Scary headshave

 

The humid Kolkata air hung heavy, thick with the scent of jasmine and diesel. It usually soothed me, a familiar blanket woven from my childhood. But today, it felt like a suffocating shroud. My fingers instinctively reached for the back of my head, a phantom sensation of cascading black silk. It wasn't there. It was all gone. I am Anjali. Or rather, I was Anjali, the girl known for her hair. My hair was my identity, my pride, passed down through generations of women in my family. It flowed past my waist, thick and lustrous, the kind of hair that drew gasps of admiration and envious glances. Amma used to say it held the stories of our ancestors, woven into each strand. Now, it held nothing but the ghost of memories. It started subtly, a creeping unease I initially dismissed as paranoia. Lakshmi, our family's long-time servant, had always been… present. She’d been with us since I was a child, a permanent fixture in our lives. She cooked, cleaned, and ran errands, her face etched with a perpetual frown that I assumed was just her nature. But lately, her gaze lingered a beat too long when I wore my hair down. Her compliments, once infrequent, became almost daily, dripping with a syrup-sweetness that left a bitter taste in my mouth. "Your hair is truly blessed, Anjali-di," she’d say, her eyes glinting in a way that made me shiver. I confided in Amma, but she brushed it off. "Lakshmi is just getting old, Anjali. Don't read too much into it. She's been with us for years, like family." Family. The word stuck in my throat. Family doesn’t make you feel like prey. The day it happened is etched into my memory with excruciating clarity. It was a Tuesday, the day Lakshmi traditionally went to the market. Amma was out visiting her sister, and I was home alone, studying for my upcoming law exams. The house felt eerily quiet, the usual cacophony of Kolkata muted to a low hum. Lakshmi returned earlier than expected, her face flushed, her eyes darting nervously. “Anjali-di,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s a… a problem with the pipes in the bathroom. The plumber needs to see it, and he needs you to move some things.” It seemed strange – Lakshmi always handled these things. But I was distracted, my mind tangled in legal jargon. I followed her to the bathroom, the cool tiles a welcome contrast to the humid air. That's when it happened. As I bent down to move a basket of laundry, a cloth was thrown over my head, thick and suffocating. I screamed, a muffled cry swallowed by the fabric. Strong hands pinned my arms behind my back. Panic exploded in my chest, a frantic bird beating against its cage. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but I was no match for their combined strength. I felt a cold, metallic object press against my scalp. The horrifying realization dawned on me a split second before the first snip. A jagged, uneven cut, close to my scalp. Then another, and another, each snip a violation, a piece of me being ripped away. The smell of cut hair filled the air, a sickly sweet odor that I can still taste in my nightmares. Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent beneath the cloth. I was helpless, completely vulnerable. The assault felt like an eternity, but it was probably only minutes. Finally, the cloth was ripped away, and I stumbled back, gasping for air. I stood there, blinking in the dim light, my hands flying to my head. My fingers met smooth, bare skin. My hair was gone. All of it. Shaved off, leaving me with a raw, stinging scalp. I looked up, my vision blurred with tears, and saw Lakshmi standing before me, scissors clutched in her hand, her face twisted into a grotesque mask of triumph and… pity? Behind her stood a burly man, his face hidden behind a cheap surgical mask. He reeked of cheap cigarettes and fear. He wouldn't meet my eyes. “Why?” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. “Why, Lakshmi?” She didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on my bare scalp. Then, she spoke, her voice low and venomous. “For years, I have lived in your shadow, Anjali-di. Watched you parade around with your precious hair, your pretty clothes, your perfect life. Looked at your Amma favouring you, praising you. I had to work for every scrap, every kind word. You got everything handed to you on a silver platter. This... this is what you deserve.” She spat on the floor at my feet. The man behind her shifted uncomfortably. He clearly hadn’t signed up for this emotional mess. “Your hair was your power, Anjali-di. Now you have nothing.” Then, she was gone. She and the man melted back into the bustling streets of Kolkata, leaving me alone in the bathroom, stripped bare, both physically and emotionally. The police investigation was a joke. Lakshmi had disappeared without a trace. The man was never identified. The police filed it as a petty crime, a domestic dispute gone wrong. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. It wasn’t just about the hair. It was about power, about envy, about a deep-seated resentment that had festered for years. I spent weeks locked in my room, refusing to see anyone. The shame was overwhelming. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like a broken doll. My Amma tried to comfort me, but her words felt hollow, inadequate. She couldn't comprehend the violation, the raw, gaping wound that had been inflicted upon my soul. Eventually, the tears dried up. The initial shock gave way to a burning anger. I was a law student, for God's sake. I wasn't going to let Lakshmi’s act define me. I wouldn't let her win. I started wearing scarves, elaborate silk creations that hid my bald head. It was a shield, a way to reclaim some semblance of control. I threw myself into my studies, fueled by a relentless desire to prove myself, to prove her wrong. My anger sharpened my focus, honed my legal skills. I became a force to be reckoned with, a passionate advocate for the voiceless. I found strength in my vulnerability, in the knowledge that I had survived a brutal attack and emerged stronger, more resilient. Years have passed. My hair has grown back, not as long or as thick as it once was, but it is mine. I still wear scarves sometimes, a reminder of what happened, a symbol of my resilience. I know Lakshmi is out there somewhere, living with the consequences of her actions. And I know that one day, I will find her. Not for revenge, but for justice. Because what she did was more than just cutting hair. It was an act of violence, a violation of my very being. And I will not rest until she is held accountable. I am Anjali. And I am more than my hair. I am a survivor. And I will have my justice.

