Legendary Head Shave Tales
Kayadu Lohar had always heard about Tirumala from friends and colleagues, but this was her first time visiting the sacred hills. A proud Malayali girl with curious eyes and an open heart, she arrived at Tirupati early in the morning, her thick wavy hair tied under her cap. Accompanying her was her manager, Srinivasulu—a calm and respectful Andhra man in his early 40s who had visited Tirumala countless times since childhood. Kayadu barely spoke Telugu, only picking up the basics words, Srinivasulu guided her through the experience.
Their car began the climb up the winding road to Tirumala. Srinivasulu spoke gently, explaining the legend of the Seven Hills, how each curve they took was one step closer to the divine. “This place is where they say Lord Hanuman rested. It’s sacred ground.” Though the stories were new to her, Kayadu listened with genuine curiosity. The calm of the hills, the scent of camphor in the breeze, and the faint sounds of chanting created a peaceful rhythm. They reached their simple TTD guesthouse by mid-morning.
It was a modest cottage tucked away from the noisy darshan queues, surrounded by trees. While Kayadu unpacked and changed into a light cotton churidar, Srinivasulu suggested they visit the nearby natural springs—Akasa Ganga and Papavinasanam. They spent the afternoon walking barefoot on the temple stones, soaking in the mythology and silence. As they returned to the cottage, she asked while her fingers running through her long hair. “Do people really shave their heads here?” she asked.
Srinivasulu nodded. “Yes, amma, many famous women—actresses like Suhasini, Shalini Passi, Surekha Vani, Deepti, many more and recently Pawan Kalyan’s wife Anna Lezhneva have shaved her heads at Tirumala,” he added “It’s an ancient tradition—offering your hair to Lord Venkateshwara. The tonsuring hall sees thousands daily, men and women alike.” Kayadu’s eyes widened. Later that evening, as Kayadu stood in front of the mirror inside the cottage. She stared at herself, gently pulling her hair free from its tie.
Her eyes sparkled with a strange mix of excitement and calm. “What would I look like… without this?” she thought, tilting her head slightly. The idea of offering it all to Lord Venkateshwara felt bold—almost unreal—but deeply thrilling. she said, facing her friends and Srinivasulu. “I want to shave my head and offer it to the Lord.” Her friends gasped, exchanging surprised looks. “Are you sure, Kayadu? This is a big step,” one of them said gently. Srinivasulu looked at her is disbelief. “Amma, think twice. You’re in cinema… your look matters,” he said with concern.
But Kayadu smiled, firm. “Looks come back. Moments like this don’t.” There was silence, then a slow nod from Srinivasulu, respect replacing doubt in his eyes. “Not for a vow. Not for publicity. Just… I want to feel it. I want to surrender something” srinivasulu agreed with a nod and she added. “I want to do it in the tonsure hall… with everyone,”. But Srinivasulu hesitated, gently shaking his head. “Too risky, amma… too much crowd, no privacy, and you’re known,” he cautioned. Though a little disappointed, Kayadu nodded slowly, understanding.
Srinivasulu quietly made arrangements. He called a known barber, and asked him to come next day early morning. Inside the small private courtyard of the cottage, a wooden stool was placed in the center. Kayadu sat devotio, in a plain towel, her hands resting on her knees. The barber, asked gently, “Shall I begin?” She gave a small nod. As He gently poured water and massaged her scalp slowly, and asked softly, “Pilaka vadilala, amma?”—should I leave a tuft? Kayadu, curious and slightly amused, nodded, “Hmm… avunu?” But before she could say more, Srinivasulu interrupted firmly.
“ avanni vaddu babu, nuvvu gundu kottu firstu.” The barber nodded and dipped the straight razor in water before placing the first stroke right down the middle of her crown. Kayadu closed her eyes as Her voice trembled at first but grew steadier with each stroke. “Govinda… Govinda…” The cold steel glided across her scalp, and with every pass, her head grew lighter, her heart oddly peaceful. Hair fell in soft heaps onto her lap and the ground, and she felt the breeze kiss her bare scalp for the first time—cool, sharp, and strangely freeing.
When the last strand was gone, she touched her bald head, her fingers tracing the smoothness with quiet awe. Srinivasulu inspected and said, “Not a single hair should remain. Shave again.” The barber complied, and the second shave made her skin shine, flawless and sacred. Finnaly she reached up and touched her smooth scalp with both hands. She smiled faintly and whispered in Malayalam, “Shanti.” That morning, wrapped in grand red saree, with nice tilak on her freshly shaven head, Kayadu walked with Srinivasulu and her friends to the Vaikuntham queue for darshan.
No one recognized her. She didn’t want them to. She was no longer actress Kayadu Lohar. As she stood before the deity—Lord Venkateshwara shining with grandeur and grace—her heart felt lighter than ever. She didn’t pray with words because she was mesmerized and fell into deep devotion. Her bald head, exposed and humbled, was her offering. As Kayadu stepped out of the temple, her freshly tonsured head gleaming under the sun, a small group of local media rushed forward, surprised by her appearance. “Madam, you shaved your head? Any special reason?”.
a reporter asked. Smiling warmly, by touching her bald scalp gently, “Not a vow… just a feeling. I wanted to surrender it purely from the heart.” Cameras flashed as she continued, “It’s my first visit here, and I wanted to explore and experience everything just as a normal devotee of lord Venkateshwara ” Her face radiated peace. Srinivasulu stood proudly beside her, as her simple, sincere words left the crowd momentarily amused. On the way back down the hills, the wind brushed against her clean scalp, giving her goosebumps. Srinivasulu looked at her and smiled gently.
“You’ll never forget this day, amma.” Kayadu’s eyes sparkled with something deeper than happiness. After returning from Tirumala, Kayadu posted a simple pictures of her bald head. The internet exploded with admiration—fans flooded her inbox with love, calling her bold, spiritual, and inspiring. Some trolled her too, but Kayadu remained unbothered, embracing her look with grace. Directors who once cast her for her soft beauty now saw something raw and powerful in her eyes.Over the next few weeks, Kayadu’s hair began to grow back slowly.
soft stubbles turning into long fuzz. Just as she started enjoying the change, a new role came her way—a powerful widow character that required her to shave her head again. Without hesitation, she agreed, saying, “Hair will grow… but roles like this don’t come twice.”Within weeks, she was offered a role in an intense, rural drama—playing a widow who shaves her head out of personal strength. It was different, real, and demanded exactly the raw look she now carried. Her bald head, instead of limiting her, opened a new chapter—one where performance mattered more than appearances.
