The Summer That Changed Everything!

“But Maa!” I protested. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I’m serious, beta,” Maa replied calmly, folding a saree. “It’ll be good for you.”

“The whole summer?! Why can’t I stay here in Bhopal with my friends? It’s not like you’re going anywhere. Why am I being punished?”

Maa sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Ananya, stop being so dramatic. You’re not being punished. I thought you’d be excited to spend time at Dadi’s haveli. You haven’t seen her in years. She won’t be around forever, you know. You’ll regret not spending time with her later.”

“But Maa… all alone in that old haveli in Shivpuri? She doesn’t even have Wi-Fi! I won’t be able to use my phone or laptop! How will I post on Instagram? It’s not fair! Why can’t she come here?”

Maa dropped the laundry basket, strode over, and gripped my chin firmly.

“That’s enough, young lady. You’re 19 now, but not too old for a good scolding. You’re going to Dadi’s tomorrow, and you’re going to enjoy it. One more word, and I’ll take your phone, laptop, and tablet until you’re 21. Understood?”

There was no point in arguing. Maa’s threat was real—she’d confiscate my gadgets in a heartbeat. She was that strict. Once she drew a line, I knew better than to cross it. I’d have to make the best of it. But… the whole summer? Ugh!

The next morning, Maa loaded my suitcase into our Maruti Swift. She’d packed it herself, saying I’d only take “useless city clothes” unsuitable for village life. “I grew up in Shivpuri,” she said. “You’re too pampered to know what’s best.”

After a dusty six-hour drive, we reached Dadi’s haveli. What a mess! The old stone walls were crumbling, and stray goats wandered the courtyard. The air smelled of cow dung and monsoon earth. It was swelteringly hot—no AC, just creaky ceiling fans. How did Dadi live here alone?

As Maa chatted with Dadi on the veranda, I scanned the surroundings: endless fields of wheat and mustard, dotted with banyan trees. The nearest town, Shivpuri, was 5 km away—a sleepy place with a chai stall, a kirana store, a temple, and a tractor repair shop. No malls, no cafes. Great.

My thoughts were interrupted by Dadi’s voice. “There’s my little Kajal! Oh, isn’t she adorable?”

“Dadi, I’m Ananya, not Kajal,” I corrected.

“Nonsense! I’d know my 7-year-old granddaughter anywhere! Come hug your Dadi!”

“Dadi, I’m 19, in college! I’m not Kajal. What’s wrong with you?” I caught Maa’s glare and stopped, submitting to Dadi’s bone-crushing hug. For an old lady, she was strong.

We sat on the veranda, sipping nimbu pani, as Maa updated Dadi on family news. Dadi kept calling me Kajal, talking to me like I was a kid. When she went inside, I pleaded, “Maa, she’s confused! She thinks I’m 7! You can’t leave me with her. She needs a care home, not a haveli!”

“She’s a bit forgetful, sure,” Maa said. “But she manages fine. The neighbors love her. You’re not in danger. And don’t think you can wiggle out of this.”
Soon, Maa drove off, leaving me with Dadi. I helped in the kitchen. A surprised Dadi thought a “7-year-old” could cook.

Her haveli was a dust trap—cobwebs everywhere. If I were stuck here for three months, I’d at least clean it up. No TV, no Wi-Fi, just chores. That night, the heat was unbearable. No breeze, just sticky humidity. I slept in a kurti, tossing the bedsheet aside, still sweating buckets.

Over the next few days, I learned to feed the goats, clean the cowshed, and tidy the haveli. Maa had packed heavy salwar kameezes and jeans—useless in this heat. I clung to my two cotton kurtis and one pair of shorts. The work was exhausting, but it helped me sleep despite the heat.

One morning, Dadi noticed my fatigue. “Kajal, beta, skip the chores today. Go cool off at the river. It’s going to be a scorcher.” I didn’t argue. She said the river was a long walk down a dirt path. I wasn’t keen on swimming in murky water—snakes, ew!