Telugu Headshave story

 

 

 Hi, na peru Seema. nenu mba chesthunnanu. ma intlo nenu ma chelli (Abhignya) btech 3rd year chaduvuthundhi, thammudu (Ravi 10th class) inka amma. memu vizag lo untam. nenu mba hyd lo hostel lo undi chaduvukutunna. nanna chanipoyi 4 years aythundhi. oche nela tho 4 years avthadhi, okaroju call amma call chesi next ,pmth holidays unte 10th ki ala intiki ra manam andharam uriki vellali ani anindhi ha sare ani 7th ki ticket book cheskoni intiki vellenu. intiki velli rest thiskoni evng samayamlo amma intiki ocheka kasepu matladukoni inka asalu endhuku rammani cheppev ani adigenu. andhukani amma adha cheppaledhu kadha niku manam 10th na tirupati ki velthunnam ani anindhi nenu normal ga ne anukunna chelli inka avna amma manam chala years ayyindhi kadha tirupati ki vellindhi ani anindhi, danitho amma ha avunu mi nanna garu unnappudu vellem adhi kuda Seema 10th lo unnappudu ani cheppindhi. naku baaga gurthu nenu last time tirupati ki vellinappudu nenu inka thammudu gundu cheyinchukunnam ani cheppi navvukunnam nenu ravi. amma inka ha avnu adhe mana last tirupati ki vellinapppudu ah tharvatha manam vellaledhu. e sari kuda adhe cheyabuthunnam kani e sari andharam gundu cheyinchukuntunnam ani anindhi. daniki chelli inka nenu enti amma ila gundu anutunnav asal endhuku amma ila antunnav ani chelli edsindhi btech inka avvaledhu ippudu gundu antav enti gundu lo clg ki ela vellali nenu gundu cheyinchukonu ani anindhi, dnaiki amma thappu abhi idhi nanna garidhi mokku undipoyindhi. monna athayya garu gurthuchesevaraku naku kuda gurthu raledhu ani amma cheppindhi. nenu inka nanna mokku enti amma ani adigenu daniki amma avnu ra nanna okasari natho kuda annaru ila tirupati ki velli manam andharam thalanilalu idham ani mokkukunnanu andharam bagunnam kadha ippudu ani nenu kuda sare aythe ani anukunna inka appudu athayya ki kuda chepperu mi nanna kani ah tharvatha nanna leru inka nenu kuda marchipoya monna athayya mokku dhi gurthuchesevaraku gurthu raledhu thalli ani amma cheppindhi. inka nenu emi analeka sare aythe chesedhi em undhi ani anukunna inka ravi baaga navvi saripoyindhi e sari nadhi Seema akka dhe aythe kaddhu andharidhi gunde ani abhi ni ekkiristha unnadu. ah roju sayantram andharam baytaki velli restaurant lo dinner chesi intiki osthunnappudu amma ni adigenu mari tickets inka akkada stay dhi ela amma ani daniki amma tickets already sathya babai book cheseru rooms dhi akkada okari phn number icheru akkadiki velleka call cheyali nuvvu ani annaru nenu sare ani intiki ochem. 10th na babai tickets book chesina prakaram ga memmu station ki velli tirupati ki start ayyem. tirupati ki podhunne 6 ki reach ayyemu. tirupati konda paiki bus lo ne vellipoyem 8:30 ki ala konda paiki reach ayyem. inka babai ichina contact person ki call chesi room gurinchi matladem inka athanu oka place cheppi akkada wait cheyandi osthunna ani chepperu memu akkada 9:30 varaku wait chesthe oka athanu ochi amma tho matladi keys inka konni papers ichedu. inka athanu vellipoye samayamlo athanu amma thalanilalu iche mokku undha evarikaina? room deggerake managali ni pampinchana ani adigeru? daniki amma ha mokku undhi kani room deggeriki odhu le memu kalyanakatta ki velli samarpinchukuntam ani anindhi. sare ani athanu vellipoyedu inka abhi amma tho endhukamma ala annav room deggerike aythe baguntadhi kadha ala andhari mundhu chepinchukodam kodhiga ibandhi ani oppinchindhi nenu kuda abhi ki support ga ravadam tho amma malli athaniki phn chesi mangali ni pampinchandi room deggeriki ani cheppi ohone cut chesindhi. inka memu room ki velli kastha relax avtha unnam. oka 1hour lo door bell ring ayyindhi nenu door open chesi chusthe oka athanu nunchoni unnadu, nenu inka athanitho evaru andi evar kavali ani annanu daniki athanu mangali ni room ki pampamani chepperu anta kadha ah mangali ni nene ani annadu nenu inka athanini lopaliki pilichi amma ki cheppenu. amma mangali tho atu kurchondi ani cheppi lopaliki vellindhi. mangali door ki konchem duram ga kurchoni thana bag lo nunchi kathera razor balde duvvena inka konni samanlu thisi pakkana pettukoni amma konchem water thiskoni osthara ani cheppedu. amma nannu thisellamani cheppi ravi ni velli kurchomani cheppindhi. ravi inka velli kurchunnadu thana shirt thiseyamani abhi ante sare ani shirt thisesi kurchunnadu. nenu velli water ichi pakkane nunchoni unnanu ravi na vaipu chusi navvedu nenu