Legendary Head Shave Tales
Pooja stepped into the parlor, her thick, curly hair cascading down her back, a slight bounce in every step. Dressed in a casual kurti and jeans, she adjusted her dupatta, looking around as She smiled at her aunt, Ranjitha, who stood behind the counter.
“Atha, Amma told me to come for a simple trim,” Pooja said, settling into the chair. Ranjitha smirked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Of course, kanna. I know exactly what you need.” The cape was tied around her neck, and Pooja relaxed as Ranjitha ran a comb through her long, thick curls.
The scissors snipped rhythmically, the strands falling softly to the floor. Pooja noticed more hair dropping than expected. “Atha, this much?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably. “Trust me, it’s a modern layered look,” Ranjitha reassured, flashing a smile in the mirror. “Shorter curls will make you look mature.” Pooja hesitated but nodded. She trusted her aunt.
Then came the unexpected click of the trimmer. The sudden vibration against her nape made her freeze. “Atha! Amma said only a trim!” she protested. Ranjitha chuckled, pressing Pooja’s head down. “She told me to give you a nice, manageable look. Do you want to struggle with long curls in this heat?”
Before Pooja could react, the trimmer buzzed up the back of her head. She felt the cool air hit her exposed skin. Her heart pounded. “Atha! Stop! How much are you cutting?” “Shh, kanna. Just a little layering at the back,” Ranjitha said smoothly, tilting Pooja’s head to the side.
The machine hummed again, shearing down the sides. Locks of curly hair slid onto her lap, her reflection now unfamiliar. Her once thick curls were reduced to a boyish **grade 3 buzz cut** on the back and sides, leaving only a little fluff on top. Pooja gasped, eyes wide. “This isn’t a trim! You—”
“Ayyo, stop fussing! You look adorable,” Ranjitha cut in, dusting off stray hairs. “Girls these days do this all the time. Even celebrities!” Pooja’s fingers trembled as she touched the rough stubble at her nape. Her face was exposed, making her features look rounder and childish.
Before she could process it, Ranjitha pulled out a small tub of pink dye. “Atha! What is that?” Pooja’s voice cracked. “Just a little fun, kanna,” Ranjitha cooed. “See, I promised your Amma a fresh, stylish look for you. This will add some spunk!”
Helplessly, Pooja sat as her remaining tuft of curls was painted a ridiculous **bright pink.** Tears welled up, but she bit her lip, knowing arguing was useless. And then, the final betrayal. Ranjitha reached for the thread and powder. “Your eyebrows need a clean shape,” she said casually. Pooja flinched. “No! Not my eyebrows!”
But in a few quick strokes, her thick brows were painfully threaded into **thin, curved lines.** Her face looked even more alien now, her childish buzz cut and pink tuft making her unrecognizable. When it was over, Pooja stared at herself in the mirror, horrified.
“Atha, how could you do this?” she whispered, voice shaking. Ranjitha leaned down, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Your Amma trusted me, kanna. She wanted you to have a fresh look. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Pooja’s nails dug into her palm as she stepped off the chair, her head feeling unbearably light. The moment she walked out of the parlor, she knew one thing—her mother had no idea. This was a revenge.And now, she had to face the world looking like this.
As Pooja stepped into the house, her mother froze mid-sip, the tea in her hand trembling slightly. Her eyes widened, taking in the sight of her daughter’s cropped head, the odd pink streaks, the unnaturally thin eyebrows. But no words came out. She just stared, as if seeing a ghost from her past.
Pooja clenched her fists. “Amma… say something.” Her mother exhaled shakily, setting the cup down. She looked away for a moment, lost in thoughts only she could see. Then, in a voice softer than usual, she said, “Pooja, this… someday, this had to happen.”
Pooja’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?” Her mother swallowed hard, her expression unreadable. “Sometimes, we carry the weight of things we don’t understand. Ranjitha… she carried hers for years.” She gently cupped Pooja’s cheek, her touch warm despite the coldness of her words. “It’s done now. Move on.” consoles her mother.
