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.