kuda chinna smile ichi chustha unna. mangali ravi thala ni mundhuku onchi razor tho gikadam modaletteru, oka 3 nimishallo ravi thala motham gundu aypoyindhi. inka ravi lesi na vaipu ochedu nenu vadi bujala paina thala paina antukunna juttu ni thisthu unna inka mangali ravi kurchunna place motham juttu tho undadam tho ah juttu ni side jaripi amma tho tharvatha evaramma ani adigedu, amma abhi vaipu chusi velli kurcho ani anindhi kani abhi na vaipu chusi nu vellava first ani cheppindhi, nenu sare ani mangali mundhu kurchunna mangali mudu katherla ani adige lope amma andhariki gunde ani cheppindhi inka appatike chethilo unna katherulu pakkana petti na juttu ni rondu bagalu chesi rubber bands tho mudi esedu. inka water tho massage cheyadam start chesedu oka 2 minutes ki water dropplets motham na thala pai nundi na mokalla pai padtha unnay nenu kallu thuduchukoni unna inka mangali thana razor thiskoni blade marchi na thala paina petti govindha anuko amma ani annadu nenu govindha ani anukunna inka oka sound sshhrrkkk sshhrrkkk sshhrrkkk ani ah razor strokes tho thala paina chala challaga anipinchindhi ala straight la oka line lo challaga anipinchindhi inka na thala ni left side ki thippi gekadam modalettedu kodhiga manta ga anipinchina kani chala challaga okesari anipinchindhi inka kodhisepatiki right side thala thippi razor tho strokes modalettedu oka 2 minutes lo ala na bujala paina motham juttu undi amma na juttu ni thisesi na thala paina cheyyi petti rudhuthu chavula deggera kodhiga hair migili poyindhi ani mangali tho cheppindhi mangali malli okasari gekadam moddalupetti gundu motham oka round razor tho strokes ichedu inka nenu lesi nunchunna ravi inka abhi na moham chusi navvi bagunnav gundu lo ani chepperu inthalo amma thana juttu ni thadupu koni mangali mundhu kurchundhi, inka mangali amma jada ni rondu bagaluga vibadhisi rubber bands petti thala ni konchem kindhaki bend chesedu. managali thana razor thiskoni gundu giyadam modalettedu. madhya nunchi kindhaki 3-4 strokes chesedu ala oka centre nunchi oka line lo juttu lekunda undhi. nidhanamga left side thala thippi razor tho atu itu goragadam tho juttu motham amma bujala paina left side padipoyindhi alane left side thippi strokes tho motham juttu clean ga gorigedu. inka amma gundu aypoyindhi ani mangali cheppi levandi ani annadu, amma nannu inka abhi ni okasari chudandi juttu motham thiseseda ani nenu inka ravi amma gundu rudhuthu chustha unnam inka abhi ni velli kurcho ani cheppem. abhi ma muggurini gundu lo chusi konchem dhairyam cheskoni santhosam ga mangali mundhu kurchundhi. amma abhi ni tension avvaku oka 5 nimishalle devudike isthunnav santhosham ga ivvu ani cheppindhi abhi inka kallu muskoni bayapadthu undhi inka mangali razor lo blade marchi juttu ni water tho thadipi baaga massage chesi inka razor thiskoni centre lo petti start chesthunna tension avvaku ani cheppedu sare ani anindhi kallu muskoni. inka mangali razor tho modati stroke gisedu inka ventane kodhiga shock la anipinchi thala ni side ki atu itu thippindhi mangali gundu cheyadam aapesedu, amma abhi ni kadhalaku malli gatlu padthay ani anindhi inka mangali slow ga gundu cheyadam start chesedu ala left side motham juttu motham kindha mokkala paina padi undhi inka mangali thalani right side ki thippedu right side juttu ni thiyadaniki, appude inka abhi thana eyes ni open chesi nannu chosindhi nenu thanani ala sagam gundu lo chusi navvenu abhi kuda navvi eyes close chesindhi inka mangali thana pani modalupetti oka 2 nimishallo right side kuda gisesedu. amma mangali ni motham inkosari goragandi ani cheppindhi sare amma ani abhi gundu ni motham malli razor tho strokes thisi aypoyindhi ani annadu inka abhi lesi juttu motham thana dress paina unnavi kindhaki esindhi. inka mangali motham naluguri juttu ni collect cheskoni oka pedha cover lo eskoni lesedu inka amma mangaliki 2000 ichi andhariki baga gundu giseru ani cheppi thanks ani cheppi pampinchindhi. inka andharam snanam chesi ready ayyi andhari gundu chuskuntu rudhukuntu aadukunnam. inka darsanam time ki start ayyem. darsanam ki 4 hrs pattindhi kani darsanam matram chala baaga jarigindhi. darsanam aypoyi room ki thirigi ochi next year kuda tirupati ki odham ani abhi cheppindhi. amma sare ani anindhi inka ravi next year kuda gundu cheskuntava ani annadu ha ani cheppindhi abhi. inka memu early morning lesi kindhaki start ayyi return aypoyem.

