Legendary Head Shave Tales
It was a hot summer morning in their village. Arvinda was busy with her usual work — sweeping the yard, washing clothes, and filling water. She was wearing her red nighty, hair tied in a thick, long braid that almost touched her knees. The heat was too much, and her braid kept sticking to her neck and back. She kept pushing it away, a bit irritated. Just then, her husband Raghava came out with a steel glass in his hand. He looked at her for a moment and said in a calm voice, “Avi… evening lo free ga undu.
I have told the servant to call the barber.” Arvinda turned and looked at him with a confused face. “Yevandi… barber enduku? Evariki haircut? And why I should be free?” she asked slowly. Raghava didn’t say anything more. He just took a sip from his glass and walked back inside. Arvinda stood still for a moment, wiping sweat from her face. Her heart was now a bit restless. Why barber? Who’s getting a haircut? Am I missing something? She kept thinking the whole afternoon but didn’t get any answer. Still, she trusted him.
He was strict sometimes, but never hurt her. By evening, a chair was placed in the garden near the tulasi plant. The barber arrived with his tools. Raghava called her, “Avi, ra… sit here.” She slowly walked and sat, still not sure what was happening. The barber came near and started opening her long braid. He poured some water and made her hair wet. Arvinda looked up, surprised. “Yevandi… why is he doing this? What is this?” she asked softly. Raghava looked at the barber and said, “ Deeniki gundu geeyi.”“Gundu ah?” she asked, her eyes wide.
He nodded once. “Hmm. Just do it.” She sat there in silence, not knowing what to say. The barber dipped his fingers in a small steel bowl of water and gently wet Aravinda’s long hair. Her thick braid was already undone, and the cool water made her flinch slightly. Raghava stood nearby with his arms folded, watching quietly. The blade made its first contact on her crown — a slow, careful stroke. Hair slid down over her shoulder. “Avi… no more struggling with that jungle every morning, ah?” Raghava said, with a small smile.
Aravinda didn’t look up, just murmured, “Yevandi… don’t tease,” as more hair fell on her lap. The barber worked steadily, moving from the middle of her head to the sides. The place was filled with scraping sound of the blade. Aravinda was feeling a weird mix of embarrassment and amusement. She kept brushing the fallen strands off her arms as the barber worked. Her head slowly felt lighter, cooler. The breeze touched her exposed scalp for the first time, and it made her shiver slightly. “I never imagined this feeling,”
she whispered to herself. Raghava noticed her expression and softly said, “You’ll thank me next summer, Avi.” As the barber finished the back portion, her entire scalp was smooth and shiny, with not a strand left. Aravinda slowly raised her hand and touched her bald head for the first time. A small gasp escaped her lips — not from shock, but from wonder. “Chala different ga undhi… soft too,” she whispered. Raghava just looked at her, his usual stern face now holding a bit of pride. The barber wiped her scalp clean with a damp cloth.
After the barber packed up and left, Aravinda sat still for a moment more, her thoughts quiet. Her long braid, once her pride, was now a memory swept off the ground. Raghava had gone in to freshen up, and she quietly went to the kitchen to start dinner. By night, both sat down for a simple meal on the floor. As she served him rice and curry, Raghava looked up and smirked. “Avi… how was you gundu experience?” Aravinda puffed her cheeks and frowned playfully. “Yevandi, meeru start ayyara malli… please vadandi,”
she muttered, hiding her smile. Raghava chuckled, tearing a piece of papad. “nuvvu ippudu pakka kodiveeran movie lo poorna la vunnavu.” She tapped his arm with the spoon, “Nenu chala serious ga unna… meeru matrame comedy chesthunnaru.” But her soft giggle gave her away. Her fingers kept going back to her smooth head as she whispered, “It feels… strange… cool… like breeze touching skin.” Raghava smiled, his voice lower now, “Suits you, Avi. Bald or not, you’re my best decision.”
