It was a sweltering afternoon in Chennai, the kind where the air itself felt thick and heavy. I was new to the city, still navigating its bustling streets and unfamiliar rhythm. Drawn by a sense of curiosity, I found myself wandering, when a small barbershop caught my eye. What was unusual wasn't the shop itself, but the owner. A young woman, her head completely shaven, was meticulously working on a child. The starkness of her bald head was striking, yet it somehow enhanced her beauty, lending her a striking, almost regal, presence.
I couldn't help myself. Drawn by an invisible pull, I sat down on the bench outside her shop. She was incredibly swift, her hands a blur as she shaved the child's head. Within minutes, the boy was completely bald, rubbing his scalp with a satisfied grin before scampering off. Then, the woman’s gaze met mine, and she gestured me in.
Inside, I settled into the barber's chair. "Shave or haircut?" she asked, her voice clear and steady. "A haircut would be fine," I replied, my eyes still drawn to her smooth, shaven head.
As she rummaged through her tools, I ventured the question that had been buzzing in my mind. "Can I ask you something?" "Of course," she said, not missing a beat in her search. "Why did you shave your head?"
She turned to face me fully, a knowing look in her eyes. "You're not from around here, are you?" "No, I'm not," I admitted.
"In Chennai, especially during the summer, people often prefer a shaved head," she explained. "And this is my livelihood. If I had hair, customers might feel hesitant to ask for a headshave, thinking I wouldn't understand. So, keeping my head shaved helps my business run smoothly. It makes people comfortable."
Her explanation was pragmatic, but my fascination remained. "Your head looks so smooth," I blurted out, "When did you shave it?" She let out a soft laugh, a surprisingly melodious sound. "Every day," she replied. I blinked, genuinely surprised. "Seriously? Every day?"
"Why would I lie?" she countered, a playful glint in her eyes. "I keep it smooth so people are drawn to it. Like you were." My cheeks flushed. I hadn't realized I'd been staring so openly. I tried to compose myself, but she just chuckled again. "You're not the first," she added. "I see it all the time. People come in, curious about the shaved head, and I assume that’s why you’re here too."
She then turned back to me, her gaze direct and challenging. "So, what's it going to be? A haircut, or shall I give you the full headshave experience?" She leaned in slightly. "I do a very good headshave. You'll love it. If you don't, you don't pay. So, what do you say?"
The offer was bold, and the implicit trust she placed in me was disarming. A part of me was still hesitant, but a larger part was undeniably intrigued, especially by her confidence and skill. "Okay," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Let's try the headshave."
She set aside the haircutting tools and retrieved a gleaming straight razor. With practiced ease, she replaced the blade and then began to dampen my hair with a spray bottle. The cool water was a welcome sensation. Next, she applied a generous lather of shaving gel, massaging it into my scalp until it was rich and creamy.
She then expertly tilted my head down and made the first careful stroke of the razor right in the center of my scalp. A thick swath of lather, heavy with my fallen hair, slid down my forehead and onto the cape. In the mirror, a perfectly shaved patch was revealed, stark against the mass of hair still clinging to my head. She continued, her strokes long and confident, moving rhythmically across my scalp. My hair, which had been my pride just twenty minutes ago, was falling away, revealing the contours of my head. Soon, the top, back, and sides were all smooth and bare.
She then took a soft towel, wiping my newly shaven head until it gleamed. The application of aftershave brought a brief sting, followed by a refreshing coolness. But she wasn't finished. She produced a small bottle of oil and began to massage my scalp. Her hands, so adept with the razor, were incredibly gentle and soothing as they glided over my newly smooth head. I’d never experienced anything like it.
"So," she asked, her voice soft, "What do you think? Was it good?" I smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile. "I loved it." She beamed. "Headshave is my specialty."
As she removed the cape, I asked, "How much for the headshave?" "Fifty rupees," she replied. I handed her a hundred, and as she reached for the change, I stopped her. "Keep it," I said. She tried to refuse, but I persisted, "Look, I'm going to be here for a few weeks. I really like your look, and I think I'll be back every day for a headshave."
A playful smile touched her lips. "In that case," she said, finally accepting the full amount, "I'll give you a discount next time." We both laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the small shop. As I left, I couldn't resist running my hand over my smooth, shaven head, the cool breeze a delightful sensation.
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