A Mother’s Lesson

 

Riya stood before her bedroom mirror, running her fingers through the longer front of her cropped hair. The sides were neatly tapered, while the top had enough length to sweep sideways. She turned her head, checked the shape, and smiled. Tomorrow was her first day of college. “Riya, are you ready?” her mother called. “Two minutes, Mum,” she replied, reaching for her bag. “You said that five minutes ago.” With one final glance at her reflection, Riya stepped into the hallway.

Palki  stood near the front door, searching for her car keys. Her chin-length bob curved neatly along her jaw, revealing the shaved undercut at her nape whenever she lowered her head. Even away from the television studio, she looked carefully put together. “Are we going somewhere after the salon?” Riya asked. “Home. I have an early bulletin tomorrow.” Riya brushed her fringe aside. “I only need the sides tidied. I want to keep the front.” Palki  glanced at her without answering, then opened the door. “Come. We’re already late.”

Once they were on the road, Palki  lowered her window and lit a cigarette while stopped at a signal. When the traffic moved, she continued driving, occasionally lifting it to her lips and turning toward the open window to exhale. Despite the breeze, smoke drifted across the car. Riya opened her own window a little farther. “Does it have to be now, Mum?” she asked. “We’ll be there shortly,” Palki  replied. Riya looked outside, deciding not to argue.

Her phone vibrated with messages from the college group. Several students were discussing where to meet before the introductory session. She was typing a reply when Palki  asked, “What time do you need to report tomorrow?” Riya lowered her phone. “Nine. I’ll leave by eight.” Her mother nodded. “Everything packed?” “Yes, Mum.” For a moment, the conversation felt ordinary. Then Palki  added, “I hope you’re taking this seriously.”

“I am,” Riya said. Palki  held the cigarette near the open window. “Your twelfth-standard results didn’t show that.” Riya’s excitement faded. Since the results had arrived, almost every discussion about college had returned to her marks. “I know they weren’t what we expected,” she said. “But I got admission, and I want to do better.” Palki  kept her eyes on the road. “You’ll need to change your habits.” Riya pressed her phone against her lap. “I said I would.” Her mother glanced at her, and Riya turned toward the window, wishing she had sounded less irritated.

They drove the remaining distance in silence. After parking outside the salon, Palki  extinguished her cigarette in the car’s ashtray and checked her hair in the rear-view mirror. Riya waited beside the passenger door. Through the salon window, she could see Leela finishing a customer’s haircut and Anita sitting at reception. The familiar scene eased some of the tension she had carried from the car.

“There she is! Ready for college?” Anita asked as they entered. Riya smiled. “Almost.” Anita leaned forward. “Tomorrow, isn’t it?” “Yes. I don’t know anyone in my class yet.” “You will by lunchtime,” Anita replied. “Sit down. Leela’s nearly finished.” Riya took her usual seat near the magazines while Palki  remained by the counter.

Riya had visited the salon since she was fourteen. Anita knew she disliked having the front cut too short, and Leela had helped her choose the crop she now loved. They had seen her through school functions, birthday haircuts, and the occasional experiment she regretted afterward. Here, she usually felt understood. She could explain what she wanted, and Leela would listen.

A few minutes later, Leela waved her over. “Come on, college girl. What are we doing today?” Riya settled into the chair and touched the hair above her ear. “Just the usual. Tidy this, but keep the front. It’s finally sitting properly.” Leela examined the shape with her fingers. “We can clean up around the ears and leave the top.” “Exactly,” Riya said, relaxing against the chair. Leela looked toward Palki . “And your usual bob afterward?”

“After Riya,” Palki  replied. “I want to speak to you first.” Her tone made Riya look up. Leela moved toward the counter, where Palki  spoke quietly to her. A hairdryer running across the room covered their words. In the mirror, Riya watched the stylist listen, glance toward her, and then turn back to her mother.

“Has Mum decided to change her haircut?” Riya asked Anita. The receptionist offered a hesitant smile. “I’m not sure.” Riya looked back into the mirror. Leela’s expression had grown serious. “Mum? What are you discussing?” she called. “One moment,” Palki  answered. Riya sat straighter. “If it’s about my hair, I already told her what I want.”

Palki  returned to the chair. “And I heard you.” Riya let her hand fall from her fringe. “Then what is it?” Her mother stood beside her and met her eyes in the mirror. “After those marks, Riya, something needs to change.” Riya looked toward Leela, expecting an explanation, but the stylist remained beside the counter. “What does that have to do with my haircut?” she asked.