But exploring sounded better than chores. I set off across the fields, through mango groves, following the path. After what felt like forever, I heard voices—teenagers! My mood lifted. Maybe they had Wi-Fi or games! I followed the laughter, creeping through the trees, cautious of strangers.

Peering over a bush, my heart stopped. Five teenage boys, completely naked, were splashing in the river! I’d never seen a guy naked before. My pulse raced, and a tingle spread between my legs—familiar from private moments alone, but stronger.

I watched, silent, hoping they’d come closer to shore. One boy ran out to grab a cricket ball, his bare butt in view. Then, as he turned, I saw everything. Over the next few minutes, I saw all five—each different, fascinating. I was too scared to move, terrified they’d spot me.

This was better than Netflix, but if they saw me, I’d die! Eventually, they dressed and vanished into the woods. I waited, then hurried back to the path, my mind replaying what I’d seen. That night, bathing in the tin bucket, I was still buzzing. I wore just a kurti and chaddi, feeling naughty.

Dadi didn’t comment—probably thought it was normal for a “7-year-old.”
I couldn’t sleep, too wired. The next morning, still in my kurti and chaddi, I went to breakfast, savouring the thrill. Dadi asked me to check the hen coop for eggs. Without thinking, I went outside.

I was holding eggs in my rolled-up kurti, chaddi fully exposed. The rush was unreal—someone could see me! I lingered near the shed, heart pounding, then returned.

“Did you find eggs, Kajal?” Dadi asked.

“Yes, five,” I said, showing her. She grinned, like she knew something, but said nothing.

At breakfast, I was actually happy. Dadi repeated stories, but I didn’t mind. After, she said, “Kajal, I’m washing clothes in the courtyard. Give me that kurti—it’s filthy.”

“Dadi, I’m not wearing anything underneath!”

“Arre, 7-year-olds don’t need bras. Hand it over.”

She yanked off my kurti, leaving me in just a chaddi, and went outside to the handpump. I stood at the sink, covering myself, then started washing dishes. Glancing out, I saw Dadi pumping water into a tub. So much work! She needed a washing machine, but money was tight.

I forgot my embarrassment, even feeling a bit aroused. I cleaned the haveli, dusting and sweeping, aware of my near-nakedness. My mother would kill me! Then Dadi called, “Kajal, come here!”

I walked into the front room and froze—two women stood there, one in her thirties, the other older. “DADI!” I squealed, covering myself. Dadi pulled me forward. “This is my granddaughter, Kajal. She’s here for the summer. Isn’t she cute?”

The woman smiled knowingly, eyeing me. I was mortified. The younger one extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Kajal. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Um, I’m Ananya,” I mumbled.

“But she loves being called Kajal, right, beta?” Dadi said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, shaking her hand, exposing myself. What had I gotten into?

The younger woman smiled, holding my hand. “Nice to meet you, Kajal. I’m Sunita Sharma. I’ve known your Dadi forever. So sweet you’re keeping her company.”

Her eyes kept scanning me, making me squirm. She chatted about Dadi’s kindness, holding my hand too long.

“I’m sure you’ll have fun,” the older woman said, offering her hand. “I’m Sunita’s neighbor, Rekha ji. I run the kirana store in town. Come visit—my son Dev would love to meet you.”

Dadi gestured to the charpoy. The women sat, chatting about Shivpuri gossip—temple festivals, the new sarpanch. I wanted to escape their stares, but Dadi kept pulling me back. Their gazes lingered, followed by sly smiles, like they shared a secret. Was something up with Dadi or this town?

Rekha ji asked, “Do you like animals? Your Dadi has the gentlest buffalo, Motu. You should take him to graze.”

“I don’t know much about buffaloes,” I said nervously, feeling the breeze on my bare skin.

“Come on, Kajal, I’ll show you,” Rekha ji said, grabbing my hand. “Sunita, Ruth, we’ll be outside with Motu.”

Before I could protest, I was outside in just a chaddi! Rekha ji led me to the shed where a black buffalo stood, swatting flies. “Meet Motu.”

