Three women shaved their heads

The city glittered around us, a million scattered diamonds on black velvet. The hum of Friday night energy vibrated through the air, bouncing off the glass buildings and echoing down the bustling streets of Bandra. Me, Riya, and Anjali were in the heart of it, a trio navigating the exhilarating chaos, fueled by spicy street food, cheap cocktails, and the heady freedom of a night without deadlines or responsibilities. We had started our evening with pani puri from a roadside stall, the tangy burst exploding in our mouths as we gossiped about work, relationships, and the sheer absurdity of some of our relatives. Then, it was onto a rooftop bar, where the panoramic view of Mumbai unfurled beneath us, a breathtaking tapestry of lights. Laughter flowed as freely as the Long Island Iced Teas, and as the night deepened, so did our conversations, peeling back layers of everyday chit-chat to reveal the hidden corners of our thoughts and desires. It started innocently enough, with Riya confessing a strange fascination with bald heads. "You know," she said, swirling the ice in her glass, her eyes gazing dreamily out at the city lights, "sometimes I just see a woman with a completely shaved head, and I think… wow. There’s something so powerful, so…unapologetic about it." Anjali and I exchanged amused glances. Riya, with her long, luscious, and meticulously maintained waves, dreaming of being bald? It seemed almost comical. "Riya, you spend half your salary on hair products!" Anjali teased, playfully tugging at a strand of Riya’s perfectly styled hair. Riya laughed, a melodious sound that cut through the bar’s background music. “I know, I know! It sounds crazy, right? But it’s not about rejecting hair. It’s more about… the freedom of it. Imagine, no bad hair days, no hours spent blow-drying, no worrying about split ends. Just…smooth. Like a clean slate." I nodded, starting to understand her point. While I wouldn’t say I’d ever actively considered shaving my head, I could see the allure she was describing. It was a radical act, a rejection of conventional beauty standards, a bold declaration of self-acceptance. Then Anjali chimed in, her voice taking on a slightly hushed tone. "Actually… I’ve thought about it too." Riya and I both turned to her, surprised. Anjali, the quietest and perhaps most traditionally ‘feminine’ of our trio, harbored this unconventional fantasy? "Seriously?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Anjali flushed slightly, but her eyes held a surprising intensity. "Yeah. For years, actually. Ever since I saw this documentary about Buddhist monks... the serenity on their faces, the simplicity of their lives… and the shaved heads, somehow, just seemed to symbolize that complete letting go. Plus,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I’ve always wondered what my head shape is really like." Riya’s eyes widened, a spark of excitement igniting within them. "No way! Anjali, you too? I thought I was the only crazy one!" And in that moment, fueled by the late-night energy, the shared confessions, and maybe just a little bit by the alcohol, something shifted. What had started as a fanciful thought suddenly felt…possible. Dare I say, even desirable? "Wait," I said slowly, the idea taking root in my own mind. "Are you guys… serious? Like, seriously thinking about… shaving our heads?" Riya and Anjali looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, Riya turned back to me, a determined glint in her eyes. "Why not? It’s just hair. It grows back. And think about it… what a story we’d have! We could do it together. A symbol of…of…rebellion! Of shedding old skins! Of embracing change!" Anjali nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Like, a total reset button for our lives! Plus, think of the photo opportunities!" she added with a laugh, the initial hesitation gone, replaced by an infectious enthusiasm. My heart started to pound. This was insane. Completely impulsive. And yet… a thrill coursed through me. A feeling of liberation, of breaking free from invisible chains. In my own way, I had been feeling a bit stifled, a bit stuck in a routine, a bit… too ‘safe’. Maybe this was exactly the jolt I needed. "Okay," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Okay, let’s do it." The next hour was a blur of laughter and adrenaline. We paid our bill, practically skipping out of the bar and onto the street. The initial excitement morphed into the practical challenge: where do you get your head shaved at midnight in Mumbai? We wandered down Linking Road, our initial boisterous energy replaced by a slightly more focused determination. We passed closed shops, brightly lit restaurants, and late-night street vendors. "Maybe a salon?" I suggested, peering into the darkened windows of a fancy-looking hair studio. But it was clearly closed for the night. Just as we were starting to lose