“What does that have to do with my haircut?” Riya asked again. Palki  stood beside the chair, her handbag against her hip. “You need fewer distractions,” she replied. Riya glanced at her reflection. “It’s already short, Mum. Leela was only going to tidy it.” The stylist put down her comb. “Would you like to discuss this before we start?” she asked. “There’s nothing to discuss,” Palki  answered. “Clip it down to zero.”

Riya straightened. “No. I don’t want that.” A customer near the window looked up. Riya recognised her from earlier visits, and embarrassment made her lower her voice. “Please, Mum. College starts tomorrow.” Palki  moved closer. “Then it’s time for a fresh start.” Riya turned toward Leela. “You know my usual haircut. Please just do that.” The stylist hesitated, but looked to Palki  for an answer.

“Can we at least wait until after my first day?” Riya asked. “I don’t know anybody there.” Her mother shook her head. Riya looked toward Anita at reception. Only minutes earlier, Anita had been smiling and asking about college. Now she met Riya’s eyes briefly before looking down at the counter. Riya’s fingers tightened around her bag.

Leela picked up the clippers and removed the length guard. Riya watched the attachment being placed on the counter. “Wait,” she said. The clippers switched on before a cape had been fastened around her shoulders. She had expected another question, another chance to explain. Instead, Leela brought them to the front of her hair and made a pass toward the crown.

Riya flinched, and Leela immediately pulled the clippers away. A few cut strands landed on Riya’s shirt. She lowered her eyes before she could see the change in the mirror. “Why did you do that?” she asked, turning toward Palki . “I said no.” Her mother rested a hand against the chair back. “Sit still, Riya. Let her finish.”

Leela switched off the clippers and set them down. She brushed the loose hair from Riya’s collar, fitted a neck strip, and fastened a cape around her shoulders. The familiar preparations felt wrong now that the haircut had already begun. “I thought I was coming for a trim,” Riya said. Leela paused behind her but offered no explanation.

When the clippers resumed, Riya fixed her gaze on her covered knees. Leela worked across the remaining top, taking it down to close stubble before moving around the sides and back. Riya cried quietly. Once or twice, she began to speak, but the words would not come. She had already told them what she wanted.

Leela made shorter passes around the ears and neckline, then checked the crown for uneven patches. Riya recognised the small sounds of the salon around her: a drawer closing, water running at the washbasin, Anita answering the telephone. She had heard them during so many ordinary appointments. Today, their familiarity made her feel worse. These people knew her, yet none had stopped to listen.

When Leela switched off the clippers, Riya thought they were finished. She began to lift her hands beneath the cape, ready to gather her bag. Palki  stepped closer to inspect the result. “I meant completely smooth,” she said.

Riya turned toward her mother without looking at the mirror. “Isn’t this enough?” Leela held the clippers at her side. “This is as close as these cut. An electric foil shaver would remove the remaining stubble.” Riya swallowed. “Mum, please. I want to go home.”

“Finish it,” Palki  said.

Leela placed the clippers aside. Despite Riya’s objection, she brushed away the loose clippings, checked her scalp, and picked up the electric shaver. Its quieter hum replaced the clippers’ sharper buzz. Riya closed her eyes as Leela worked in small sections over the remaining stubble, lifting the shaver between passes to check the skin.

The stylist moved across the top, then around the sides and back. Riya sat still, exhausted by asking. She thought about the clothes she had laid out for college and the messages waiting on her phone. That morning, choosing where to meet her new classmates had seemed like her biggest worry.

Leela checked behind the ears and at the nape before switching off the shaver. “All finished,” she said softly. Riya kept her eyes lowered. She did not want the hand mirror Leela reached for, and she shook her head when the stylist offered it.

As soon as the cape was unfastened, Riya stood and picked up her bag. She did not look at her reflection. “Riya—” Anita began, but Riya walked past reception without stopping. Palki  followed her to the doorway and unlocked the car remotely before returning to settle the bill.

Riya went straight to the passenger seat. She placed her bag on her lap and stared at her hands. She felt disappointed in her mother, but also in Leela and Anita. She had trusted the salon because it was familiar. Now she could not imagine sitting in that chair again.

Palki  returned a few minutes later and closed the driver’s door. Before she could start the engine, Riya spoke. “You could have told me you wanted this, Mum. You could have asked me.” Her voice trembled. “I would have got it shaved after tomorrow. I just wanted to get through my first day first.”

