Share
MidReal Story
The Housewife Deception
Scenario:Two young indian men search for an apartment in Chennai. Apartment available for rent only for family. So they thought of a plan. With the help of their stylist friends, one of the men is disguised as a perfect young housewife and got an apartment and lived there as a family
Create my version of this story
Rohan
He is a young man from a wealthy family in Chennai. He is adventurous, daring, and resourceful. He disguises himself as a housewife with the help of his friends, a stylist and his partner. Using this disguise, he secures an apartment meant for families and lives there with his friend Maan. Their plan is to use the apartment as a hideout to meet Maan's lover, Sadhana, without being detected by her husband.
Maan
He is a young man from a wealthy family in Chennai. He is loyal, brave, and determined. He is in love with Sadhana, a married woman. He plans to meet her secretly at an apartment rented under the name of his friend Rohan. Maan is willing to risk everything for his love, even going to the extent of disguising Rohan's apartment as his own home. His bravery and devotion to Sadhana are evident in his actions.
Sadhana
She is a beautiful married woman from a wealthy family in Chennai. She is secretive, vulnerable, and passionate. She is in love with Maan but cannot openly express her feelings due to societal pressures. She agrees to meet Maan secretly at Rohan's apartment, knowing it could jeopardize her marriage. Her longing for Maan and willingness to risk everything for their love highlights her inner conflict between duty and desire.
Being a young boy from a wealthy family in Chennai, I had everything I needed right at my fingertips.
I had money, a good car, and a big house to live in.
I also had lots of friends.
But there was one thing I didn’t have.
I didn’t have an apartment where I could meet my friends secretly.
I wanted a place where I could go and meet my friends without anyone knowing about it.
I wanted a place just for myself.
So I decided to rent an apartment.
I told my friend Maan about it, and we decided to search for one together.
We looked around for days but couldn’t find a single apartment that matched our needs.
We were about to give up when we came across this beautiful apartment in one of the best societies in the city.
The apartment was too good to be true, with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a balcony overlooking the sea.
We immediately decided that this was the apartment we wanted to rent.
But as we went to talk to the broker, we found out that the apartment was only available for families.
We were shocked!
How could such a beautiful apartment like this be available only for families?
We decided to talk to the owner of the apartment.
Maybe he would agree to rent it out to us even though we weren’t a family.
I lean back in my chair and look at Maan, who is sitting across from me at the coffee shop.
He looks frustrated as he shakes his head.
"I don’t think that will work," he says.
"The owner of the apartment specifically said that it’s only for families. He wants a traditional family - husband and wife."
I tap my fingers on the table, thinking about what he said.
It seems like such a silly rule, but I guess we can’t do anything about it.
I look around the coffee shop, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling atmosphere.
There are people all around us, talking and laughing with each other.
I see a young couple walking past our table, holding hands and smiling at each other.
The wife is wearing a beautiful sari, and I can’t help but stare at her for a moment.
She looks so elegant and graceful, and I find myself wishing that I could be like that too.
But then I remember that I’m a man, and I laugh to myself at the absurdity of it all.
As I continue to watch them, an idea suddenly pops into my head.
It’s a crazy idea, but it just might work. "Maan," I say, leaning forward in my chair.
"What if we disguise one of us as a wife?"
Maan looks at me like I’m crazy, and I can’t blame him.
It’s definitely not the most conventional idea, but it could be worth a shot.
"Are you serious?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean, come on. It’s not like we have any other options."
Maan sighs and rubs his temples with his fingers.
"I don’t know, man. That sounds like a lot of work."
"But think about how great it would be if we could pull it off," I say, trying to convince him.
"We could have our own little secret apartment where we could hang out whenever we wanted. And who knows, maybe we could even start our own little family there too."
Maan looks at me skeptically, but I can tell that he’s starting to consider my idea.
"Okay, fine," he says after a moment.
"But if this doesn’t work out, you owe me big time."
I grin triumphantly and hold out my hand for him to shake.
"Deal," I say. We both know that this is going to be a difficult task, but we’re determined to make it happen.
I lead Maan through the crowded streets of Chennai, weaving in and out of people as we make our way down Ranganathan Street.
The street is lined with shops and restaurants, and the smell of food fills the air.
We pass by a group of children playing with a ball, and I can’t help but smile at their carefree laughter.
As we continue walking, I look around for the costume shop that I know is somewhere on this street.
After a few minutes of searching, I finally spot it - a small storefront with a sign that reads "Raj’s Costumes."
I lead Maan inside, and we’re immediately greeted by the owner, Raj.
He’s a tall, thin man with a friendly smile on his face.
"Hello there, my friends," he says, extending his hand for us to shake.
"What can I do for you today?"
