The heavy humidity of the Pooja holidays hung in the air, mirroring the dread in my heart. I am Aishwarya, a first-year college student. Once, my crowning glory was my hip-length hair—thick, dark, and swaying with every step. But a stubborn case of dandruff had turned my pride into a nightmare of falling strands. My aunt, weary of failed lotions and doctors, had reached her final verdict: a total head shave.
At 10:00 AM, the doorbell delivered my fate. A man with a weathered face and a small leather bag was led to the backyard. My aunt made me change into old clothes, and as I stepped outside, the sight of his tools made my stomach drop. I saw a polished straight razor gleaming in the sun.
"Dandruff adigama aagitu iruku," my aunt said sternly. "You have to go completely bald today."
I sobbed, begging for mercy, but she forced me onto a low wooden stool. My aunt left for the shop, leaving me at the mercy of the barber. He unbraided my hip-length hair, the weight of it feeling like a lost limb already. He poured a mug of cold water over my head, the liquid dripping down my forehead and soaking my collar.
Then, the sound that will haunt me forever: the click of a fresh half-blade being inserted into the straight razor. "Don't cry," he said, though his hands were firm. He forced my head down until my chin pressed into my chest, exposing the curve of my scalp. He placed the cold steel of the straight razor running on my head, starting from the very center. With a sharp scritch, the first path was cleared. Long, wet clumps of my hair began falling like rain into my lap, covering my knees in a dark shroud.
Within minutes, the back of my head was a bare bald scalp. He tilted my head to the left, the razor gliding effortlessly, then to the right. The transition was brutal—from thick tresses to naked skin in less than five minutes. I was now fully bald.
But the ritual wasn't over. To achieve an extra smooth finish, he lathered my entire head in thick white shaving cream. He took the straight razor again and began shaving in a reverse motion, against the grain. The sensation was intense; I could feel the microscopic vibrations of the blade on my bone.
As he worked, a sudden storm broke. I watched hail falling on the ground, the white ice pellets bouncing off the dirt just like the shorn piles of my hair. The contrast was striking: the icy hail outside and the stinging heat of the aftershave he rubbed onto my freshly shaved scalp.
My aunt returned and smiled, pleased with the mirror-like shine of my bald head. She instructed him to return every week for six months to keep me completely bald. For half a year, my life was a cycle of rubbing my head on my smooth shaved bald scalp, feeling the transition from velvety skin to prickly stubble, only for the razor to return and take it all away again.
Now, my hair has grown back to my shoulders, but the shadow of the razor returns. Because of a vow my aunt made, I am being taken to the temple for another ritual head shave. I know that soon, the foam will return, the straight razor will touch my skin, and I will once again feel the breeze on a naked, smooth scalp.
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