Palki  turned toward her. Riya wiped her cheeks, avoiding the rear-view mirror. “Everyone there knows me,” she continued. “I kept asking why, and nobody answered. You had already decided everything.”

For a moment, Palki  said nothing. Then, with the car still parked, she leaned across and drew her daughter into an awkward embrace. Riya remained stiff at first, her bag caught between them. “Don’t worry, dear,” Palki  murmured. “Sometimes disciplinary action is needed. But I still love you.”

Riya’s eyes filled again. She had wanted her mother to comfort her throughout the appointment; now the comfort arrived with the same explanation that had hurt her. After a moment, she leaned against Palki ’s shoulder. “I know you love me,” she whispered. “But you didn’t listen to me.”

Palki  loosened the embrace and looked at her daughter. She seemed about to speak, then passed her a tissue instead. Riya settled back into her seat and fastened her seatbelt.

As they drove home, she watched the street through the side window. Her mother’s hug had comforted her, but the disappointment remained. She still had not looked at her reflection, and tomorrow was coming whether she felt ready or not.

By evening, Riya had begun to feel like herself again. After showering and changing into a loose T-shirt, she finally stood before her bedroom mirror. She had expected to cry, but instead she studied her reflection quietly, turning a little to either side. The change was startling, yet her face was still familiar. She reached for the small earrings she had selected for college and put them on.

Palki  knocked on the open door. “Shall I bring dinner here?” she asked. Riya looked at her through the mirror. “I’ll come to the table.” Her mother nodded, relieved. As she turned to leave, Riya added, “It looks different with earrings.” Palki  stopped. “It suits you.” Riya adjusted one stud. “I’m getting used to it.”

They talked over dinner about the route to college and whether Riya should carry lunch. Later, a funny message from the college group made her laugh. The disappointment about the salon remained, but it no longer occupied every thought. Before bed, she laid out her clothes and checked her alarm. She had accepted that she would arrive with a shaved head. Now she wanted to know what the day would bring.

At the college gate the following morning, her confidence briefly deserted her. Students stood in groups, checking room numbers and calling friends. Riya adjusted her bag and walked toward the entrance. Near the staircase, a girl holding an admission folder approached her. “First-year commerce?” she asked. “Yes.” “Good. I’m Nisha, and I’ve already gone to the wrong floor twice.”

Riya laughed and followed her upstairs. They sat together during the introductory session and discovered that neither understood the timetable. At the break, another student asked whether Riya’s haircut was recent. “Yesterday,” she replied. “Does it feel strange?” the girl asked. Riya considered it. “A little. Getting ready was quick, though.”

By lunchtime, she was thinking more about the crowded canteen than her appearance. There were a few questions, but most conversations concerned lecturers, buses, school friends, and where to buy notebooks. When Palki  called after classes, Riya answered while walking out with Nisha. “How was it?” her mother asked. “Good. We got lost, but everyone else did too.” “And you’re all right?” Riya glanced toward Nisha, who was waving from the gate. “Yes, Mum. I’m all right.”

Over the next few weeks, the smooth finish gave way to an even covering of short hair. Riya found that she liked this stage. She stopped reaching automatically for the longer front of her old crop and began experimenting with earrings and clothes instead. One morning, while Palki  was drying her bob, Riya appeared in the doorway with her bag already packed. “Ready?” Palki  asked. “Five minutes ago,” Riya replied, grinning.

When Palki  suggested booking another haircut, however, Riya’s expression changed. “I’m not going back to Leela’s.” Her mother lowered her phone. “We’ve been going there for years.” “I know. That’s why it hurt.” Palki  started to answer, then paused. Riya continued more quietly. “I don’t want to sit in that chair again.” After a moment, Palki  nodded. “All right. We’ll find somewhere else.”

Before they made another appointment, Riya decided that she wanted to maintain her own buzz cut. She asked for a set of clippers with length guards and spent time learning how to use them. Her first attempt was slow, with frequent pauses to check the back using a second mirror. The result was not perfectly even, but she felt pleased when she put the clippers away. She had chosen the length and decided when to stop.

Palki  inspected it when Riya came downstairs. “You missed a little at the back,” she said. “I’ll check it,” Riya replied. “Do you want help?” Riya thought for a moment, then handed her the small mirror. “Just hold this so I can see.” Palki  did, following her directions without taking over.

Soon, Riya no longer needed salon appointments. Maintaining her hair became another ordinary part of her routine, fitted between assignments and outings with friends. Sometimes she left it slightly longer; sometimes she preferred a closer buzz. She liked the convenience, but she also liked being able to change her mind.

