Once upon a time, in a small town nestled in the heart of a picturesque country, there existed a humble barber shop. The sign outside proudly proclaimed “Hair Saloon”, as it was situated by a famous temple it attracted both locals and tourists alike.
One sunny day, a curious tourist, her strawberry blonde hair cascading down to her lower back, found herself wandering the streets, seeking to explore the area’s hidden gems. As she meandered through the enchanting alleyways, she stumbled upon Barbershop. Intrigued by the friendly smile on the barber’s face, she decided to approach.
“Namaste, welcome to my barber shop,” greeted the Barber warmly, his voice filled with hospitality. “Hello miss – You look lost, do you need any help?”
The tourist, slightly taken aback by the barber’s cordiality, replied, “No, thank you. I’m just exploring the area.”
Barber, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, instantly recognized the tourist as someone new to the town. “Ah, I see. You are a tourist, right? You must have come to see the temple. It is very famous and beautiful. Many people come here to pray and offer their hair to the gods,” he said, pointing toward the magnificent temple visible through his shop window.
Politely, the tourist replied, “Thanks, umm, I’ll be sure to visit it…” She hesitated, remembering the cautionary tales she had heard about tourist traps in this country, particularly for vulnerable young women like herself.
However, before she could make her escape, he gently took hold of her hand and invited her inside his small, slightly run-down shop. Curiosity getting the better of her, the tourist reluctantly followed.
Inside, she found herself surrounded by walls adorned with photographs of individuals sporting freshly shaved heads. Some of the people in the pictures were smiling, while others looked shocked or even saddened. Each person wore garlands of flowers around their necks and held certificates that proudly proclaimed “Certificate of Sacrifice” in both Hindi and English. To her surprise, some of the faces belonged to foreigners like herself.
“These are my customers,” he explained, pointing at the photographs with pride. “They have offered their hair to the gods at the temple. They have done a great deed and received blessings and good luck. You can be one of them too,” he added, attempting to persuade her.
The tourist, slightly unnerved by the sight of bald women in the photographs, took a step back and replied, “Oh hmm… nice… Well, uhh… I don’t think I’ll be shaving my head anytime soon. My hair’s in really good condition!” She ran her fingers through her long, untouched ponytail, cherishing its softness and length.
Captivated by the sight of her beautiful hair, he persistently tried to convince her otherwise. “Oh, but your hair is so beautiful. It would be a perfect gift for the gods. They would be very pleased with you and grant you many wishes,” he said, his eyes fixated on her luscious strawberry blonde locks.
Unconvinced, the tourist remained adamant. “How much do you charge for shaving? Is it expensive?” she inquired, hoping to dissuade the Barber with practical concerns.
Smiling falsely, he responded, “Oh, I don’t charge anything for shaving. It is a free service I offer to the devotees and tourists who want to experience the culture and religion of this place. It is my way of honoring the gods and helping the people.” In truth, he intended to profit from selling her hair to a wig factory, and her strawberry blonde locks would be worth a fortune.
Reluctantly, the tourist found herself sitting in the worn leather barber chair, her apprehension growing. She watched him drape a white towel around her neck followed by a black cape fastened snugly over her. Holding a pair of scissors, he swiftly severed her ponytail with one decisive snip, leaving her with an uneven, disheveled bob.
Her shock and regret were evident as she exclaimed, “Oh dear… my hair! You cut off so much!” Her fingers instinctively touched the shortened strands, already longing for the familiar weight of her hair cascading down her back.
But Barber, undeterred, attempted to pacify her. “Don’t worry, miss. It’s just hair. It will grow back. But the gods will be very happy with you. You have done a brave thing,” he assured her falsely. “Now, let me shave the rest of your hair. It will be quick and painless. You will feel a nice breeze on your scalp”, he said turning on the clippers and bringing them to her forehead briefing pushing them back over her head without delay, leaving a trail of stubble behind. Holding her head steady. he repeats the motion over and over, shaving off her remaining hair as it fell in large clumps onto her lap and the floor. Going over and over making sure he hadn’t missed a spot until she was completely bald.
Her once flowing locks now replaced by a smooth, shiny scalp, the tourist stared at her reflection in disbelief. Panic set in as she realized the consequences of her impulsive decision. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. This can’t be happening. I’ve lost all my hair!” she cried out in distress.
Unfazed by her distress, the Barber attempted to soothe her. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, miss. It’s okay. You are doing a great thing. You are making the gods happy. You are making yourself happy. You are freeing yourself from the burden of hair. You are becoming a new person,” he reassured her, his words dripping with deceit.
As the tourist struggled to come to terms with her newfound appearance, he eagerly presented her with a certificate that proclaimed her sacrifice, complete with her name, date, and a photograph of her newly bald self. Additionally, he adorned her with a garland of cheap, wilted flowers, claiming that it symbolized her purity and dedication to the gods.
Grateful and oblivious to his ulterior motives, the tourist accepted the certificate and garland, her face a mix of confusion and resignation. She thanked him, her fingers brushing against her smooth scalp one last time, and made her way to the temple, where she hoped to find solace and answers amidst her inner turmoil.
Bidding her farewell with feigned gratitude, his mind already counting the money he would make from selling her precious locks. He closed the door, leaving the tourist to confront her new reality.
Days turned into weeks, and the tourist’s hair began to slowly grow back into a fuzzy pelt, but the experience left an indelible mark on her soul. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret every time she glanced at her reflection, longing for the familiar feeling of her hair brushing against her back.
As she navigated the path of self-discovery, she realized that true beauty was not defined by the presence or absence of hair but by the strength and confidence that radiated from within. She learned to embrace her vulnerability and forgive herself for succumbing to the temptation of false promises.
