Legendary Head Shave Tales
(On the occasion of RCB winning its 1st IPL mens trophy)
Mahima’s duplex living room buzzed with energy. The yellow jerseys of CSK lit up the space as Mahima and Rashi jumped on the couch, waving small flags and shouting, “Come on, CSK, da!” Mahima’s thick curly hair bounced with every jump, her Tamil slang filling the air with fiery excitement. Across from them, Virat sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning, his red RCB jersey snug on his shoulders. “Aye, today RCB will break the curse, maga! You see, I am telling!” .
This statement made Mahima roll her eyes, but Rashi only giggled and enjoyed the popcorn and rivalry between virat and mahima. As the match began, the room filled with snacks, soft drinks, and loud cheers. CSK started strong, hitting sixes and fours, and Mahima danced around, pulling Rashi into a victory jig. “Paathu da, Virat! Our Thala is on fire!” Mahima teased, flicking her hair dramatically as CSK ended the innings with 295 runs. Virat shook his head with a laugh.
“You girls don’t know. RCB’s bowling was not as expected but for chase we have chase master in our side the great King Kohli guru!” By halftime, the match shifted. CSK’s bowling slipped, and RCB’s batter’s smashed the balls. The mood in the room changed fast . RCB’s top-order lineup collapsed. “Aye, what is this, maga?!” Virat shouted at the screen, watching his teammates throw away wickets cheaply. The off-side batters gave up easy catches, one after another, and the crowd’s roar tilted toward CSK. But Kohli the opener held on.
Alone, he stood at the crease, hammering boundaries with a fierce strike rate, pulling off 75 runs almost single-handedly. Mahima clutched Rashi’s hand tightly, whispering, “Maybe da… maybe we have a chance!” For a brief, shining moment, hope flickered for CSK. But all of a sudden it changed again as romario shepherd came and gave a good partnership with Kohli’s batting. Mahima sat forward, biting her lip; Rashi nervously squeezed her flag. Virat grew louder, clapping and shouting, “Aye, see, see! King kohli hitting! Now you both will lose bet!”.
Mahima’s stomach twisted as she remembered the stupid bet she’d thrown out: *if CSK loses, I’ll shave my head.* Rashi had joined in without thinking. And now, with every wicket falling, the reality crept closer. The final overs arrived, and the tension was unbearable. RCB needed just one run, and Kohli stood at 99*, the whole stadium holding its breath. Pathirana sprinted in, fire in his eyes, delivering a sharp yorker. Kohli stepped back, timed it beautifully, and smashed a huge six— the ball went out of the stadium.
The crowd erupted as Kohli raised his bat high, sealing not just RCB’s long-awaited victory but also his glorious 100th century. Virat dropped to his knees, fists clenched, shouting with pure, unfiltered joy as Mahima and Rashi sat frozen in heartbreak. He leaped up, punching the air. “Yesss! Finally, maga! Eighteen years waiting, ha!” He grabbed both the trimmers from the side table with a wicked grin. Mahima and Rashi sat frozen, eyes wide, mouths dry. That night, in Mahima’s bathroom, the air was heavy. Virat leaned back against the bathroom door, arms crossed, a teasing grin on his face.
“Aye, girls… before we start, remove those CSK jerseys, maga! Throw them in the dustbin — they lost, no?” Rashi gave a small pout and Mahima huffed, annoyed but resigned. Both girls pulled off their yellow jerseys slowly, now just in their bra and panties underneath, their cheeks turning a little red in embarrassment. They tossed the jerseys dramatically into the dustbin, glaring at Virat who burst out laughing. Rashi sat nervously on the chair, clutching her knees. “Please be careful, okay…” she muttered softly.
Virat gently tilted her head forward, the trimmer gliding across her thick, straight hair. Strands fell in bunches to the floor, and Rashi bit her lip, trying to hold back a tiny whimper. Soon, her scalp gleamed under the light, smooth and bald. She touched it hesitantly, giving a sad little laugh. “Oh God… I look like an egg!” she whispered, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. Then Mahima took the chair, crossing her arms tightly. “Sari, da… hurry up and finish,” she murmured, her voice low. Virat, still playful, winked.
“Aye, superstar Mahima, for you not trimmer shave its razor shave…smooth bald head coming up!” He placed the cold blade right at the center of her scalp and dragged it back in one long, slow stroke. A raw, pink strip of scalp emerged, and a thick section of curly hair dropped into her lap. Mahima gasped softly, the sound stuck in her throat. “Aiyo…” she whispered, more to herself. The next stroke came faster. Hair tumbled down the sides, each pass of the blade exposing more bare skin. Her shoulders trembled, and a tear slid silently down her cheek.
Virat paused just a second. “Don’t cry now. Bet is a bet,” he said, The blade scraped steadily, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin. Wet strands clung to her neck, her lap now full of fallen curls. “I never thought… it would really happen,” she whispered, blinking away more tears. Virat didn’t respond. He bent her head forward gently and worked on the back, dragging the blade down her nape with precision. Curl after curl slid onto the floor. Finally, he circled around her one last time, checking for missed spots, then wiped the blade clean.
Mahima sat frozen, her chest rising and falling with silent emotion. Her scalp was completely bare now, glistening under the bathroom light. Mahima didn’t answer. She slowly raised her hand and touched her head, wincing at the cold feel of skin. Her face burned in silence — a mix of shame, loss, and the sting of defeat. When both girls were done. Virat, though thrilled about RCB’s win, was gentle now, sensing the sadness in both girls. “Hey… I know it was just a game, but… this turned out bigger than we thought.” Mahima didn’t respond was still sad. Rashi shifted aside uncomfortably.
Virat looked at them. “Maga how about we just head to the bedroom and sleep together for the night? It’ll help you both relax, trust me.” Rashi hesitated, glancing at Mahima. “You want us to… sleep together after all this?” Mahima frowned, unsure. “I don’t know, Virat. It feels weird now…” Virat smiled softly, sensing their discomfort. “I get it, but it’s not about the bet anymore. Just… some peace. Let’s just lie down, no talk, no drama.” Later, all three lay together in Mahima’s big bed.
Rashi curled up on one side, Mahima on the other, both bald and still trying to accept their new look. Virat, noticing the tension in their bodies, gently pulled the blanket over them, his palm resting on their freshly bald head. Rashi and Mahima, still processing the bet, found a surprising comfort in the closeness, leaning into the warmth of his presence. With soft, quiet sighs, they settled into the moment, their fears and disappointments slowly fading away., they drifted into sleep — bound by friendship stronger than wins, losses, or even hair.