Headshave by lover

यह पिछली रात की बात है। मैं घर जा रहा था जब मुझे याद आया कि मुझे बाल कटवाने थे। तभी मैंने देखा सीमा की नाई की दुकान खुली थी। वह मेरी पड़ोसी भी थी। मैं उसकी दुकान में गया। वहाँ वह हमेशा की तरह खूबसूरत दीख थी। उसने मुस्कुरा कर मुझे अंदर बुलाया । मैंने भी उसी अंदाज में जवाब दिया और अंदर चला गया । फिर मैं जाकर कुर्सी पर बैठ गया। वह मेरे करीब आई और पूछा, और बताओ आज क्या करना है, शेव या बाल कटवाने है ? मैं आईने में देखते हुए बोला कि मैं कुछ नए लुक के बारे में सोच रहा था, क्या आप मेरी मदद कर सकते हैं? वह मेरे पीछे खड़ी हो गई और मेरे सिर को अपने हाथों के बीच पकड़ लिया, और बाएं और फिर दाएं मुड़ी। फिर उसने कहा कि एक लुक है, लेकिन हो सकता है मुझे वह पसंद न आए। मैंने उससे पूछा वह क्या है? उसने कहा टकले हो जाओ । मैं थोड़ा उलझन में पड गया , इसलिए मैंने उससे फिर पूछा, तुमने क्या कहा? उसने कहा तुम्हे एक बार टकला करवा लेना चाहिए । मैं थोड़ा घबराया हुआ था क्योंकि मैंने कभी अपना सिर नहीं मुंडवाया था , और मुझे नहीं पता था कि यह कैसा दिखूंगा। उसने फिर पूछा, तो तुम क्या कहते हो? मैंने कहा, अगर यह मैं टकला करवाके अच्छा नहीं देखा तो क्या होगा। उसने मुझे बताया कि उसे पता है कौनसा लुक किस पर अच्छा लगेगा । कुछ मिनट की हिचकिचाहट के बाद, मैं सहमत हो गया। उसने एक सफेद केप लिया और इसे मेरे चारों ओर लपेट दिया। फिर उसने मेरे सिर पर पानी छिड़कना शुरू कर दिया ताकि वे गीले हो जाएं। मैंने उससे पूछा कि क्या वह पहले मेरे बाल काटने वाली है। उसने जवाब दिया नहीं सीधे टकला करुँगी । फिर उसने एक उस्तरा लिया और मेरे सामने खडी होकर बोली टकला करवाने के बाद तुम्हारे बाल और भी अच्छे आयेंगे । फिर उसने उस्तरे पर पहले डेट्रोल से साफ किया और फिर इसमें नया आधा ब्लेड लोड करली । अब मेरा टकला होने का समय आगय था अब उसका उस्तरा मेरे सिर के ऊपर था। उसने धीरे से उस्तरे को मेरे सर उपपर से नीचे की ओर सरकाया। फिर दूसरा स्ट्रोक किया। जल्द ही मुझे टकले हुए जगह पर एक अजीब सी सनसनी महसूस होने लगी। मैं हवा को अपने टकले सिर को छूते और ठंडक महसूस कर सकता था। सीमा ने कहा, तो कैसा लग रहा है, क्या तुम्हें हवा और ठंडक महसूस हो रही है? मैंने फिर से अपना सिर हिलाया। वह हंसी और बाकी हिस्से को शेव करना जारी रखा। बाल जमीन पर गिर रहे थे और दुकान के चारों ओर रेजर की खरोंचने की आवाज आ रही थी। अब मैं पीछे से पूरी तरह टकला हो चुका था। अब सामने के हिस्से की बारी थी। वह अभी भी मेरे पीछे खड़ी थी। उसने मेरा सिर उठाया और उसी जगह पर उस्तरा रखा, जहां से उसने मेरे सिर के पिछले हिस्से को शेव किया था। रेजर को आगे की ओर धकेला। कुछ स्ट्रोक के बाद, बालों का एक बड़ा ढेर मेरे सिर पर से लुढ़क नीचे आ गिरा मैं अपने चिकने मुंडे सिर को देख रहा था । फिर उसने मेरे टकले सिर को रगड़कर मेरे सिर से मुंडे बालों को झाड़ दिया। फिर उसने हेयर ब्लोअर लिया और मेरे सिर पर गर्म हवा फूंकना शुरू कर दिया। मैंने उससे पूछा कि वह ऐसा क्यों कर रही है? मेरे सिर पर कोई बाल नहीं है। उसने कहा कि ये करने से तुम्हारे टकले के छेद खुल जाएंगे । फिर उसने थोड़ा तेल लिया और इसे मेरी टकले पर लगाना शुरू कर दिया। तेल मेरे टकले को औरभी चिकना कर रहा था और, उसके हाथ मेरे टकले पर बहुत तेज़ी से घूम रहे थे। वह एहसास लुभावनी था। फिर उसने शफद कपडा मुज पर से निकल दिया और कहा, मैंने तुमसे कहा था तुम टकले होकर बहुत सुंदर दिखोगे। मैंने जवाब दिया, हां यह अच्छा लग रहा है है। फिर उसने कहा कि अब जब मैं टकला हो गया हूं, तो वह मुझे टोपी पहने हुए नहीं देखना चाहती। मुझे अपने टकले को खुला ही रखना है घूमना है । मैंने हंसते हुए वह से चला गया । अगले दिन मौसम बहुत गर्म है , इसलिए मैंने टोपी पहनी और कुछ खरीदने चला गया। लेकिन, आज का दिन मेरे लिए इतना अच्छा नहीं था। मैंने देखा कि स्टोर में सीमा सैंडिंग मुझे गुस्से से घूर रही थी। मैं उसके पास गया और पूछा, क्या हुआ? उसने मुझे अनदेखा किया और आगे बढ़ गई। मैं उसके पीछे गया और उससे फिर पूछा, क्या हुआ? कम से कम मुझे तो बताओ। वह रुकी और मेरी तरफ देखा और बोली, मैंने तुमसे कहा था कि टोपी मत पहनो, फिर यह तुम्हारे सिर पर क्या कर रही है। मैंने उससे कहा कि आज बहुत गर्मी है, इसलिए मैंने अपने टकले को गर्मी से बचाने के लिए टोपी पहन ली। उसने कहा कि मैंने तुमसे कहा था कि अगर मैं तुम्हें टोपी में देखूंगी, तो मैं तुम्हे फिर से टकला करदूंगी । मुझे लग रहा था कि वह बहुत जिद्दी है, तो उसका मन रख ने के लिए मैंने उससे कहा कि ठीक है, यह मेरी गलती थी। जैसा तुमने कहा, मैं अपना टकला फिर से करवा लूंगा । वह मुस्कुराई और मुझे गले लगा लिया। फिर हमने खरीदारी की और अपने घर की ओर चल पड़े। घर जाते समय उसने कहा, क्या तुम तुम मेरे दुकान पर अभी चलोगे या शाम को आओगे । मैंने उससे कहा कि मैं थका हुआ हूँ और पहले थोड़ा आराम करना चाहता हूँ। उसने कहा कि वह मेरी मदद कर सकती है। मैंने उत्सुकता से उसकी ओर देखा। पहिए उसने मुझे अपने घर मे बुलाया । उसने कहा कि वह मुझे आज घर मैं ही टकला करेगी और मैं वहाँ आराम भी कर सकता हूँ। मैं मना करना चाहता था, लेकिन मैं मना नहीं कर सका। अगले ही मिनट मैं उसके लिविंग रूम में था और वह मेरे सामने खडी थी उस्तरा लिए ।

Head shaved by two girls - Headshave

 

The knock was soft, almost hesitant, but insistent enough to pull me away from the flickering blue light of the television. I was halfway through a mediocre Bollywood action flick, the kind you watch on a Friday night when ordering takeout is your only plan. Peering through the peephole, my eyes widened a fraction. It was them. The Sharma sisters, Priya and Neha.

Priya was the elder, with a smile that could melt Himalayan snow and eyes that held a spark of mischievousness. Neha, younger by a couple of years, was quieter, more observant, but possessed a sharp wit that could catch you off guard. They lived two floors above me, and while we’d exchanged pleasantries in the elevator and corridors, we weren't exactly friends. Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, I opened the door.

“Hey Rohan,” Priya greeted me, her smile dazzling, “Hope we aren’t disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” I replied, a tad too quickly perhaps. “Everything okay?”

Neha stepped forward, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. “Actually, we were wondering if you could help us with something. It’s a bit… unusual.” Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but there was an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.

My curiosity, always a weakness, was piqued. “Unusual? Sure, come in.”

They stepped inside, the scent of their jasmine perfume filling my small apartment. Priya placed the box on my coffee table. It looked old, almost antique, with brass hinges and a faint, musty smell emanating from it.

“We found this in the building’s storage room,” Neha explained, opening the box. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay a straight razor. It wasn’t just any razor; it looked like something out of a period film. Gleaming steel, an ebony handle inlaid with silver. It was beautiful and unsettling at the same time.

