Prank, Punishment, and Headshave

 

I learned the hard way that you should never make fun of someone. You truly never know when karma will swing back around to strike you. This realization hit me during my college years, centered around a girl named Priya.

Priya was pretty and shy, which unfortunately made her a constant target for bullies. One day, she showed up to campus with a drastic new look; she had cut her hair into a short, boyish pixie cut. Because she had always worn her hair long, the change looked a bit awkward on her. Being one of her frequent tormentors, I couldn't resist the opportunity.

I began relentlessly mocking her new style. Despite her repeatedly asking me to leave her alone, I refused to let up. "Why even bother cutting it that short?" I laughed. "You might as well have just shaved it all off!"

Deeply hurt and visibly angry, Priya turned and ran away. Later that evening, a wave of guilt washed over me. I decided to find her and apologize. She lived alone, and when I knocked on her door, she opened it with fire in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered. "I shouldn't have misbehaved. I feel terrible about what I said."

She stared at me for a long, silent moment before gesturing for me to come inside. I followed her to the living room and took a seat. She brought out some tea, and as we sat talking, a sudden, heavy drowsiness overcame me. Everything went black.

When I finally regained consciousness, I was horrified to find myself tied securely to a chair. Priya was sitting opposite me, calmly waiting. I struggled against the ropes, but they were too tight.

"So, you're awake," she said coolly. "Now we can finally discuss my hair."

"You’re out of your mind!" I shouted. "Let me go!"

"Why the rush?" she replied, standing up. "You’re about to get a new haircut. I want to make sure I don't mess it up. After all, you’re the one who suggested I should have shaved my head. I thought it was only fair that you get a head shave instead."

I was paralyzed with shock. "Please, no! I don't want to be bald!"

She let out a sharp laugh. "That’s exactly what I thought before my haircut. But since you brought it up, let's give you a nice, smooth finish."

Ignoring my screams, she emptied a glass of water over my head. While I sat there dripping, she retreated to another room and returned with a gleaming straight razor. She began loading a fresh blade, her eyes locked on mine. She ran her hand over my wet hair and whispered, "Soon, all of this will be on the floor."

She grabbed a clump of hair from the very center of my scalp and made the first pass. I could feel the cold steel against my skin, but I was helpless. After a few minutes, she held up a large shock of hair before letting it flutter to the floor.

"Look at that," she teased. "There's a massive bald spot right in the middle. Should I stop, or should I continue?"

The humiliation was complete. "Don't stop," I muttered, defeated. "I can't go out looking like this. Just shave it all."

"You were the one telling me to shave," she laughed loudly, "and now look who’s begging for it!"

She moved behind me, and I felt the weight of my hair falling onto my shoulders and the floor. Then she moved to the front, the sides, and the back until my scalp was bare. But she wasn't done. She fetched some body wash, lathered my head, and performed a second pass with the razor to ensure it was perfectly smooth.

When she finished, she rubbed her hands over my bare scalp. "You actually look quite good like this," she mused. "For the next six months, every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember me. By the time your hair grows back, mine will be long again."

After she untied me and I cleaned up in the bathroom, I returned to find her sweeping up the remains of my hair.

"I didn't want to do this," she said softly, "but you had to learn that hurting people's feelings has consequences. Now, you can hang out with me. Don't worry—I won't make fun of your bald head."

She reached out and rubbed my head again, smiling. "I don't know why, but I can't seem to keep my hands off it."

I stayed for a while longer, and to my surprise, I discovered that Priya was actually a wonderful person. For the remainder of my college career, I stayed bald—and Priya was the one who made sure my head stayed perfectly smooth.

Headshave from Past

 

This incident took place during the height of the COVID-19 lockdown. I was living alone, and unfortunately, my housemaid was unable to come to work. I wasn't much of a "house guy," so things were quickly becoming a mess. However, after a few days, I discovered a woman in my building complex who was willing to help with household chores. She was young and didn't quite look like a typical maid, but to me, she was a lifesaver. We spoke, finalized the details, and she started the very next day.