“He’s huge,” I said, nervous, my nipples tingling in the open air. I worried that river boys might appear.

“He’s gentle,” Rekha ji said. “Dadi’s had him forever. She named him Motu because he was as chubby as a calf. Kids love him. Nothing to fear.” She showed me how to tie a rope around his neck. After a few tries, I got it. She insisted I lead him around. “Don’t let go,” I panicked.

“He’s slow as a tractor,” she laughed. “Just walk him.” She handed me the rope, and I led Motu around the courtyard. The motion against my chaddi was distracting. I rocked my hips more than needed, feeling a rush. I stopped before it got too intense.

But Motu lowered his head to graze, pulling the rope from my hands. I couldn’t reach it! A loud thud—like a scooter backfiring—made me squeal, covering my chest. “Oh God, they’re here!” I thought, imagining the boys.

Rekha ji laughed. “What’s wrong, shy now?”

I saw Dadi and Sunita on a scooter. “We’re leaving, Rekha ji!” Sunita called.
Relieved, I relaxed. Rekha ji waved. “Have fun with Motu, kiddo!”

Motu kept grazing, wandering further from the haveli. I begged, “Come on, Motu, back to the shed!” He ignored me, munching away. I tried bribing, “I’ve got jaggery back home, boy!” No luck.

Then I heard a whistle from the fields ahead. I froze, thinking it was Dadi. But it came again—not from the haveli. I kicked Motu, desperate to turn him. Stupid move. He started walking toward the whistle!

“No, you dumb buffalo!” I yelled, covering myself with one hand, gripping the rope with the other. The whistle grew louder, mocking. Someone had to see me!
Motu entered a grove. I scanned frantically—no one. “Stop messing with me!” I shouted.

Then I laughed—a woodpecker on a branch whistled again. Just a bird!
Relieved, I led Motu back to the haveli. Dadi called, “Fun walk, beta?”

“Thrilling,” I said, trying to sound calm.

That night, I couldn’t stop replaying the day—topless outside, seen by strangers! My hand wandered, and I had the most intense climax ever. I imagined being caught by those boys, fear and thrill mixing. I fell asleep, hand still there.

Morning came with Dadi’s call. “Kajal! Breakfast at 7!”

I smiled, noticing my hand. I washed, wore my kurti and shorts, and joined Dadi. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I barely ate, listening to Dadi’s repeated stories, then did chores. By afternoon, I sat on the veranda, daydreaming about yesterday.

The heat was brutal—humid, sticky. I spotted Motu in the shed. Naughty thoughts crept in: riding him naked, like Rani Lakshmibai. Could I? The idea made me wet, but fear held me back. Dadi called me to wash bedsheets, killing my fantasy. Farm work was endless.

That night, I imagined riding Motu naked, hiding my clothes for extra thrill. I decided to try it—just a short ride, away from Dadi’s eyes. The next morning, my pulse raced. I hesitated, then asked, “Dadi, can I explore the farm? It’s huge, right?”

“It’s 1,000 acres, beta,” Dadi said. “Family land for generations.”

“Can I take Motu?”

“I was going to show you, but… I’ve got chores. Go alone. Take Motu.”

“Really? Thanks, Dadi!”

I roped Motu, heart pounding. Could I do it? I led him out, tingling with excitement. After 30 minutes, alone in the fields, I took off my kurti, draping it over my lap. The breeze on my bra was electric. I ditched the bra, riding topless, thrillingly exposed.

I debated my shorts. Tempting, but scary. Finally, I stopped, stripped off shorts and chaddi, and remounted. Naked! Me, shy Ananya, riding bare in public! It was awesome. But I wanted more—my fantasy of vulnerability.

At a banyan tree, I tossed my clothes onto a branch and rode off. The farther I went, the freer I felt—wild, horny, alive! I wandered through fields, lost in sensation, then stopped in a grove and started touching myself.

“Hello!” a voice called. I froze, hand between my legs. A girl my age stood nearby. “Nice day for a ride.”