“Wow,” I breathed, reaching out to touch it. “That’s… antique, isn’t it?”

Priya’s smile faltered slightly. “Yes, we think so. And… we were hoping you could help us with it.” She paused, exchanging a look with Neha. “We… we want to try shaving someone with it.”

My brain stuttered. Shaving someone? With that? And why me? I laughed nervously. “You want to shave…who?”

Neha’s gaze met mine, holding an unnerving seriousness. “You, Rohan.”

The laughter died in my throat. “Me? Why me? And… why with a straight razor? Have you even used one of these before? They're dangerous!”

Priya’s smile returned, but this time it didn't reach her eyes. “Relax, Rohan. It will be fine. We just… we have this strange fascination with straight razors. And we thought, since we know you live alone…” her voice trailed off suggestively.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. This wasn’t a request; it was something else. Something… calculated. I looked from Priya’s unnervingly bright eyes to Neha’s quiet, intense stare. Something in their demeanor had shifted. The friendly neighbors were gone, replaced by… what? Something colder, more predatory.

“I… I don’t think so,” I stammered, backing away slightly. “I’m not really comfortable with that.”

Priya advanced, her voice hardening, losing all its earlier sweetness. “It’s not a request, Rohan. It’s… an opportunity for you to be helpful to your neighbors.” Her eyes glinted. “Or, perhaps you’d prefer we share a few… interesting details about your online dating profile with everyone in the building? Including your parents?”

My blood ran cold. My dating profile. It wasn’t scandalous, but it was… personal. And my parents? They were traditional, judgmental. The thought of them seeing any of it… the minor fibs about my career, the slightly more adventurous picture choices… it was mortifying. My reputation in the building, already fragile as a single, slightly awkward guy, would be shattered. And my parents… they would never understand.

I swallowed hard. “What… what details?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Neha stepped forward, holding the razor. The steel glinted under the apartment’s overhead light. It suddenly looked less like an antique and more like a weapon. “Don’t worry about the details, Rohan,” she said softly, but her voice was laced with steel. “Just sit. It will be over quickly.”

Priya pushed me gently but firmly towards the chair facing the television. My legs felt like lead. I wanted to shout, to fight, to run. But something in their eyes, in their coordinated movements, told me resistance was futile, possibly even dangerous. They were serious. They were going to do this.

I slumped into the chair, my heart hammering against my ribs. Priya produced a towel from somewhere and draped it around my shoulders. Neha, with unnerving calmness, started lathering shaving cream in a small bowl. The scent of sandalwood filled the air, a stark contrast to the fear gripping me.

As Neha started applying the cream to my hair, Priya stood behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, almost comforting, which made it all the more disturbing. “Just relax, Rohan,” she murmured in my ear, her voice deceptively soothing. “It’s just hair. It will grow back.”

But it wasn’t just about the hair. It was about the violation, the helplessness, the sheer bizarre nature of the situation. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.

Neha approached, holding the straight razor. The blade was exposed, gleaming, impossibly sharp. My breath hitched. I closed my eyes, bracing myself.

The cold steel touched my scalp. A shiver ran down my spine. The first stroke was hesitant, then more confident. The sound of hair being sliced filled the small room. Snip… snip… snip… Each sound was a nail in the coffin of my dignity.

I felt the hair falling around me, tickling my ears, my neck. My meticulously styled hair, the one thing I actually took pride in, was being systematically removed by these two… strangers. Neighbors, yes, but now they felt utterly alien.

Tears streamed down my face, unchecked, silent sobs wracking my body. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, unable to bear witness to my own humiliation. I could feel the cold air on my scalp as more and more hair was shaved away.

I heard them whispering to each other occasionally, words I couldn’t quite make out. Were they enjoying this? Were they laughing at me? The thought was unbearable.

The shaving went on, and on. It felt like an eternity. Each scrape of the razor against my scalp was a fresh wave of shame and fear. I was completely vulnerable, stripped bare in more ways than one.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the scraping stopped. Neha stepped back, and Priya removed the towel. I kept my eyes closed, afraid to see, afraid to face the reality of what they had done.

“Okay, all done,” Priya said, her voice sounding almost… normal. “See? Not so bad, right?”

I finally opened my eyes, blinking through the tears. I didn’t dare look in the mirror.

Neha placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Remember what we said, Rohan,” she said softly, her voice laced with a clear warning. “Keep quiet. Don’t tell anyone about this. And we’ll keep your little secrets safe.”

They turned and walked towards the door, leaving the wooden box and the towel on the coffee table. Before Priya stepped out, she paused at the doorway, turned back, and gave me a chillingly sweet smile. “Goodnight, Rohan. Sleep well… or don’t.”

Then they were gone.

Silence descended on my apartment, heavy and suffocating. I finally dared to look in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me – a bald, tear-streaked face, eyes wide with shock and humiliation. Shaved hair lay scattered everywhere – on the floor, on the chair, on the coffee table. A stark, physical testament to what had just happened.

I sat there for a long time, numb, the tears continuing to flow. Why me? Why this? What had I done to deserve this? The questions swirled in my head, unanswered, adding to the growing sense of unease.

The mystery wasn’t just why they had done this, but who these women really were. The Sharma sisters, my neighbors, had just revealed a dark, unsettling side. And I was left alone, bald, humiliated, and trapped in their bizarre, terrifying game. My reputation, my peace of mind, my very sense of self… all shaved away, just like my hair. And the silence they demanded felt less like an agreement and more like a life sentence in their shadow. The Friday night movie on the television flickered on, a mocking reminder of the normal evening that had been so brutally, irrevocably stolen from me.

Priya and Neha shaved my head bald

 

The knock was light, almost hesitant, but insistent enough to pull me away from the muted chaos of the news channel. I was just settling into my Friday evening ritual – instant noodles and questionable political debates – when it came. Frowning, I padded to the door of my small apartment, glancing through the peephole first.

Two faces stared back, framed in the distorted fisheye lens. Priya and Neha. They lived two floors above me, and while we weren’t friends, we were apartment-building-acquaintances. Pleasant nods in the elevator, the occasional forced smile when taking out the trash at the same time. Beautiful, both of them. Priya with her sharp, intelligent eyes and Neha possessing a softer, more approachable smile that could melt glaciers. Or so I thought.