To be honest, she was excellent at her job. Because of the lockdown, everything was closed—including the barbershops. My hair had grown long and unruly. Since I wasn't taking good care of it, I began to suffer from intense itching and dandruff. Despite the discomfort, I remained preoccupied with work and stayed indifferent to the problem.

One day, while my maid was sweeping the floor, she noticed me scratching my head vigorously. She stopped and said, "You’re going to hurt your scalp. If you keep doing that, it will start bleeding."

I stopped and admitted, "You're right. It’s already starting to burn."

She went back to sweeping, but after a moment, she added, "You’re having bad hair fall, too. Every day I see so many fallen hairs across the room. Why don't you do something about it?"

"I know," I replied. "I want to see a dermatologist, but his clinic is closed."

"Well, if you don't do anything now, you’ll be bald by the time the lockdown ends," she warned.

"I just don't know what to do," I sighed.

She paused, leaned her broom against the wall, and said, "I can help. Let me see."

I bowed my head, and she began running her hands through my hair, carefully inspecting my scalp. After a thorough check, she delivered her verdict: "It’s quite bad; your entire scalp is damaged. The only way to save your hair and scalp is to shave your head completely smooth."

I thought about it for a moment. "If that’s the only option, I’m willing to do it. But the barbershops are closed—how can I shave it?"

"If you'd like, I can shave it for you," she offered. "I know how to do it, and I have all the tools."

Confused, I asked, "How do you know how to do that?"

"I’m actually a professional hairdresser," she explained with a small smile. "But since my salon is closed due to the lockdown, I’ve been doing housework to cover my daily needs."

Relieved, I told her, "I would love it if you could shave my head bald."

"In that case," she said, "I’ll be finished with my work by this evening. I'll come back then to do it."

She returned that evening carrying a small bag of professional tools. To avoid making a mess in the living room, she asked me to go into the bathroom. She placed a chair against the washbasin and instructed me to face down. As she rinsed my hair with warm water, I heard her prepping her tools on the counter behind me.

She wrapped my head in a towel to soak up the excess water, then began applying a thick layer of shaving cream. I was curious why she was using cream on such long hair.

"Your hair is very tangled," she explained. "Shaving it dry or directly would irritate your damaged scalp. This will soften the hair and allow the razor to glide smoothly."

After letting the cream sit for a few minutes, she placed her thumb at the crown of my head and made the first stroke. I could feel the weight of the hair being lifted away. In the silence of the bathroom, the rasp of the razor was the only sound. With every few strokes, large clumps of hair mixed with white foam fell into the basin.

She was incredibly skilled. As she worked her way down the back and sides, she would run her soft fingers over the freshly bared skin to check for smoothness. When she paused to change the blade, I called out her name, and she replied, "Wait, I’m putting in a fresh blade. I want to make sure this is perfectly smooth."

As she moved the razor from the center of my head toward my forehead, she said, "There. You'll need to keep this smooth for a few months to let your scalp heal."

"I agree," I said. "Please, shave it every two days."

She laughed. "No, I’ll shave it every single day. Get ready to stay bald for a while!"

When she finally finished, I stood up and looked in the mirror. I was unrecognizable—not a single hair remained. She stood behind me, smiling at my reflection, and began rubbing my smooth scalp. Then, she picked up the razor again.

"You're already bald," she noted, "why don't we clear the face, too? You'll feel much better."

I realized she was right, so I let her shave my beard as well. When she was done, my face and head were completely bare, save for my eyebrows. Finally, she applied a soothing paste to my scalp and told me to leave it on for a few hours.

I felt an immediate sense of relief. The itchiness, the dandruff, and the stress of the hair fall were all gone. Since that day, she has returned every morning to run a razor over my head and keep it perfectly smooth. I’ve actually grown to love the look, and I’m thinking about making it permanent. I plan to tell her that the next time I see her.