in her
expression made me wonder if Sindhu had already spoken to Madhu—she seemed to
know something.
A few minutes later,
Madhu came over to me, hugged me tightly, and as she helped me change, she
thanked me. "Thank you for understanding my relationship with
Sindhu," she said softly.
I looked into her
eyes, my heart full of warmth, and replied, "You've always been my
strength. I completely understand your feelings, and I know that even Sindhu is
like a partner to you. I can see how hard you work to balance both of us, and I
love you even more for it."