Palki  still needed a stylist. As a television newsreader and anchor, she appeared on camera most working days, sometimes returning for an additional bulletin when a major story broke. Her bob had become a familiar part of her appearance. Between studio lights, makeup appointments, rehearsals, and the occasional outdoor assignment, she wanted a haircut that looked neat without requiring constant attention.

They found a new salon where a stylist named Maya worked. Although Riya no longer went for her own haircuts, she often accompanied her mother on Saturdays. She would sit nearby with an assignment or a magazine, then join Palki  for lunch afterward. Maya quickly learned that Palki  wanted a clean outline suitable for television, while Riya had plenty of opinions about making it shorter.

“You could save yourself all this trouble,” Riya said during one visit, watching Maya section the bob. Palki  met her eyes in the mirror. “Here we go.” Riya smiled. “I’m only saying you might enjoy a shaved head.” “You enjoy yours. I’m keeping my bob.” Maya laughed softly and asked Palki  how much she wanted taken off.

Palki  did begin making smaller changes. The ends of her bob had been resting just below her chin; she asked Maya to bring them up to a more precise chin-length line. Later, she allowed the back to be shortened slightly more, so the shape angled gently toward the front. It remained recognisably her usual style on camera, but felt lighter around her neck.

Her undercut changed more gradually. What had once been a roughly two-inch shaved section at the nape moved higher over several appointments. Palki  complained about the thickness beneath the bob, and Riya eagerly supported taking away more of that hidden weight. “You always say the shaved part is the comfortable part,” she pointed out. Palki  gave her a sideways look. “That doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to shave everything.”

Maya discussed the shape directly with Palki  before each adjustment. Eventually, the undercut extended roughly four inches upward at the back, measured from the lower hairline. Smaller shaved sections, about two inches deep above and around each ear, joined it on both sides. The longer upper hair remained intact, falling over most of the undercut like the outer layer of the bob.

With her hair down, only about an inch of the shaved nape showed beneath the shortened back edge. The higher section stayed covered, and the side shaves were mostly hidden unless Palki  tucked her hair behind her ears. From the front, viewers still saw the familiar chin-length bob. From behind, the exposed strip at her nape made the new shape clear.

Riya was delighted by the change. “You’ve shaved much more than you realise, Mum,” she remarked one afternoon. Palki  lifted the back of her bob to inspect it with Maya’s hand mirror. “I know exactly how much is gone.” “Then why not the rest?” “Because I like the rest.”

A few appointments later, Palki  asked whether the undercut could have a smoother finish. Maya explained that she could shave the already-short sections with a razor while leaving the bob untouched. She showed Palki  the boundary first, particularly around the ears, and waited for her approval.

Riya watched from the neighbouring seat as Maya clipped the longer bob securely out of the way, revealing the connected undercut beneath it. Once the service was finished and the upper hair released, the style looked tidy and familiar again. Only the smooth strip at the nape and a glimpse near one ear suggested how high the hidden shave extended.

Palki  turned her head to inspect both sides. “That’s much cleaner,” she said. Riya leaned forward. “See? This all started because I kept telling you to try shaving your head.” Her mother smiled at her through the mirror. “You certainly haven’t let me forget the suggestion.” “And you like it.” “I like my undercut,” Palki  replied, emphasising the last word.

At work, one of the makeup artists noticed the newly exposed nape while adjusting Palki ’s collar microphone. “You’ve gone shorter at the back,” she observed. Palki  nodded. “Much easier to manage.” Before the bulletin, she checked the front and side views on the studio monitor. The bob still framed her face as she wanted, and she settled into reading the revised script.

That evening, Riya watched part of the broadcast while finishing an assignment. When Palki  returned, she called from the dining table, “Your hair looked good on television.” Palki  set down her bag. “Thank you.” Riya waited a moment, then added, “A full shave would have looked good too.”

Palki  laughed. “You watched an entire news bulletin and that’s your conclusion?” “I heard the news as well.” “Then tell me the first story.” Riya answered correctly, and they both laughed.

Their conversations about hair had become easy again. Riya enjoyed her buzz cut, and Palki  liked the increasingly close undercut beneath her bob. Most of Riya’s encouragement was affectionate and sincere. Yet sometimes, when her mother firmly ruled out losing the rest of her hair, Riya remembered how little room she herself had once been given to refuse.

