It was the peak of the Indian summer, the kind of heat that presses down on you, relentless and humid. Being a young Indian man, I have typical thick, dark hair, and right now, it was a mess—sticky and heavy on my head. Even two minutes after a bath, my skin was slick with sweat. I'd planned on a simple haircut, but the thought of that thick mop on my scalp for even one more day made me miserable. A buzzcut wouldn't even cut it. I needed to go all the way.
Without a second thought, I headed to my usual spot, Priya Aunty's barbershop. Aunty is a wonderful, kind lady, and she's always insisted on handling my hair herself. When I walked in, the shop was surprisingly quiet. "Aunty, where is everyone?" I asked. She smiled, saying her staff was out for lunch, and she was just about to close up for the afternoon lull—no customers.
"I’m here for a haircut, Aunty," I said, taking a seat in the first chair.
She came over, draped the cape around me, and ran her fingers through my thick, sweaty hair. "What'll it be today?"
"No haircut, Aunty. Buzz it all off. This heat is unbearable because of my hair," I groaned.
She gave my hair a thoughtful tug. "Your hair is a bit rough right now, beta (son). A buzz will still leave stubble. In this heat, and for your scalp's health, a razor headshave is the best choice. It'll be completely smooth."
I hesitated for just a second, picturing myself utterly bald. Then the wave of heat hit me again, and I nodded, "Go for it, Aunty. Razor shave."
She started the headshave process with care, first spraying cool water and massaging it in to relax the scalp. Then, she applied a thick, white, soap-like gel—the classic Indian shaving cream—working it into my hair until my entire head was enveloped in a frothy white helmet.
She picked up the straight razor—a ustra—from the ledge, snapping a fresh blade into place with a practiced flick. As she tilted my head down toward my chest, I could feel her soft thumb press against my crown, parting the gelled hair.
The first stroke was a revelation. It went from the front hairline, smoothly back toward the crown. The razor scraped softly, and instantly, I could feel the difference between the shaved scalp and the still-hairy sections. It was the most immediate sense of coolness I had ever felt. With the second stroke, a thick, soapy clump of dark hair fell onto the cape in my lap.
Aunty worked steadily, pulling the skin taut and guiding the razor top-to-bottom. The sound was a rhythmic shush-shush as the blade cleared the way. I could feel the delicate rub of the blade and the gentle pressure of her fingers following the curve of my head. After a few concentrated minutes, she paused to wipe the blade.
I looked in the mirror and burst out laughing. I had a ridiculous half-shaved look—bald in front, a puffy mess in the back. Aunty chuckled with me. "You’re a brave boy, getting a full shave! Just be careful, these Indian girls are used to hair. They might not like the completely bald head!"
She bent my head again and resumed, moving to the sides now, meticulously clearing the stubborn hair near my ears. Soon, the front and sides were done. She moved behind me, asking me to hold the pose. The feeling was the same, maybe even more intense at the back of my neck where the razor felt like it was lifting layers of heat away.
In no time, it was done. Where there had been a sweaty, tangled mess, there was now a sleek, shining dome.
Aunty rubbed her palms over my head to check for any missed spots. The friction was a pleasure. "Smooth as a marble," she declared.
Then came the best part. She poured a generous amount of cool, fragrant oil into her hands and began a slow, firm head massage. Her hands slipped over my scalp like warm water, with zero resistance. The "bald feeling" was incredible—it was lightness, cleanliness, and coolness all rolled into one. Every nerve ending in my scalp seemed to wake up, tingling with enjoyment. The smoothness was absolute.
Finally, she wiped the excess oil and removed the cape. "Do you like your smooth shaved head?" she asked, with a proud smile.
I ran my own hand over my scalp. It was perfectly smooth, cool, and unbelievably light. "I love it, Aunty. I want to come back next week to get it done again!"
She laughed, a warm, hearty Indian laugh. "You can come every day if you want! Just be prepared, beta. With a head this smooth, you might just scare off all the girls!"
