TangleWhisperer
Chapter 3: Anjali’s Liberation
Anjali’s heart raced as she took her mother’s place on the stool. She had watched the ceremony many times before, but this was the first time she would be a part of it. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to tuck a loose strand of her rich, chestnut hair behind her ear. It had always been her pride—long, thick, and lustrous. But today, she would let it go.
The barber approached her with the same gentle smile he had given Savita. Anjali met his eyes briefly, her own filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Her daughters, Isha and Meera, stood close by, their expressions ones of quiet admiration. Anjali took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was more than just a physical act—it was a symbolic shedding of the burdens she had carried for so long.
As the barber began unbraiding her hair, Anjali felt the weight of it in her lap, each strand heavy with memories. Her hands, which had often been busy with household chores, the raising of her daughters, and the care of her family, now rested quietly on her knees. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be fully present in the moment.
The barber applied shaving cream to her scalp, his touch gentle yet purposeful. Anjali shivered as the cool cream spread across her skin. It was a strange feeling, but one that was quickly becoming familiar. When the first stroke of the razor slid across the back of her head, she gasped softly. The sound of her hair falling to the ground was like a release, and with each stroke, she felt a little lighter.
As her hair continued to fall away, Anjali found herself reflecting on her life. She had been a mother for most of it, her identity so deeply tied to the care and nurturing of others. Today, however, was about her. It was about reclaiming herself, finding the woman beneath the roles she had played for so long. Each stroke of the razor seemed to peel away layers of expectation, revealing something raw and true beneath.
When the barber moved to her eyebrows, Anjali hesitated for a moment. She had never imagined herself without them—those small arches that framed her expressive eyes. But today, she would let them go. She nodded her approval, and the barber began to shave them off. As the razor moved over her brows, Anjali felt a strange exhilaration. She looked into the mirror and saw a woman she barely recognized, but who felt more like herself than ever before.
The final part of her transformation was the underarm shave. Like her mother, Anjali felt no shame in the intimate act. She lifted her arms, exposing her underarms to the breeze. The barber applied the cream and shaved them clean, each stroke of the razor removing not just hair, but years of self-doubt and the pressures of conformity.
When it was all over, Anjali stared at her reflection. Her bare scalp gleamed in the sunlight; her face devoid of the features she had once clung to. But what she saw in the mirror was not a loss—it was freedom. She stood up, feeling lighter than she had in years, her heart filled with a quiet sense of liberation.