She did not mention that memory. Instead, she closed her notebook and helped her mother set the table.

By the time Riya finished her bachelor’s degree, their Saturday visits to Maya’s salon had become familiar. Riya maintained her own buzz cut at home and accompanied her mother for the conversation and lunch afterward. Palki  still wore her chin-length bob, although beneath it the smooth undercut extended high at the back and around both sides. With her hair down, most of that shaved section remained hidden.

That morning, Palki  sat at breakfast checking a revised news script on her phone. Riya watched her repeatedly tuck the bob behind one ear. “You’re doing it again,” she said. Palki  looked up. “Doing what?” “Moving your hair out of the way.” Her mother smiled. “And I suppose you have a solution.” Riya pointed toward her own head. “A very convenient one.”

“I have an interview to record on Monday,” Palki  replied. “You always have a broadcast or an interview.” “Because that’s my job, Riya.” The answer was patient, almost amused, but it stayed with Riya. Her mother could always explain why a change should wait. Before Riya’s first day of college, tomorrow had not been a reason anyone would accept.

At the salon, Maya asked whether they were maintaining the usual shape. “Yes, the back needs tidying, and the undercut,” Palki  replied. While Maya collected a fresh cape, Palki  lifted her bob with both hands and examined the hidden sections in the mirror. Riya stood beside her. “There’s already so much shaved underneath. Why don’t you try the rest today?” Palki  let her hair fall. “Let’s see,” she answered, just as her phone vibrated.

She looked down at a newsroom message, intending to continue the discussion afterward. When Maya returned, Riya spoke first. “Mum’s going to try the full shave today.” Maya paused. “Really?” Riya nodded. “After all these conversations.” Still concentrating on her reply, Palki  murmured, “One minute.” Maya fastened the cape. She accepted Riya’s announcement without checking what Palki  herself wanted.

Palki  had just put her phone away when Maya lifted the front section with a comb and brought the unguarded clippers to her hairline. The first pass removed a narrow strip toward the crown. “Wait—what are you doing?” Palki  exclaimed. Maya immediately switched off the clippers and stepped back. Several short locks rested on the cape. Palki  stared at the mirror, then raised a hand toward the missing section. “I haven’t agreed to this.”

Riya gave a sudden, nervous laugh. “Mum, it’ll look good. You’ll see.” Palki  turned toward her. “I said, ‘Let’s see.’ Why did you tell her yes?” Riya’s smile disappeared. Maya placed the clippers on the counter. “I’m sorry, Palki . I should have checked directly with you. We’ll stop and discuss what you want.”

“I have a recording on Monday,” Palki  said, facing the mirror again. “Can the remaining hair cover it?” Maya repositioned the longer front section to show her how it fell. They discussed concealing the strip temporarily, changing the parting, or choosing a shorter haircut. Maya left the tools untouched while Palki  considered the options.

Riya watched her mother look toward the door and back at the mirror. “You don’t have to finish shaving it,” she said eventually. Palki  met her eyes. “I know. Please let me think.” After several quiet minutes, Palki  lowered her hand from her hair. “Take the rest down to a close buzz,” she told Maya. The stylist repeated the instruction back to her. “All of the remaining length?” Palki  nodded. “Yes. That is what I’m asking for now.”

Maya checked the cape fastening and gently combed the bob into sections. Beginning beside the already-clipped strip, she worked across the top in measured passes, lifting the clippers clear between each one. The longer upper layers fell onto the cape, gradually revealing the shape previously hidden beneath the bob. Palki  watched in the mirror, her lips pressed together. When a lock slipped near her collar, Maya paused to brush it away before continuing.

At the sides, Maya guided the remaining longer hair away from the ears and clipped it down to match the top. The existing undercut meant there was less hair to remove beneath those outer layers. She worked carefully along the boundary where the bob had covered the shaved section, then moved behind the chair. Palki  lowered her chin slightly when asked, allowing Maya to shorten the remaining back section and check the crown.

Riya moved to a waiting chair. She had imagined making cheerful comments throughout the appointment, encouraging her mother to admire the change. Now she watched silently as Maya checked for uneven patches, making a few brief finishing passes before switching off the clippers. The bob was gone, replaced by close stubble across the upper scalp and the smoother undercut beneath.

Maya brushed away the loose hair and offered a hand mirror. Palki  examined the back, then turned to inspect each side. “The top looks darker than underneath,” she said. Maya explained that the undercut had previously been shaved closer. “Can you make it consistent?” Palki  asked. “An electric foil shaver would take the remaining stubble closer,” Maya replied. “Or we can leave it here.” Palki  studied her reflection for another moment. “Finish it smooth.”