I explain our situation to him, and he listens intently as we tell him about our plan to disguise one of us as a wife.
When we’re finished, he nods thoughtfully and looks at me with a critical eye. "You’re going to need something special for this," he says, circling around me to get a better look at my frame.
"I think I have just the thing."
He disappears into the back room and returns with a large stack of clothes in his arms.
He sets them down on the counter and begins to sort through them, pulling out various items and holding them up against me to see how they fit.
Finally, he pulls out a midnight blue silk sari with intricate gold embroidery along the edges.
"This will suit your complexion perfectly," he says, holding it up against my chest.
I touch the fabric hesitantly, feeling its softness between my fingers.
Maan snickers from the corner of the room, clearly amused by my discomfort.
"Stop laughing, Maan," I say, trying to maintain my composure.
"Hey, I'm just picturing you in that sari," Maan replies with a grin.
Raj chuckles and adds, "Trust me, once you see yourself in the mirror, you'll be convinced."
Inside the cramped changing room, I struggle to make sense of the yards of silk fabric that Raj has handed me.
I try to remember how my mother drapes her sari, but it’s a lot harder than it looks.
I wrap the fabric around my waist, tucking it into my shorts and trying to create the pleats that Raj showed me.
But every time I think I have it right, the pleats fall apart and I’m left with a mess of fabric on the floor.
Through the thin partition between the changing room and the main part of the shop, I can hear Maan’s muffled laughter and Raj’s patient instructions.
"Start with the pleats," Raj calls out.
"Make sure they’re even and smooth before you begin wrapping the fabric around your waist."
I bunch the fabric together carefully, trying to create the neat folds that Raj demonstrated.
But as soon as I start wrapping it around my waist, the pleats begin to fall apart again. I sigh in frustration and look at myself in the mirror.
The sari is draped haphazardly across my body, with wrinkles and creases everywhere.
I look nothing like a beautiful Indian woman - more like a man who has no idea what he’s doing with a piece of fabric.
I hear Maan laughing again from outside, and I slam the fabric down on the bench in frustration.
This is ridiculous, I think to myself.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull this off.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door.
"Need any help in there?" asks Raj’s voice from outside.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do.
But then I realize that if anyone can help me figure out this sari, it’s Raj.
"Yeah, I could use some help," I admit, opening the door slightly.
Raj steps in with a reassuring smile, saying, "Don't worry, we'll have you looking like a perfect wife in no time."
Maan peeks around the corner and adds with a teasing grin, "And if this works, maybe you can give me some sari lessons too."
I stand still as Raj’s experienced hands work methodically with the midnight blue silk.
He starts by having me wear the petticoat and blouse, adjusting them to fit my frame perfectly.
Then, taking the long stretch of fabric, he begins creating neat pleats with quick, precise folds.
As he works, he pins the pleats securely at my waist, ensuring they don’t come undone.
Next, he takes the pallu, the decorative end of the sari, and drapes it elegantly over my shoulder.
With each section of the fabric, Raj tucks and adjusts it meticulously, making sure everything is in its place.
As I watch in the mirror, my masculine frame slowly disappears under the flowing silk.
Maan has stopped laughing now, his eyes wide with surprise as Raj makes final adjustments to the fall of the fabric.
I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the person looking back at me.
The midnight blue silk falls in perfect pleats, creating an illusion of feminine curves where there were none before.
My broad shoulders seem softer under the pallu, and the length of the sari somehow makes me appear taller, more graceful.
Raj steps back to admire his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction.
"Perfect," he murmurs, making one last adjustment to the pin at my shoulder.
Maan circles around me slowly, his earlier mockery replaced with a thoughtful expression.
"You know, you don’t look half bad," he admits, eyeing me from different angles.
I touch the intricate gold embroidery at the border of the sari and practice a small feminine gesture I’ve seen my mother use countless times - a delicate touch of the fingers to the fabric.
The movement feels strange but necessary for what’s ahead.
Maan crosses his arms, a hint of seriousness in his voice as he says, "You know, this might actually work. But are you sure you're ready for what comes next?"
I nod, trying to mask my nerves with a confident smile. "I have to be. It's the only way we'll get close enough to find out what they're hiding."
Raj looks between us, his expression turning grave. "Just remember, once you step out there, there's no turning back."
I fidget with the sari's pallu, smoothing it over my shoulder as Raj gives me last-minute instructions.
"Now, walk," he says, gesturing to the length of the shop.
"Remember, small steps, keep your eyes downcast. Let the fabric flow naturally."
He demonstrates a few steps himself, exaggerating the feminine grace I need to emulate.
I watch closely and then try to mimic his movements.
At first, I stumble in the unfamiliar confines of the petticoat and the weight of the sari.