I unlatched the door, a polite, “Hey, everything alright?” forming on my lips. Before I could even finish the sentence, Priya was inside, her hand snaking out to grip my wrist with surprising strength. Neha followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot in the sudden tension that filled my small living room.

“We need to talk, Rohan,” Priya said, her voice low, almost a purr, but the intensity in her eyes was anything but gentle. Neha stood beside her, equally unsmiling, holding a small, innocuous-looking bag.

“Talk? About what?” My confusion was quickly morphing into unease. This wasn’t a casual Friday evening chat request. Something was off. Very off.

Priya released my wrist, but the grip had left a cold imprint. She moved further into the room, her gaze sweeping over my bachelor pad setup – the slightly stained couch, the stack of books precariously balanced on the coffee table, the half-eaten bag of chips on the side table.

“About you, Rohan,” Neha said, her voice softer than Priya’s, but no less firm. She placed the bag on the coffee table with a quiet thud. “And about something you need to do.”

My heart started to thump a little harder against my ribs. “I… I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Priya smirked, a chilling, unfamiliar expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, you’ll understand soon enough. Neha, show him.”

Neha unzipped the bag. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, was a straight razor. The cold steel glinted under the dim apartment light, sharp and menacing. My breath hitched. A straight razor? What in the world…?

“We know about your… little online escapades, Rohan,” Priya continued, her voice dripping with disdain. My online escapades? What was she talking about? I occasionally played online chess, and I liked to browse Reddit, but nothing… nothing untoward. Or so I thought. A cold dread began to crawl up my spine.

“We know about the forums, Rohan,” Neha elaborated, her gaze unwavering. “The ones where you… express your… appreciation for certain… hairstyles. And the comments you leave. We’ve seen them.”

My blood ran cold. Suddenly, fragmented memories, forgotten posts from late-night browsing, lurked in the shadows of my mind. Stupid, impulsive comments on obscure forums about… about women’s hairstyles? I’d been careless, thought it was anonymous, harmless. Clearly, I was wrong.

“And we don’t appreciate them, Rohan,” Priya stepped closer, her voice now a silken threat. “We find them… disturbing. And frankly, a little pathetic.”

Humiliation washed over me, hot and stinging. I opened my mouth to protest, to deny, to justify, but the words caught in my throat. I knew, instinctively, that whatever I said would only make things worse.

Neha picked up the straight razor, running a delicate finger along its honed edge. “We think you need a… change, Rohan. A significant one.” She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes – not just coldness, but something almost… amused?

“We think,” Priya said, her voice leaving no room for argument, “that you need a headshave, Rohan. Right here. Right now.”

My mind reeled. A headshave? They were serious? “No,” I managed to croak, my voice barely a whisper. “No, you can’t… you can’t do that.”

Priya’s smirk widened. “Oh, we can, Rohan. And we will. Unless…” She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “Unless you want everyone in this building, maybe even your workplace, to know about your… online habits. We have screenshots, Rohan. Lots of them. And they’re quite… revealing.”

The blood drained from my face. My reputation. My job. Everything I had worked for… threatened by a few stupid, ill-considered online comments. They had me cornered. Completely, utterly cornered.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It wasn’t just the humiliation, it was the sheer helplessness of the situation. Two women, beautiful, confident, wielding a straight razor and the threat of social annihilation. Against me, a meek, introverted guy who just wanted to be left alone.

“Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Please don’t do this. I’ll delete everything. I’ll stop. Anything. Just… please.”

Priya’s expression remained unmoved. “It’s too late for that, Rohan. The lesson needs to be taught. And learned.” She gestured towards the couch. “Sit down, Rohan.”

My legs felt like lead, but I obeyed. I sank onto the worn cushions, my body trembling. Neha moved behind me, and I felt her hands gently but firmly turn my head, exposing the back of my neck. The cold steel of the razor touched my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Are you going to struggle, Rohan?” Priya asked, her voice soft, almost conversational, but the threat was implicit in every syllable.

I closed my eyes, hot tears now streaming down my face. Struggle? What was the point? They had won. They had broken me. “No,” I whispered, my voice choked with sobs. “No, I won’t struggle.”

The first stroke of the razor was surprisingly gentle, a cold, slick slide across my scalp. Then the pulling started, the whisper of steel slicing through hair, the faint scratching sound amplified in the oppressive silence of the room. Strands of my hair, strands of my identity, falling away onto the floor.

Neha worked with a methodical precision that was almost terrifying. Priya watched, her expression unreadable, her eyes fixed on me. Each stroke of the razor was a fresh wave of humiliation, a physical manifestation of my powerlessness. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation, the sound, the reality of what was happening.

The minutes stretched into an eternity. The cold air on my scalp grew more pronounced as more hair was removed. The sound of the razor, once sharp and distinct, became a dull, monotonous drone. My tears flowed freely, silent sobs racking my body.

I felt the gentle tugging on my ears as Neha worked around them. The back of my neck grew colder and colder. The weight of my hair, a weight I hadn’t even realized I carried, was being lifted, piece by piece. Replaced by nothing but the chilling air and the cold, hard reality of my utter defeat.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Neha stepped back. “Done,” she announced, her voice devoid of emotion.

I kept my eyes closed, unable to face the sight, unable to face them. I could feel the air on my completely bare scalp. It felt alien, exposed, vulnerable.

Priya stepped closer, her shadow falling over me. “Look at us, Rohan.”

Slowly, reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Priya and Neha stood before me, their expressions still unreadable. Neha was wiping the razor clean with a tissue. Priya simply stared at me, her gaze piercing.

“Remember this, Rohan,” she said, her voice low and serious now. “Remember this feeling. And remember to think before you act. Online and offline. Some things have consequences.”

She turned and walked towards the door, Neha following, the bag with the razor tucked under her arm. They paused at the threshold.

“Don’t worry,” Priya said, a ghost of her earlier smirk returning. “We won’t tell anyone. As long as you remember your lesson. And stay quiet.”

Then they were gone. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the deafening silence of my apartment.