Maya set the clippers aside and cleared the loose cuttings from Palki ’s head and neckline. After checking her scalp, she picked up the foil shaver. Its softer hum replaced the sound of the clippers. She worked across the short stubble in small sections, pausing to inspect the finish rather than repeatedly passing over the same area. Palki  kept her eyes on the mirror as the contrast between the newly clipped top and the existing undercut gradually softened.

Around the crown, Maya adjusted her position so she could follow the shape of the head without pressing heavily. She continued along the sides, taking care near the ears, then checked the back and nape. When she noticed a little redness, she left that area alone. After a final inspection, she switched off the shaver and placed it on the counter. “That’s finished,” she said.

Palki  looked at herself for a long moment. Maya removed the cape, brushed the remaining cuttings from her collar, and offered the hand mirror again. Palki  took it and quietly examined the smooth finish. Without the familiar outline of her bob, her earrings and expression seemed more noticeable. She briefly touched the back of her head, then handed the mirror back.

Riya stood when her mother reached for her bag. “Mum—” she began. Palki  shook her head slightly. “Outside.” Maya apologised again before they left, acknowledging that she should never have acted on someone else’s instruction. Palki  listened, but said she needed time before discussing it further.

On the pavement, Riya reached for the car door. Palki  remained beside her. “Was that an accident?” she asked. Riya turned. “What?” “Telling Maya I had agreed.” Riya looked down at the keys. There was enough time to offer an excuse, but she could not make herself say it. “No.”

Palki  took a slow breath. “You wanted this to happen.” Riya’s voice grew quieter. “I wanted you to understand what it was like.” Her mother glanced back toward the salon. “Then you remembered exactly how much it hurt.” Riya had no answer.

They got into the car, but Palki  did not start the engine immediately. She adjusted the rear-view mirror, caught sight of herself, and moved it back toward the road. Riya sat beside her with her hands in her lap. For once, she did not tell her mother how comfortable a shaved head could be.

 

At home, Palki  placed her handbag on the dining table and went straight to her bedroom. Riya followed as far as the doorway, then stopped. Her mother stood before the dressing mirror in her blue sleeveless dress, the thin gold chain resting at her collarbone. She turned slightly, studying the outline of her shaved head. For years, she had checked that reflection before leaving for the studio. Now she did not know what to adjust.

“Would you like tea?” Riya asked. Palki  glanced at her through the mirror. “In a little while.” Riya lingered. “Mum, you do look—” “Please don’t tell me how I look yet.” The reply was quiet. Riya nodded and left her alone.

Palki  sat down and reached automatically for her hairbrush. She stopped with it in her hand, then placed it back. Monday’s live interview involved a woman entrepreneur whose work she had spent weeks researching. Until that morning, she had been thinking about her opening question. Now she kept imagining walking into the newsroom without her familiar bob.

When Riya returned with tea, she set the cup down. “I’m sorry I answered for you,” she said. Palki  turned toward her. “You’ve been encouraging me for years. I thought we were enjoying those conversations.” Riya lowered her eyes. “Sometimes we were.” “And sometimes?” After a pause, Riya answered, “I was remembering what happened before college.”

“You seemed happy with your hair afterward,” Palki  said. “I was. I still am,” Riya replied. “But I wasn’t happy about that day.” Palki  looked down at her untouched tea. Neither tried to finish the conversation immediately.

On Sunday morning, Palki  called Asha, the channel’s senior makeup artist. She explained the unexpected haircut and asked whether they could meet before Monday’s programme. “Come to my studio this afternoon,” Asha said. “I’ll arrange several wigs for you to try. We’ll have time to find something you feel comfortable wearing.”

When Palki  arrived, Asha greeted her without surprise. Several wigs had been arranged on stands beside a large mirror: a softly layered crop, a straight bob, a slightly longer style, and another with a side-swept fringe. “You don’t have to decide immediately,” Asha said. “Let’s see how each one feels as well as how it looks.”

They began with the longer style, but Palki  shook her head after examining it. “Too different.” The short layered wig felt unfamiliar too. Finally, Asha fitted a dark, chin-length bob with a side part. Palki  sat straighter. For the first time since Saturday, the outline in the mirror resembled the face she expected to see.