Maan watches critically from the side, pointing out when my stride looks too masculine.
After a few practice walks across the length of the shop, my movements become more natural.
The weight of the silk against my skin feels foreign but oddly comforting.
Raj hands me a small purse to complete the look, and I grip it tightly in my hand.
Standing before the entrance of the shop, I can hear the distant hum of street noise outside.
Maan steps closer, his voice low and urgent. "Remember, the gala is full of their people. One wrong move and we're done."
Raj nods in agreement, adding, "Stay close to us, and if anything feels off, we leave immediately."
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.
Raj gestures to a door at the back of the shop.
"Maya is waiting for you. She’s a professional makeup artist and will help you with the final touches."
I follow him into the back room, where a woman with bright pink hair and a kind smile greets me.
"Hello, I’m Maya," she says, her voice warm and welcoming.
Raj introduces me briefly and then excuses himself, leaving me alone with Maya.
She motions for me to sit on a chair in front of a vanity lined with an array of makeup products.
As I settle into the chair, Maya studies my face intently, her eyes moving from feature to feature.
"Hmm," she murmurs, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
"We have our work cut out for us."
She begins by applying a cream foundation that matches my skin tone almost perfectly.
She works it into my skin with deft strokes of her brush, blending it seamlessly into my jawline and around my eyes.
Next, she reaches for a palette of powders and gently dusts them over my face, creating a smooth base for the rest of the makeup.
"You have strong features," she comments as she works.
"We need to soften them up." She uses a darker shade of powder to contour my cheekbones and jawline, making them appear more delicate than they truly are.
Then, with a light touch, she adds a touch of blush to my cheeks, giving me a subtle flush that complements the color of the sari.
Moving on to my eyes, Maya uses a combination of shadows in shades of gold and brown to create depth and dimension.
She lines my upper lash line carefully with a dark pencil before smudging it slightly to give it a softer look.
Finally, she coats my lashes with mascara, extending them just enough to frame my eyes without looking too dramatic.
As she works on my lips last, Maan enters the room again, his eyes widening in surprise at how different I look already.
Maya outlines my lips with a deep red lipstick before filling them in completely.
The color is bold but not overwhelming against the backdrop of the sari. When she finishes applying the lipstick, Maya steps back to admire her handiwork one last time.
A satisfied smile spreads across her face as she turns me toward the mirror that hangs on the wall behind us.
I take a deep breath, knowing that the reflection staring back at me is now my only ticket into their world.
I pause at the threshold of the shop, my heart pounding beneath the midnight blue silk.
The evening crowd surges past on the street, a mix of office workers hurrying home and shoppers lingering in front of store windows.
Raj positions himself on my left while Maan takes my right, creating a protective barrier around me.
I take my first step onto the busy sidewalk, focusing on keeping my movements small and delicate like we practiced.
My ankles wobble slightly in the new sandals, but I catch myself before stumbling.
A group of women in colorful saris walks past us, their laughter and conversation filling the air.
I mirror their graceful posture, keeping my head held high and my shoulders relaxed.
We pause at a small tea stall tucked between two larger shops.
Raj orders chai for us, and I use the moment to adjust the sari's pallu over my shoulder, smoothing it out with a practiced gesture.
The vendor hands us each a steaming cup, and I take mine delicately, my fingers wrapping around the rim as if I've done this countless times before.
The evening crowd mills around us, some glancing our way but most too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice us.
I take a sip of the hot chai, letting its warmth spread through me.
As we stand there, I practice the subtle gestures Raj taught me - touching my hair lightly, adjusting the bangles on my wrist, holding the teacup with dainty grace.
An elderly aunty passes by, her eyes scanning me briefly before she smiles and says something in a language I don't understand.
Raj translates for me - "She said your sari has beautiful embroidery."
I smile back at her and murmur a soft "thank you" in my best attempt at a feminine voice.
Maan watches me with pride as I maintain the illusion, even managing to exchange a few pleasantries about the weather with another passerby. Each interaction boosts my confidence, but my heart still pounds whenever someone looks too closely into my eyes.
I remind myself that it's all about maintaining the illusion, about becoming one with the fabric and the role I'm meant to play.
After finishing our tea, I carefully place the empty cup back on the stall and gather my purse in my hand.
We follow Maan up the narrow staircase to the third floor, where the apartment we're viewing is located.
I lift my sari carefully to avoid tripping on the hem as we climb, the silk rustling softly against the steps.
My ankles wobble slightly in the new sandals, but I keep my balance by gripping the railing.
The evening heat makes the makeup feel heavy on my face, and I resist the urge to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
When Mr. Krishnan opens the door, I lower my gaze and adjust my pallu, remembering Raj's instructions about appearing demure.