I sat there, on the couch, for a long time. The air around me was thick with the scent of shaved hair. I could feel the stubble on my scalp, rough and unfamiliar. I finally dared to look around. My living room was covered in a carpet of dark hair, a stark, tangible testament to what had just happened.

Looking down at my reflection in the dark screen of the turned-off television, I saw a stranger staring back. A bald, tear-streaked stranger. The humiliation, the fear, the powerlessness – it was all still raw, still fresh. And the tears started again, hot and heavy, as I finally understood the full extent of my vulnerability, and the chilling reality of the lesson I had just been forced to learn. I was alone, bald, and utterly broken, in a room filled with the remnants of my stolen hair and the echoes of their chilling laughter.

Accidental headshave of a young woman

 

The scent of sandalwood and jasmine hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the cold dread creeping into my bones. My reflection stared back, a fractured version of myself, pale and trembling, framed by the ornate mirror of the salon. Just moments ago, I'd been Priya, a young woman with waist-length, raven-black hair, the pride of my family, a source of endless compliments. Now… Now I was just a scalp, raw and exposed.

It had been a simple request: a trim. A slight layering, to add some movement to my usually straight hair. I’d been so excited for my cousin’s wedding, eager to look my best. I’d chosen this salon, “Rani’s Beauty Emporium,” based on its glowing reviews and the promise of experienced stylists. I trusted them implicitly. How could I not?

The stylist, a woman whose name I now struggle to remember, had seemed competent enough. Her hands were quick, deft, nimble with the shears. The conversation flowed easily – weddings, families, the relentless Mumbai heat. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the familiar comfort of a hair salon, the ritual of pampering.

Then, the horrifying screech. A sound so sharp and piercing it cut through the pleasantries, silencing the gentle hum of the salon. I flinched, opening my eyes to a scene of utter chaos. The stylist, her face ashen, stood frozen, a straight razor clutched limply in her hand. My hair, my beautiful, long hair, lay scattered on the floor like dark, shimmering confetti. My scalp felt raw, burning, exposed.

“I… I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored my own. The other stylists rushed forward, their faces a mask of shocked disbelief. I didn't hear their hushed words, didn't see their frantic gestures. All I saw was the stark reality of my reflection – a smooth, pale skull gleaming under the harsh salon lights. Completely bald.

The initial shock gave way to a wave of nausea. My breath hitched in my throat. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. It wasn't just the loss of my hair; it was the loss of a part of myself, a part of my identity. In India, a woman's hair is not just hair; it's a symbol of beauty, femininity, and family heritage. My hair was my heritage, a legacy passed down through generations. Now, it was gone. Vanished.

The salon owner, a formidable woman with a perpetually stern expression, arrived, her face almost as pale as mine. She offered profuse apologies, a torrent of reassurances, promises of compensation. But her words were lost in the roaring silence of my despair. The financial compensation meant nothing. No amount of money could restore my hair, could mend the gaping hole in my self-esteem.

The journey home was a blur. I huddled in the back of the auto-rickshaw, my head covered with a flimsy scarf, feeling the stares of strangers like burning brands on my skin. Reaching home, I retreated to my room, locking the door against the well-meaning but intrusive concern of my family. I spent the next few hours staring at my reflection, a stranger staring back from the mirror.

The days that followed were a torturous blend of grief and humiliation. My cousin's wedding, the event I'd been so eagerly anticipating, was overshadowed by my baldness. I couldn't bear to attend the festivities, the joyous celebration a stark reminder of my own loss. The whispered comments, the pitying glances, the averted eyes – they were all daggers piercing my already wounded soul.

My family, despite their initial concern, struggled to understand the depth of my distress. “Hair grows back,” they'd say, attempting to offer comfort. But it wasn't just about the hair. It was about the violation, the sudden, unexpected loss of control, the shattering of my self-image. The incident had stripped me bare, not just of hair, but of confidence and peace of mind.

I sought solace in therapy, pouring out my anguish to a compassionate listener, slowly piecing together the fragments of my shattered self-esteem. The therapist helped me understand that this was not just about my hair; it was about processing the trauma, the violation of my trust, and rebuilding my sense of self.

Slowly, painstakingly, I began to heal. I started wearing scarves and hats with a newfound confidence, refusing to let the incident define me. I discovered the strength within myself, the resilience that had been dormant beneath my long black hair. The scars remained, both physical and emotional, but they were reminders of my journey, the journey from despair to acceptance, from vulnerability to strength. My hair will grow back, eventually. But the woman I am today, the woman who emerged from the ashes of that horrific day, is a different, stronger, more resilient woman than I was before. And that, perhaps, is the most beautiful hair I've ever worn.

Headshave play

able but beloved instant noodles, chicken flavour, of course, filled my tiny apartment. It was a Tuesday, which meant ‘budget-friendly dinner’ night, also known as every night in my life since I moved to this ridiculously expensive city. I, Rohan Verma, slightly-above-average software engineer and connoisseur of questionable life choices, was enjoying my solitary meal, scrolling through memes, when a knock echoed through my door.

Now, unexpected knocks generally fall into two categories in my life: either delivery guys struggling to find my door (despite it being literally the third one on the right), or Jehovah's Witnesses, who, bless their persistent souls, seem to think I’m in dire need of spiritual guidance, especially on a Tuesday evening. I wasn't expecting either, but cautiously peeked through the peephole anyway.

My jaw nearly unhinged. Standing there were not delivery guys or evangelists, but rather, the celestial twins of my apartment building, Priya and Maya. Priya, with her sunshine smile and perpetually messy bun, and Maya, with her sharp wit and even sharper eyeliner. Both stunning, both intimidatingly cool, and both usually resided in the ‘too-good-for-me’ category of my social universe. What on earth could they possibly want?

I hesitantly opened the door, attempting my most charming ‘just-finished-eating-noodles-but-still-kinda-presentable’ smile. “Hey, Priya, Maya! Everything alright?” My voice cracked slightly, betraying my inner panic.

Priya beamed, her smile almost blinding. “Hey Rohan! We need a favour.”

“A favour?” My eyebrows shot up. Favours from celestial beings were usually complicated, probably involved saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger. I braced myself.

Maya stepped forward, her eyeliner practically radiating power. “Yeah, a slightly… unconventional favour. We were wondering if we could… come in for a minute?”