“This one,” she said quietly. Asha adjusted the fit and checked it from both sides. “Turn your head. Look down as though you’re reading your notes.” Palki  followed the instructions. The bob moved differently from her own hair, but the resemblance reassured her. “Could we make the front a little neater?” she asked. “Of course,” Asha replied.

While Asha prepared to refine the shape, Palki  asked for a break. She stepped onto the studio’s open terrace and lit a cigarette. Through the glass door, she could see the bob on its stand. She took a slow draw and looked away toward the neighbouring buildings.

Asha joined her at the doorway. “Are you worried about the interview or people noticing?” Palki  considered the question. “Both. I don’t want to spend the whole programme wondering whether it has moved.” She held the cigarette away from the doorway before exhaling. “I need to listen to my guest.”

“We’ll test it again tomorrow,” Asha said. “You still have a choice.” Palki  nodded. After extinguishing the cigarette in the terrace ashtray and washing her hands, she returned to the fitting chair. They settled on the bob, and Asha packed it for the following morning.

On Monday, Palki  arrived early at the studio. In the makeup room, Asha fitted the wig and arranged the front while Palki  reviewed her questions. It looked convincing beneath the lights. Yet every few moments, Palki  lifted a hand toward one side or tilted her head to check the fit.

“Is something pulling?” Asha asked. “A little near the ear.” Asha adjusted it. Palki  returned to her notes, read the same question twice, and realised she had not taken it in. She was concentrating on the unfamiliar feeling around her head.

They tested the wig on the studio monitor. It remained secure when Palki  turned, but she still felt an urge to check it. During a brief rehearsal, she touched the front just as the floor manager began speaking through her earpiece. She missed the instruction and asked him to repeat it.

Back in the makeup room, she closed her folder. “Take it off, please.”

Asha paused. “Would you like another adjustment?”

Palki  shook her head. “It looks fine. I just keep thinking about it. If I do that during the interview, I won’t be properly listening.” She looked at herself in the mirror. “I’ll go on without it.”

Asha removed the wig carefully and set it on its stand. Palki  sat quietly while they finished her makeup and checked how the studio lights fell across her uncovered head. Her nervousness remained, but the constant urge to adjust something had gone.

Dev, her producer, came in with a revised running order. He noticed the decision and asked, “Anything you need before we start?” Palki  picked up her folder. “Five minutes with these questions.” He nodded. “You’ve got them.”

Her guest, Ananya Rao, arrived shortly afterward. She had met Palki  at an earlier event and noticed the change immediately, but waited until they were seated together before mentioning it. “Your new look is striking,” she said warmly. “I admire your confidence.”

Palki  gave a small, honest smile. “I’m still finding that part.”

“Well, I’m glad to be here with you,” Ananya replied. Then she asked how they would begin, allowing the conversation to return naturally to the interview.

As the countdown started, Palki  placed her notes on the desk and looked toward the camera. The red light came on. She welcomed viewers, introduced Ananya, and asked her opening question. For the first minute, she was conscious of her appearance. Then Ananya gave an unexpected answer, and Palki  leaned forward to follow it.

The interview became the conversation she had prepared for. She challenged a vague claim, asked for a concrete example, and made room when Ananya wanted to explain a difficult decision. By the halfway point, Palki  had stopped wondering how she looked on the monitor.

At home, Riya watched from the sofa. Her mother looked different, but her voice was familiar: steady, attentive, and occasionally sharp when a question needed answering. Riya found herself following the discussion rather than studying her mother’s expression.

After the broadcast, Ananya shook Palki ’s hand. “That was a thoughtful interview,” she said. Then, more quietly, she added, “And it takes boldness to try something unfamiliar in public. You carried yourself beautifully.” Palki  thanked her. The compliment mattered, but she was even more relieved that they had finished the programme without her thoughts repeatedly drifting toward her hair.

That evening, Riya met her at the door. “You handled her answer about the failed project really well,” she said. Palki  smiled. “She wasn’t expecting that question.” “I could tell.” They talked about the programme while putting away Palki ’s things, and for several minutes the conversation felt easy.

Later, Palki  sat beside her daughter. “About your first haircut,” she began. “You asked me to wait until after your first day. I remember.” Riya put down her phone. “I heard you,” Palki  continued. “I decided that what I wanted mattered more. I’m sorry.”

Riya swallowed. “Thank you for saying that.” After a moment, she added, “I knew you hadn’t agreed on Saturday. I shouldn’t have told Maya you had.” Palki  nodded. Their apologies did not settle every hurt, but neither tried to excuse what she had done.

