Legendary Head Shave Tales
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in Kriti’s Mumbai home. The heat outside was relentless, making even the ceiling fan struggle to keep the air cool. Kriti had just woken up from her afternoon nap, feeling lazy and a little sweaty. Her long, thick hair lay messily across the pillow, still damp from a morning wash. “Yaar, so much heat, chal ek quick shower ho jaaye,” she thought, dragging herself up from the bed still in her bra and shorts. Half-asleep and in a hurry to feel fresh, Kriti shuffled to the bathroom. She reached out for the shampoo bottle on the rack without really looking — the letters were a blur without her glasses. She squeezed the liquid onto her palm, thinking it was her usual shampoo, and started massaging it into her scalp.
The cream felt smooth and cool at first, almost soothing, but then a strange tingling began creeping over her head. “this seems slightly different, acha lag raha hei feeling?” she murmured, but laziness made her ignore the feeling. Within moments, she noticed strands of hair slipping away between her fingers. At first, she thought it was normal hair fall — a little usual shedding — but when big clumps started coming off and falling to the floor, panic gripped her heart. Her fingers trembled as she watched her hair dissolve like a handful of wet thread. “Oh shit… kya ho raha hai?” Kriti whispered, her voice shaky, as she frantically tried to wash it away, scrubbing harder in desperation. The bathroom floor was soon littered with her beautiful black hair, and her scalp was becoming visible beneath the thinning strands.
Tears welled up in her eyes as realization dawned — this was not normal. She reached for the bottle to check and froze. The label read Nair Permanent Hair Removal Cream. Her heart skipped a beat. “Arey this is the cream to remove unwanted hair… main shampoo samajh ke laga diya?” she gasped in horror. In shock and fear, Kriti quickly peeled off her clothes, not wanting the shampoo to touch any other part of her skin. She stood naked in the bathroom, trembling, trying to wash as much as she could, but more and more hair fell away. The panic turned into despair as she realized it was no ordinary shampoo—it was the permanent kind, and her hair was disappearing forever. Kriti was still standing under the shower when she started running her hands through her wet hair, trying to clear out the loose strands she thought would fall.
But as her fingers moved, she felt something strange—her scalp was smooth, bare, no hair left at all. Panic gripped her tight like a noose. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as the terrifying truth sunk in. Without thinking twice, she stopped the water, trembling all over. Naked and shaking, she ran as fast as she could towards her bedroom. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, eyes wide with shock. When she reached the mirror, Kriti stood in front of the mirror, completely naked, her bald head shining under the soft bedroom light like polished marble. Her skin was pale, goosebumps rising all over her arms and shoulders from the cold and fear. She could feel her heart pounding hard, every beat echoing in her ears. Her trembling hands reached up slowly, fingertips grazing the smooth scalp, still trying to believe what she was seeing.
Her breathing was shallow and quick, her whole body stiff with shock and helplessness. The silence around her felt heavy, as if time itself had stopped, trapping her in that moment of raw, terrifying reality. Tears welled up, her mind spinning with disbelief and dread at what just happened. Kriti took a deep shaky breath, her heart still racing, but she forced herself to steady. She told herself, “It’s over, Kriti… no use of crying now. It’s gone, hair will not grow back.” Slowly, she let her arms drop, trying to feel calm and returned back to bathroom. After finishing her shower, Kriti wrapped herself carefully in a towel, her fingers still trembling a little. Slowly, she got dressed in simple clothes, but her mind was heavy, full of worry and sadness. She walked to the living room and sat down on the sofa, feeling the terrible pain.
The silence around felt loud, and suddenly the tears came—soft at first, then flowing freely. She didn’t try to stop them, letting the pain and fear pour out naturally, her mind lost in deep thoughts about what just happened and what the future might hold. Her mother, Rekha, heard the muffled cries from her room and immediately came to check. Seeing Kriti’s tear-streaked face and smooth shining bald head of hers, Rekha’s heart sank. “Kriti beta, kya hua? Batao mujhe,” she said softly, sitting beside her daughter. Kriti looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying. The rawness in her voice made Rekha’s heart ache as she explained the horrible mistake with the shampoo, the strands falling like leaves in a storm, and finally, the terrible truth — it was permanent. No hair would grow back. A heavy silence settled in the room.
Rekha’s mind was blank still trying to process the reality herself. She reached out, gently brushing her hand over Kriti’s smooth scalp. It was strange, unfamiliar, but beneath it all, she saw her daughter’s pain — not just of the lost hair, but the fear of losing a part of herself. “Beta,” Rekha whispered, her voice soft but firm, “I know this feels like the whole world has changed… but remember, your beauty is not just hair. It’s in your heart, your strength, your mind. We will face this together, okay?” Kriti’s tears began to flow again, but this time with a glimmer of hope. Rekha pulled her into a warm embrace, holding her close. “You are still my daughter. You are still beautiful, inside and out.” After her mother left the hall , Kriti sat there for a long while — silent, empty. Then, like a ghost, she stood up, her legs weak, and slowly walked to the room mirror.
She stared at her reflection, unable to believe the sight. A smooth, bare scalp gleamed where her thick, beautiful hair once was. She ran a shaky hand over it. Cold. Strange. It felt like someone else in the mirror. A tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “Toh kya main zindagi bhar aise hi rohungi?” Her voice cracked. No one answered. Slowly, she opened her cupboard, took out her shampoos, oils, serums — all those things she had once cherished. One by one, she dropped them into a plastic bag. It wasn’t bravery. It wasn’t strength. It was just… necessary. Then, with trembling fingers, she dabbed a little kajal, picked up her favourite hoops, and wore them. She stood in front of the mirror again — eyes swollen, face tired, bald head shining under the soft light. Broken, terrified, but still standing. “Bas… ek din. Ek din sambhal lungi. Kal dekh lenge,” she murmured.
