Navya-10th

It was just after Sankranthi. Navya sat on her bed, arms folded, eyes stubbornly fixed on the floor as her mother packed her clothes into a trolley bag. Her father stood in the doorway and said “You’ll go, and that’s final,” her father said. His voice was low but firm, like a distant drumbeat before a storm. Navya didn’t respond. She just bit her lower lip and stared. Her heart was swelling with confusion, and fear. She had scored badly in her pre-boards. Now, they were sending her to her father’s elder cousin—Bhushan uncle—and his wife, Sarala aunty’s house. Navya asked, tears suddenly slipping down. “Why are you all punishing me like this?” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You failed. And you think you deserve comfort? We have hope in you—don’t make us regret it.” As Navya entered the House with her bag, she was greeted by Amala, her elder cousin, who had recently become a schoolteacher. She was neat, quiet, her hair tied tightly in a bun. Sarala aunty smiled as she welcomed Navya. But there was something cold beneath that smile. “From now, you’re our girl,” she said. “And our girls don’t waste time. Wake up early, eat properly, study well, sleep on time. Simple.” Navya was unsure whether to feel safe or trapped. Then came Bhushan uncle, tall and strict, his voice heavy like a judge passing verdicts. “Phone stays with us. No mirrors, no fancy dresses, no loud music. You’re here to study, not to roam.” It hit Navya hard. Inside, she was burning. The days began before sunrise. At 4:30 sharp, Sarala would knock on her door. Navya would drag herself out of bed and sit at the study table, yawning, shivering. The mirror was already removed from her room on the first day. Her phone? Locked inside a cupboard. Sarala would oil Navya’s hair each morning, parting it sharply and braiding it tight. “You must learn to keep your head straight first,” she said, “then your marks will follow.” Navya would bite her tongue to avoid arguing. Amala watched silently. At school, teachers noticed the change. “Good, Navya! Much improved this week,” one said. “Keep it up.” For a while, Navya began to believe this was working. She even smiled when she got a test paper with full marks. Her parents called. Her mother and father cried with happiness. One lonely afternoon, when Sarala and Bhushan had gone out and Amala was sleeping, Navya found the chance. She dug out her old phone she had hidden deep in her suitcaseand opened YouTube, started watching hairstyle videos. She smiled and lost in daydreams. Suddenly, the door creaked open. She froze. Bhushan stood at the doorway, his eyes sharp and unreadable. The silence felt heavy. “So this is your focus?” he said coldly. “Books untouched, but hairstyles on your mind?” He called amala and ordered “Amala, take her to the saloon tomorrow morning. Get her a short haircut, let the distraction reduce.” The next morning, Navya followed Amala quietly through the narrow, dusty streets to a small saloon. The shop was simple, Amala told the barber, “Bob cut cheyyandi anna deeniki distractions yekkuva ayyindi.” Navya sat stiffly as the barber untied her thick braid and began combing through it. With a firm grip, he raised the scissors and Piece by piece, her long black hair fell away, the floor slowly filling with strands. Within minutes, her heavy braid was gone. The barber trimmed the ends neatly, shaping it into a sharp bob that barely covered her neck. Navya looked into the mirror—her eyes wide, lips pressed tight. A breeze touched her neck as they stepped out. When Navya returned home with her neat bobcut. Bhushan took one look at navya and asked amala. “What is this, ha? You think this is enough to fix her focus?”with disappointment. He turned to Sarala that evening and said firmly, “You take her tomorrow. Get it done properly this time. No compromise.” Next morning, Sarala took Navya to a strict, old-fashioned saloon. The place smelled of coconut oil and talcum powder. Sarala said, “Anna deeniki ee haircut set avvadu, inka short cheyyandi kavalanti trimmer tho boycut cheseyandi, studies ki distractions undakudadu anthe” Navya sat tensely, clutching the chair arms. The clippers buzzed to life with a loud hum. The barber pushed them up the back of her head in one clean stroke. The cool breeze hit her scalp instantly. Hair began falling like black feathers onto the floor. The sides were trimmed neatly, ears exposed, and the top length was reduced. Within minutes, her bob was transformed into clippered boycut. Sarala nodded once, approving the look. Back at home, Bhushan glanced at her once and said, “Good. Now she’ll focus.” His voice held with satisfaction. Before navya could speakup. “No excuses,” Bhushan interrupted. “From tomorrow, you’ll sit in the pooja room to study. Under Lord Venkateswara’s photo. He will fix your wavering mind.” Navya didn’t cry. She just nodded. From that day the rules became tighter. She was watched constantly. Even the smallest smile was questioned. But she never disobeyed again. She walked like a shadow. Studied like a machine. Ate quietly. Slept without dreaming. The days passed, then weeks, then came the results. Sarala answered the phone. A moment later, her face lit up. “Ninety-one percent!” she said aloud. “She’s second in the entire district!” Bhushan nodded. “Discipline never fails.” Amala smiled and hugged her gently. Navya smiled too. She got what they all wanted. May be an image of 1 person, child and train On the bus back to Vijayawada, Navya sat by the window, the wind brushing against her fresh boycut. Her short hair framed her face sharply, no strand out of place.Her report card was in her bag. Her journal, untouched, lay beside it. She looked out at the passing trees and wondered— Had they helped her become better? Or had they simply broken her to fit? The sun was setting over the green Andhra fields, and Navya sat still, expressionless and whispered to herself: “Maybe this is what growing up feels like.”