On a Tuesday afternoon in Noida, near the Indian capital Delhi, Seema Kumari* arrives in a purple T-shirt and gets straight to work.
Kitchen counters are wiped, the balcony scrubbed, bedsheets straightened and the floor mopped. Within 55 minutes, the home is cleaned and in order.
Seema works with Urban Company, an app that lets customers book at-home services - from cleaning to beauty treatments - sometimes in as little as 15 minutes.
In India, domestic help has long been arranged through word of mouth, with workers hired informally and paid in cash.
Now, startups are bringing these services online, offering on-demand bookings in cities for short tasks. They are entering a vast, largely unregulated market - with an estimated 30 million domestic workers, including many women with few formal job options.
Pronto, launched last year, says it has scaled to 15,000 bookings a day in just 10 months, with demand highest in Delhi and nearby cities, followed by Mumbai and Bengaluru.
In India, domestic work is low-paid, insecure and largely unregulated, as it takes place inside private homes.
Companies like Urban Company and Pronto say they are trying to formalise the sector with training, standardised pricing and digital payments. For workers, this brings new opportunities - but also new pressures and control.
Before joining the platform, Seema worked at a garment factory, earning between 10,000 ($108; £81) and 14,000 rupees a month.
She left the job last year after hearing that Urban Company was hiring.
"I now make around 20,000 rupees a month," she says, adding that the income helps her support her two children.
But the new system brings pressures she never faced before. After each job, she asks for a good rating - crucial for future work. A low score can reduce her visibility or bookings, she says.
Unlike traditional arrangements, platform work is governed by algorithms that assign jobs, track performance and impose penalties.
But traditional domestic work is far from ideal.
Inside private homes, the work can sometimes mean long hours, unclear duties, delayed pay and even abuse, with little protection. The informality of the arrangement leaves workers vulnerable.
Seema says she earns about 25,000 rupees a month on paper, but takes home less after fines for cancellations, low ratings and delays.
"I have made the full amount only once, when I did not take any leave and worked for at least eight hours everyday."
Delays beyond her control can also cost her. "We often have to walk from one location to another. Sometimes security guards hold us up at the gate while they verify our entry into the building," she says. "That makes us late and then we are penalised - even if it is by five minutes."
Another user in Gurgaon, speaking on condition of anonymity, said her home-service maid arrived slightly late and was fined 10 rupees by the provider - something the maid showed her on the app.
The BBC contacted Urban Company, which did not comment on late penalties. Pronto said it does not penalise workers for late arrivals.
Reviews add another layer of pressure. A helper who broke a curtain rod urged the user to not give her a "negative rating".
"It will hurt my prospects," she said.
Labour rights activists argue that such time-bound expectations can be unrealistic.
"It is inhuman to expect that someone can simply be summoned within 15 minutes," says activist Akriti Bhatia. "These are people, not automated systems."
The pressure is not just about speed - it affects pay too. Platforms vary from fixed incomes to per-task models with incentives, making earnings unpredictable and shaped by ratings and algorithms.
Pronto founder Anjali Sardana says her startup aims to formalise the sector with direct bank salary payments and health and accident insurance.
But critics remain sceptical.
Bhatia says that while payments are formalised, workers still lack basic rights like paid leave and pensions. With little unionisation, most lack bargaining power.
The platforms say they have grievance redressal systems in place and offer quick support to their staff if they are stuck in a hostile situation.
Even so, these measures do little to change the everyday realities of the work itself, which can often be difficult.
In Hyderabad, Amrutha* finishes a cleaning job and declines a glass of water. She says she avoids drinking during shifts, unsure she'll find a toilet between bookings. In many Indian homes, domestic workers are discouraged from using the employer's bathroom.
Companies say they provide service hubs with restrooms, but workers often don't know. Between jobs, they wait in public spaces - parks, staircases, or bus stops.
This downtime they once relied on is also disappearing. As demand has grown, workers say, their breaks have steadily shrunk.
"There are days when I don't even get time to eat. It has started taking a toll on my health," Seema says.
That trade-off between flexibility and pressure is not new. It has played out when ride-hailing services like Uber and gig platforms like Zomato first came in India.
"We've seen this pattern before," says Bhatia. "Many venture-funded platforms initially offer higher pay and discounts to attract users and workers. Over time, that balance shifts."
While instant home services are gaining popularity among younger urban users, some households remain hesitant.
Sushma, a Delhi resident, says she was unsure when her children first booked an app-based cleaner after their regular help did not show up.
"I do not know the person," she says. "How do I let them into my house?"
She also worried about how her regular househelp might feel.
Her hesitation reflects a broader concern about what these platforms mean for long-standing relationships between households and their domestic workers.
As these services grow, they are reshaping not just how work is arranged but how it is experienced - on both sides.
Back in Noida, Seema checks her phone as another booking comes in.
"The work is tough and I am looking for other opportunities. But for now, it helps me take care of my children, so I'll keep going."