I stared, mortified, yanking my hand away. She smiled. “Don’t be shy. I do that too—just not on a buffalo. I’m Divya, but call me Diya. You are?”

“Ananya,” I whispered.

“Oh, Kajal, Dadi’s granddaughter! Heard you’re here for the summer.”

“Why’d you call me Kajal?”

She giggled, ignoring me. “Do you always ride naked?”

“No,” I mumbled, blushing.

“You need sunscreen, or you’ll burn,” she said. “Come down, I’ve got some.”
I dismounted, and she rubbed lotion on my back, then my butt! I gasped but let her, too aroused to stop. When she moved to my chest, I pulled away. “I’ll do it.”

She kissed my breast playfully. “Mum was right—you’re cute!” She offered a Coke, and we sat on her blanket, chatting about boys and city life. She eyed me intensely, making me feel sexy, not creepy. I liked her. But I had to get back.

I stood, said goodbye, and turned—Motu was gone! Naked, far from my clothes, I was screwed.

Motu couldn’t have gone far. “Here, Motu!” I called, stepping into the field. Nothing. I searched groves, fields, yelling sweetly, then frantically. Had I tied him? My mind was on Diya catching me. Stupid!

I decided to grab my clothes. At the banyan tree—no clothes! “Where’s the damn tree?!” I screamed. I ran to other groves—no luck. Lost, naked, I panicked. “Where am I?”

I spotted a dirt path. Maybe the one to the river! I walked, heart racing, ready to hide if a scooter passed. After 30 minutes, nothing looked familiar. Laughter stopped me. The river? I crept through the bushes, peering over a hedge.

“There’s a naked girl!” a boy shouted. I ducked, heart pounding. Five naked boys stood in the river, looking my way. One was… erect! Fear gripped me.

“No way, you’re imagining,” another said.

“I saw her!” the first insisted, pointing at my hedge.

I couldn’t run—they’d chase me. Desperate, I stood, exposing my chest. “Don’t come closer! I see you!”

To my shock, they screamed, covered themselves, and ran, grabbing clothes, vanishing into the woods. Hilarious! They were ashamed I saw them! I found the path, confident now. But after 30 minutes, no haveli. I rounded a bend—and froze. Shivpuri’s main market! People, scooters, shops everywhere!

The market buzzed—chai stalls, sari shops, more crowded than I remembered. I stood naked, 20 feet from chaos, covering myself. A woman spotted me and waved. “Hey, Kajal!”

How did she know “Kajal”? Why didn’t she help? I hid in the bushes, confused. Was she calling the police? I had to leave. A scooter approached—I ducked. Another came from town. Too busy! It was evening—people leaving shops.

I couldn’t wait for dark; I’d never find my way. Then I saw Sunita Sharma leaving a bangle shop. “Sunita ji!” I yelled, waving. She spotted me, and I hid again.

“Kajal, what are you doing?”

“I… lost Motu. And my clothes. I ended up here.”

She grinned. “Lost your clothes, too, huh? Want a ride home?”

“Please!”

“My scooter’s around the corner. Come on.”

“I can’t walk like this!”

“You made it this far. No one will care.”

She pulled me onto the market street! Another girl waved. “Hey, Kajal, nice day!”

I was petrified, but people barely noticed. At her scooter, Sunita fumbled with the keys. I felt exposed, yet thrilled. She finally opened the door, and I jumped in. She drove silently, glancing at me with a smile.

At the haveli’s gate, she stopped. “Best walk from here.”

“Thanks,” I said, awkwardly climbing out. “See you,” she waved, speeding off.

Dadi was on the veranda, sewing. “Where’ve you been?”

“Long story. Motu…”

“Lost him, huh? And your clothes?”

“Sort of…”

She pointed behind me—Motu stood in the field, roped. “He came back hours ago. Interesting day, huh? Brush him down.”

I scolded Motu, then went to change. My suitcase was gone! I searched everywhere—the coop, the shed, under the haveli.

“Dadi, my suitcase’s missing!”