Before bed, Palki  checked her schedule for the following day. The wig remained packed in its box. “Will you wear it again?” Riya asked. “Perhaps,” Palki  replied. “But tomorrow I’m going as I did today.”

Riya smiled. “All right, Mum.”

Palki  set her phone down and switched off the lamp. For the first time that weekend, she was thinking about tomorrow’s work more than tomorrow’s reflection.

Over the following weeks, Palki  continued appearing on television without a wig. At first, she noticed every glance in the newsroom and checked her reflection before each programme. Gradually, those habits faded. There were scripts to revise, guests to research, and breaking stories that left little time to think about her appearance.

Some viewers commented on the change. Others simply continued watching. Her colleagues soon became accustomed to it, and Palki  found herself enjoying the ease of getting ready. When her hair began to grow into a fine covering of stubble, she considered letting it return. Then, one Saturday morning, she made an appointment to have it shaved smooth again.

Riya looked up when her mother mentioned the booking. “You’re keeping it?” she asked. Palki  nodded. “For now. I like it.” Riya smiled, but waited before saying anything else. “Would you like company?” Her mother picked up her handbag. “Yes. And lunch afterward.”

At the salon, Palki  explained exactly what she wanted. Riya sat nearby, reading while the stylist worked. There was no persuasion and no announcement on her mother’s behalf. Afterward, Palki  examined the result in the mirror and thanked the stylist. As they left, she began telling Riya about a difficult guest scheduled for the following week.

Palki  also started changing her television wardrobe. Alongside her formal jackets, she wore elegant saris with simple sleeveless, tank-style blouses. She liked clean necklines, neatly arranged pleats, and colours that suited the studio lighting. A small bindi and a pair of earrings became familiar finishing touches.

For one evening interview, she chose a deep teal sari with a narrow gold border and a matching sleeveless blouse. She added gold earrings, her thin chain, and a small maroon bindi. Standing before the makeup-room mirror, she adjusted the sari at her shoulder, then picked up her notes. This time, she did not pause to study her shaved head.

“You’re ready,” Asha said. Palki  smiled. “Let’s hope my guest is.”

During the interview, she listened closely, smiled at an unexpected joke, and challenged an answer that needed explaining. Her sari fell neatly over her shoulder, with the microphone secured near its edge. Watching from home, Riya thought her mother looked entirely comfortable. More than that, she looked interested in the person sitting opposite her.

Meanwhile, Riya had let her own buzz cut grow slightly longer while she settled into her first job. One weekend, she decided that she missed the completely shaved look. She booked an appointment for herself and told Palki  over breakfast.

“Smooth again?” her mother asked.

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

Palki  nodded. “Would you like me to come?”

Riya smiled. “You can, if you want.”

They went together. Before beginning, the stylist asked Riya to confirm the finish she wanted. “Completely smooth,” she replied. Palki  remained in the waiting chair, leaving the conversation to her daughter.

When it was finished, Riya looked into the mirror without hesitation. She turned her head, smiled, and reached for her earrings. Her mother stood beside the chair. “Happy?” she asked. “Very,” Riya replied.

That evening, Palki  returned from a television appearance still wearing a rust-coloured sari and a simple sleeveless blouse. Riya was at the dining table, arranging photographs on her phone. She looked up and laughed softly. “We finally have the same haircut.”

Palki  set down her bag. “It took us a rather complicated route.”

Riya’s smile softened. “I wish I’d asked you properly that day.”

“And I wish I’d listened to you before college,” Palki  replied.

They had spoken about those afternoons more than once. Neither apology erased them, but their conversations had become easier and more honest. They could now enjoy a shared preference without pretending that everything leading to it had been harmless.

Riya lifted her phone. “Can we take a photograph?”

Palki  nodded and sat beside her. In the picture, both women were smiling: Riya in a plain cotton shirt, Palki  in her sari, with her bindi and earrings still in place. Riya checked the photograph and turned the screen toward her mother.

“Shall I keep this one?”

“Yes,” Palki  said. “Send it to me.”

The following week, Palki  appeared on television with her head freshly shaved, a sari draped over her sleeveless blouse, and her questions ready on the desk. Riya left for work with the same smooth haircut she had chosen for herself.

Their lives continued beyond the mirrors and salon chairs. There were hurried breakfasts, unfinished conversations, successful interviews, and ordinary evenings together. Both kept the bald look because they liked it—and whenever either wanted a change, she no longer needed to argue for the right to choose.