hope, Anjali spotted a small, brightly lit barber shop tucked away in a side street, its red and white striped pole still spinning invitingly. "Guys, look!" she exclaimed, pointing towards the shop. Heartbeats quickened. This was it. We hesitantly approached the shop, the sound of our heels clicking on the pavement echoing in the relative quiet of the side street. Inside, a lone barber, a middle-aged man with a kind face and a neatly trimmed mustache, was sweeping up hair from the floor. He looked up as we entered, a surprised expression on his face. "Namaste," Riya greeted him, her voice a little shaky. "Are you… still open?" He smiled warmly. "Yes, yes, come in. What can I do for you ladies?" We exchanged nervous glances. This was really happening. Riya took a deep breath and stepped forward, her voice surprisingly clear. "We… we want to shave our heads." The barber’s eyes widened, but he didn’t laugh or dismiss us. He just looked at us with a curious and slightly amused expression. "All of you?" he asked, gesturing towards the three of us. "Yes," Riya affirmed, her voice now filled with a newfound conviction. "All three of us." He chuckled softly. "Okay then. Have a seat." Riya went first, settling into the barber’s chair with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The barber draped a cape around her shoulders, his movements practiced and efficient. He then produced a straight razor, stropping it expertly, the rhythmic sound filling the small shop. The sight of the razor, so sharp and gleaming, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through me. This was real. There was no turning back now. The first swipe of the razor was almost silent, just a soft scraping sound, but the visual impact was immediate. A thick chunk of Riya’s long, dark hair fell to the floor, followed by another, and another. Within minutes, her scalp was visible, pale and vulnerable beneath the rapidly disappearing hair. Riya closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. I watched her, mesmerized, as the barber worked his way around her head, transforming her with each stroke. The air filled with the scent of shaving cream and the quiet snip of scissors trimming the longer strands. When he was finished, the barber swiveled the chair to face the mirror. Riya opened her eyes and gasped. Her hand flew up to her newly shorn head, her fingers tentatively tracing the smooth contours. A wide, genuine smile spread across her face. "Wow," she breathed, "I… I love it!" Anjali was next. Her transformation was equally dramatic, revealing a surprisingly elegant head shape that had been hidden beneath her long hair for years. As she watched Riya, and then felt the cool air on her own scalp as her hair fell away, a sense of liberation washed over her. She laughed, a joyous, uninhibited sound that echoed through the shop. Watching them, witnessing their bravery and their exhilaration, any remaining hesitation I had completely vanished. It was my turn. I climbed into the chair, my heart pounding with anticipation. The cold metal of the razor against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it was a good shiver, a thrilling shiver. As my own hair fell to the floor, I felt a lightness, both physical and emotional. It was as if I was shedding not just hair, but also layers of self-doubt, of external expectations, of everything that was holding me back. When it was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. A completely different person stared back at me. My features seemed sharper, more defined. My eyes, suddenly framed by bare skin, seemed brighter, more intense. And yes, my head was smooth. Incredibly, unbelievably smooth. We all stood together, three bald women, blinking at our reflections in the mirror. We laughed, a little hysterically, a little in disbelief, but mostly with pure, unadulterated joy. We reached out and touched each other’s heads, fingers tracing the smooth curves, marveling at the texture, comparing the closeness of the shave. "Yours is definitely the smoothest!" Riya declared, rubbing my scalp with a delighted giggle. "No, yours is!" Anjali countered, running her hand over Riya’s head. We were three women, bald as eggs, standing in a small barber shop in Mumbai at 2 AM, and we had never felt more alive, more connected, more… ourselves. It wasn't just about the hair, or lack thereof. It was about the impulsive decision, the shared experience, the courage to step outside our comfort zones and embrace the unknown. It was about shedding the superficial and discovering the strength and beauty that had been there all along, hidden beneath layers of expectation and self-imposed limitations. It was about realizing that true freedom wasn't about conforming, but about daring to be different, together. And in that moment, rubbing our newly shaved heads, we knew, without a doubt, that we had never looked, or felt, so good.