“What suitcase? You’ve worn that kurti and shorts daily.”

“My clothes were in it!”

“Young lady, you lost my buffalo, your clothes, and now a suitcase? If you can’t care for your things, that’s your problem. You came back naked, so it can’t bother you much.”

“COMPANY?!”

“You can’t have company! I’ve got nothing to wear!”

“Don’t worry, beta. I made you something. Clean up, fix your hair.”

Dadi vanished. Relieved, I bathed, brushing my tangled hair. Dadi looked fancy in a silk saree. “Special company,” I said.

“We’re going out for dinner,” she said. “They’re picking us up.”

“Thanks for the clothes, Dadi.”

She pulled out a straw jhatka with a red ribbon and marigolds. “Try it on.”

It was old-school, but I didn’t want to hurt her. “It’s lovely.”

She pinned it on. In the mirror, it suited me. “Some people are made for jhatkas,” she said.

“Now the rest of the clothes?”

“That’s it, beta. I worked all afternoon on it.”

A knock. “Come in!” Dadi yelled.

Sunita, Rekha ji, and a man entered, gawking. “This is Kajal,” Dadi said.
“I’m Ananya,” I snapped.

“Charles, meet my granddaughter,” Dadi said.

“Nice hat,” he said, staring.

“Maybe Kajal can stay,” Divya said. “I’ll keep her company.”

“No way! I want to show off my granddaughter. No one will mind a little girl underdressed.”

Rekha ji hesitated but gave in. We piled into their Bolero—me, naked except for the jhatka. Divya giggled. In town, I shivered, recalling my earlier walk. Something felt off—why did everyone call me Kajal?

We pulled into a bungalow’s driveway, cars everywhere. Party sounds split out. I was doomed.

Laughter and music poured from the bungalow. It was still light—summer evenings. No hiding.

“Come, Kajal, meet my friends,” Dadi said, grabbing my hand.

I brushed her off, stepping out, using the others for cover. Rekha ji whispered, “It’s okay. Everyone knows Dadi’s quirks. You’re safe.”

Easy for her! At the door, a woman in a lehenga greeted us. “So glad you came! Charles, Divya, looking nice!” She froze, seeing me. “Who’s this, Ruth?”

“My granddaughter, Kajal,” Dadi beamed, pushing me forward.

The woman, Anjali, forced a smile. “Adorable! Ruth brags about you.” Her unease was clear.

“Anjali teaches at the local school,” Dadi said. “Great at math.”

Anjali led me to the living room, packed with fancy-dressed guests. “Everyone, this is Ruth’s granddaughter, Kajal.”

Silence. All eyes on me. I nearly collapsed, legs shaking. Rekha ji looked apologetic.

“Fred,” Dadi said to an older man, “like Kajal’s jhatka? I made it.”

“Stylish,” he said awkwardly. “Matches her… eyes.”

Dadi introduced me to everyone. Their stares softened, accepting Dadi’s oddity.

“Dinner’s ready!” Anjali called. I lingered, letting adults go first. Maa would approve of my manners—she’d faint seeing me now! I smirked, imagining her shock.

In the dining room, I froze—two teenage boys at a small table! “Kajal,” Dadi said, pointing to the empty chair.

“Did you forget something?” one mocked.

“Mind your manners,” a man snapped—their dad.

I sat, avoiding their eyes, wet and nervous. They snickered, elbowing each other. Then I recognised one—the troublemaker from the river! I whispered, “Gotcha, twerp.”

He paled, knowing I’d seen him naked. I taunted, “Had fun swimming yesterday?”

Terror crossed their faces. I owned them! Leaning forward, I whispered, “Wonder what your mom would think about your river games.”

I teased, reaching for salt, letting my breasts sway. They stared, transfixed. I brushed one’s leg under the table, making him squirm. Grabbing peas from the main table, I bent over, knowing they saw everything.

Their eyes locked on my body. I wasn’t scared anymore—I was powerful. “Damn, it’s good to be a woman,” I thought, relishing the control.