Legendary Head Shave Tales
Two days had passed since the mirror moment. Since the tears. Since the quiet smile that meant something more. Trishika moved through the house like her usual self — watching reels, sipping coffee, making mild jokes with Amma. But inside her, things weren’t the same. She was adjusting — slowly. Not to the bald head, but to the idea of it. The idea that her Amma had done this. Padma was doing everything she could to keep her daughter close. “Va da kutty, sit,”
she’d call, patting the mat in the balcony. She’d mix turmeric into a smooth paste, gently spreading it over Trishika’s scalp while talking about sunburn and natural glow. The next day, it would be warm coconut oil with curry leaves, massaged in slow circles as they both watched a serial on mute and scrolled their phones instead. Padma acted normal, cheerful And Trishika nodded, smiled, even leaned into the massages sometimes.
But behind her calm face, her eyes stayed sharp. She watched Padma how relaxed she’d become. How freely she moved around the house, unaware. The razor in the bathroom. The way she dozed off after lunch. The soft, thick bun Amma made every day. Trishika remembered everything. And she was waiting. One afternoon, Padma had dozed off on the sofa, one arm over her forehead, the edges of her saree folded loosely around her. Her breathing deepened, peaceful.
Inside her dream, she was back at the temple in Thiruvannamalai. Trishika was sitting on the stone floor, her head being shaved clean, temple bells echoing in the background. Padma smiled in her dream, heart full. But then, something shifted. She wasn’t standing anymore — she was sitting. The priest was now behind her. She could feel the tug on her scalp, and a sharp scraping sound near her forehead. “Aiyo,” she muttered in sleep, shifting slightly.
The scraping didn’t stop. In fact, it felt even more real now. Her eyes flew open. The house was still quiet. But something was off. Her scalp… it felt strangely cold. She blinked twice, turned slowly — and froze. Trishika was standing right behind her. Razor in one hand. A small giggle escaping her lips. And a large patch of Padma’s crown was already scraped bald. Padma reached up with both hands, touched the smooth patch. Her mouth opened, no words came out. Trishika smiled calmly.
Padma shot up from the sofa, her heart pounding. “Ayyayyo!” she gasped, eyes wide aa in that split second, everything clicked — the razor, the scratching sound, the dream flipping into reality. Without a word, she shoved Trishika aside and ran. “Amma!” Trishika called out, but Padma didn’t turn. Her pallu flew loose as she ran into the bedroom, tears already welling in her eyes. The door slammed behind her as she stood in the middle of the room.
She then pulled out her saree which slumped to the floor. She collapsed onto the bed, pressing her face into the pillow. Meanwhile, in the other room, Trishika was completely unaffected. She tossed the razor on her table, pulled out her phone, and dropped onto her bed. YouTube was quick to catch her mood — her feed filled with head shave vlogs and transformation reels. She clicked on one without thinking. A girl smiled while her mother gently shaved her head.
Trishika’s hand slowly moved to her own scalp, rubbing it in small circles. “Hmm… semma smooth,” she whispered with a little grin. She swiped to another video, nodding as if rating it. “Clean finish… not bad,” she said softly, her fingers still playing across her bald head, casual and relaxed. Padma woke with a dull ache in her head and a heat sitting heavy in her chest. She sat up slowly, her fingers reaching for her scalp almost instinctively, and there it was: the half-bald patch Trishika had left behind.
“Paavi ponnu,” she muttered under her breath, swinging her legs off the bed. “Idhellam enakku venuma at this age?” She marched into the bathroom and shut the door with a firm click. The razor lay quietly in the basket near the sink. She picked it up, her fingers tight around the handle. Her voice started to rise — not loud, but sharp, bitter. “All this… just for a haircut. One haircut,” she mumbled, dragging the razor slowly from her temple backward. The sound of scraping skin and the soft plop of wet hair onto the floor filled the room.
“She thinks this is funny, ah? Getting mottai revenge on her own mother!” She continued — slow, careful strokes along her crown. Soap gathered in the corners of her ears, and the razor glided cleanly. Her jaw clenched tighter with every stroke. “When I was her age… naan velila kooda pogave kavalai paduven if my plait wasn’t proper,” she hissed. “One time, Paati shaved my head for lice… I cried for one week straight.”
Another clean scrape. Another puff of hair fell. “But this one? Cell phone in one hand, blade in the other, semma comedy,” she said sarcastically, as she tilted her head to get behind the ears. The last few strokes came slower. Her pace eased, the rage flickering into something else — acceptance, maybe. She rinsed her head with water, feeling the bare skin all over now. Her fingers paused briefly as they slid across the smoothness.
A hot shower followed. The kind that didn’t wash away frustration but at least softened it for a while. She massaged her scalp gently as the water ran, muttering, “Seri. What’s done is done. Let me go deal with that girl.” By the time she stepped out, fresh clothes, Padma wasn’t crying anymore. Her walk to the hall was slow and her head bald, mood simmering, and words ready to be spoken. Padma stepped into the hall with her scalp still warm from the shower.
The light from the TV flickered across her freshly bald head. Trishika was lying sideways on the sofa, half-wrapped in a blanket, watching Beast on low volume, one leg dangling. She turned casually, spotted her mother — and smiled. “Ohh! You actually did it, Amma!” she said, sitting up. “Na solla maaten… but it suits you.” Padma didn’t smile. She stood still for a moment, then walked slowly to the centre of the room, eyes fixed on her daughter.“You think this is some comedy, kutty?” she asked quietly.
Her voice didn’t rise, but it was heavy — almost shaking. “You shaved my head. While I was sleeping.” Trishika shrugged, unsure how serious this was. “And what did you do to me, Amma? Sitting happily and snipping away… then suddenly took the blade, remember that day?” Padma’s lips tightened. “That was a mistake,” she muttered. “I got carried away. But I was awake, at least. You—” her voice cracked a bit “—you came with a razor like a psycho.”
Trishika laughed, not cruelly — just uncomfortable. “Psycho? You shaved your daughter bald in public daylight. Balcony la, innaiku mattum moonu crows came and sat near me thinking it’s some temple function.” Padma blinked once, then let out a dry, pained breath. “We both crossed the line, kutty,” she said quietly. “But this… this can’t keep happening.” Trishika didn’t flinch. “I didn’t start it, Amma. I just gave you what you gave me.”
Padma’s jaw tightened. Her voice dropped low. “Then let’s finish it properly.” Trishika finally looked up. Padma continued, “Every year. One day. One of us will get a mottai. No tricks. No warning. Equal.” Silence hung between them for a long second. “Fine,” Trishika replied, her tone sharp. “We’ll see whose turn it is next.” Neither smiled. Neither blinked. Padma turned away without another word, walking slowly to her bedroom. The door clicked shut.
Trishika leaned back into the sofa, muted the TV, and let the silence settle. Her fingers touched her scalp just once — not with pride, not with regret — just acceptance.