“Uh, sure, come in, come in,” I stammered, stepping back and nearly tripping over my own feet. They glided into my humble abode, their presence making my noodle-scented apartment feel even smaller and more… noodle-scented.

Priya gestured vaguely around. “Cute place, Rohan!” She said, which I translated in my head to, “quaintly cramped and smells faintly of desperation.”

Maya cut to the chase. “So, Rohan, we have a bit of a… project we’re working on. And we need a volunteer.”

“A project?” I repeated, my mind racing. Was this some kind of weird performance art piece? Were they going to ask me to model for something? My fashion sense peaked at ‘clean t-shirt’, so modelling seemed unlikely.

“Yes,” Priya said, her eyes sparkling with an unsettling mix of amusement and determination. “A… hair-related project.”

My hair? I ran a hand through my moderately messy, but generally acceptable, mop of hair. “My hair? Is this about… donating hair to charity? Because I’m happy to, if you think it’s long enough…”

Maya’s perfect eyebrow arched. “Not exactly donating, Rohan. Think of it more as… targeted redistribution. And we’re thinking… very targeted.”

I frowned, utterly confused. “Targeted redistribution…? I’m not following.”

Then Priya pulled something from behind her back. It glinted menacingly in the dim light of my apartment. It was a straight razor. A proper, old-school, barber-shop-worthy straight razor. My brain short-circuited.

“We need to shave your head, Rohan,” Maya stated, as casually as someone might ask for a cup of sugar.

My brain finally rebooted, flashing red error messages. “Shave… my head? With… that?” I pointed a trembling finger at the gleaming blade.

Priya nodded, her smile unwavering. “Yep! Think of it as a… spontaneous makeover! We’ve been wanting to try out straight razor shaving, and you have such… obliging hair.”

Obliging hair? My hair was obliging? It mostly just sat there, occasionally requiring shampoo. “But… why me? And why… now?”

Maya leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say, Rohan, we have our reasons. And let’s also say, that if you… ‘decline’ our generous offer, some rather… embarrassing details about your… online dating profile might mysteriously surface. Details that the entire building, including your very traditional Auntie-ji who lives on the floor above, might find… illuminating.”

My online dating profile? Oh god, the one where I’d jokingly (sort of) listed ‘professional cuddler’ as my desired occupation? The one with the photo of me wearing that ridiculous novelty sombrero at my cousin’s wedding? My reputation, precarious as it already was, would be instantly incinerated. Auntie-ji would never look at me the same way. The building group chat would explode with gossip. My professional cuddler dreams would be dashed before they even began.

I gulped, the instant noodles suddenly tasting like ash. “And if… if I agree to this… ‘spontaneous makeover’?”

Priya grinned, flashing teeth that could probably cut steel. “Then we all have a fun evening! We get to practice our shaving skills, you get a fresh new look, and your Auntie-ji remains blissfully unaware of your… cuddly aspirations.”

I looked from Priya’s razor to Maya’s steely gaze. Resistance, I realised, was futile. And potentially reputation-ruining. “Fine,” I croaked. “Fine. Shave my head.”

“Excellent!” Priya clapped her hands, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Maya, you get the towel. Rohan, you sit right there.” She gestured to my rickety kitchen chair.

And so began the most surreal, humiliating, and frankly terrifying haircut of my life. They draped an old towel around my shoulders, which did little to protect me from the impending doom of baldness. Maya expertly lathered some shaving cream onto my scalp, while Priya sharpened the straight razor with an unnerving level of glee.

“Ready, Rohan?” Priya asked, her eyes shining with mischievous delight.

“As I’ll ever be,” I mumbled, bracing myself for the cold steel.

The razor touched my scalp, and I swear, I could hear angels weeping. Or maybe that was just me, starting to tear up already. The scraping sound filled the small apartment, a sound that was both oddly intimate and deeply violating. Priya and Maya chatted cheerfully as they worked, discussing things like nail polish colours and their yoga class, completely oblivious to the silent sobbing happening beneath their hands.

“You have a surprisingly round head, Rohan!” Priya commented, mid-shave, as if this was some fascinating anthropological discovery.

“Thanks,” I choked out, tears silently streaming down my face, mingling with the shaving cream.

Maya hummed in agreement. “Very symmetrical. Good for aerodynamics, probably.”

Aerodynamics? What did aerodynamics have to do with my rapidly disappearing hair? Was this some kind of bizarre experiment to test the wind resistance of bald heads?

The shaving continued, slow and deliberate, punctuated by their lighthearted banter. I just sat there, a silent, tearful statue in a kitchen chair, slowly being denuded of my follicular dignity. The floor around me became a snowdrift of dark hair, a visual representation of my crumbling manhood.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Priya stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Ta-da! All done!”

Maya handed me a small mirror. I hesitantly looked at my reflection. Gone was the slightly messy, slightly stylish hair I had painstakingly cultivated. Instead, staring back at me was a chrome-domed stranger. A shiny, bald, slightly red stranger with tear-streaked cheeks. I looked like a badly boiled egg.

“Well?” Priya beamed, clearly expecting effusive praise. “What do you think?”

“I… I look like I lost a fight with a lawnmower,” I managed to croak out, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Maya chuckled, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back! And think of the money you’ll save on shampoo!”

They gathered up their things, leaving a swirling vortex of hair clippings and the lingering scent of shaving cream in their wake. “Thanks for being such a good sport, Rohan!” Priya called out as they headed for the door. “And remember, loose lips sink ships! Or in this case, ruin reputations!” Maya added with a wink.

And then, they were gone. I was left alone in my apartment, surrounded by a mountain of my own hair, staring at my reflection in the small mirror, feeling utterly and completely ridiculous. The tears flowed freely now, no longer silent, but full-blown, hiccuping sobs. I was bald, humiliated, and my apartment looked like a barbershop exploded. My Tuesday night noodles, now cold and congealed, lay forgotten on the table. This was, without a doubt, the most bizarre and traumatic Tuesday of my life. And knowing Priya and Maya, it probably wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing to happen this week. I just hoped Auntie-ji wouldn't notice my new aerodynamic hairstyle. That was a conversation I was definitely not ready for.