Her heart warmed, cheeks turning pink as she looked down, smiling shyly. The room filled with quiet laughter. The early morning sun peeped in through the half-open kitchen window as Aravinda swept the courtyard, her steps lighter than usual. The morning breeze kissed her bare scalp, and for the first time, she smiled at the cool tickle. There was no long braid falling over her shoulder or sticking to her neck. Just lightness. She washed the veranda, and started preparing dosa batter with a small humming tune on her lips.
Her hands were at work, but her mind was slowly getting used to her reflection — a shiny, smooth bald head, glowing in the kitchen mirror. Inside, Raghava had just woken up and stretched his arms, calling out with a sleepy yawn, “Avi… raa, apply oil for my head.” Aravinda walked in, wiping her hands on her nighty, but before she could respond, he grinned and said, “Oh wait… forgot. Neeku emi ledu kadha to apply.” She crossed her arms with a slight frown. “Yevandi! Again you started ah?” He chuckled, sitting on the wooden stool.
Aravinda rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Meeru silent ga undali antey kashtam.” He gently pulled her by the wrist and made her sit on the stool in front of him. “Nuvvu kuda enjoy cheyyi ra,” he said, opening the small bottle of coconut oil. Pouring a little on her smooth scalp, he started massaging with firm, slow fingers. The oil spread evenly, and Aravinda closed her eyes with a soft sigh. “Ayyo… idi chaala manchi feel… asalu stress e ledu,” she murmured.
“See… ippude cheppanu kada. Smooth ga untadi, headache kuda thaggutundi,” Raghava replied, his voice gentle. His hands moved in circular motions, and as Aravinda leaned slightly back, letting herself enjoy the comfort, Raghava gently tapped her head and said with a slight smile, “Malli marchipoyava, Avi? Ee roju manaki oka special day.” She blinked, confused. “Em special day?” Raghava stood up, wiping his hands. “Mana first year anniversary… ready avvu. Temple ki vellali.” Her eyes widened.
“Ayyo, nenu marchipoyanu!” she gasped, giggling at herself. With a bounce in her step, she rushed inside. In the bathroom, as the cool water poured over her freshly oiled bald head, she let out a soft laugh. “Hey naa thala entha smooth ga undi… like butter. Wedding anniversary ki kuda chinna pillala laga bath avthunanu,” she told herself with joy bubbling in her voice. Wrapped in her favorite blue saree, she stood before the mirror, adjusting her bangles and smiling at her own reflection.
“E roju neeku kaadu ma thala meedaki kuda full attention undi,” she chuckled, patting her shiny head with both hands. The saree shimmered, her cheeks glowed, and that clean bald look gave her a unique charm she had never imagined. Picking up the pooja basket as Raghava waited beside his Royal Enfield. He looked at her with pride and a hint of admiration but said nothing, The two of them rode through the village lanes, wind brushing past them as Aravinda held the pooja basket close and looked around with a smile.
At the temple, Aravinda walking barefoot with devotion in her eyes. Her bald head gleamed under the temple bells, and a few women turned to glance out of surprise and admiration. As they offered flowers and prayed together, Aravinda closed her eyes. “Devuda… Raghava ni naa tho forever vundela cheyyi,” she whispered softly. And beside her, Raghava joined his hands in silence, thinking the exact same thing — wishing quietly, deeply, for a lifetime with the woman he now cherished in more ways than he ever expected.
As the bullet cruised slowly through the calm village road, Raghava glanced sideways at Aravinda and said “Avi,” he said with a slight grin, “Nenu neeku gift ichhanu kada… ippudu na kosam kuda okati kavali.” She turned with a puzzled smile. “Em gift, yevandi?” He smirked, eyes on the road. “Next 9 months lo naku chinna gift ivvali… nenu chala expect chesthunnanu.” Her cheeks flushed pink, catching his meaning. She looked ahead shyly, then leaned a little closer with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Appude? Mari, let’s start from today itself… nine months lo mee gift ready untundhi,” she whispered playfully, resting her head briefly on his shoulder, feeling a new warmth between them — not just of love, but of something deeper, a bond stronger than words. As the bullet roared gently ahead, the newly bald bride and her bold husband rode home — hearts full, hands waiting to hold their future, and smiles tucked in the promise of tomorrow.
