Pooja

Pooja sat nervously on the sofa, her fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta. Her mother, Namitha, sat beside her, quietly fidgeting with her phone. The house was unusually silent, the kind of silence that made her heart race. They were both waiting for Ananth, Pooja’s father, to come home. Rumors had spread among the relatives — about Pooja and her boyfriend. It was just gossip, but Pooja knew the truth. There was nothing shameful in her heart. Yet, the fear of her family’s reaction gnawed at her. When the clock finally struck seven, the front door opened. Ananth stepped in, his face serious, eyes tired from the long day at work. Namitha stood up immediately. “Ananth, beta, we need to talk about something important,” she said, her voice was firm. “Papa, it’s not what you think. There’s no love story. Nothing wrong happened!” she defended quickly. “No pictures. No messages. Nothing in her phone,” Namitha added, half-convinced now. “Which means she deleted them,” Ananth snapped. “Smart girl. But not smarter than her father. You think we are fools? Meeting boys in parks? Letting them touch your hair?” he asked, stepping forward. “No, Papa. There’s nothing going on. Please trust me,” she pleaded. He sat on the sofa, leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. And then he muttered the unthinkable: “Aaj raat, baal mundwana padega.” The words hit Pooja like a slap. “Kya?” she whispered, almost choking. Namitha gasped too. “Ananth, that’s better idea—” Pooja was dragged by her wrist and made to sit roughly on the chair in the middle of the living room and Namitha stood right behind her. Ananth stormed into the bathroom, and returned carrying the Equipments. Without a word, Ananth plugged in the trimmer and switched it on. The sharp, buzzing sound filled the room. Pooja’s breath hitched. She clutched the edges of the chair, her knuckles turning pale. The first pass of the trimmer came mercilessly down the middle of her scalp. A thick chunk of her mid-back-length hair fell into her lap. When Pooja slowly began to sob, Namitha slapped her hard across the cheek. “Baith ja chup chaap,” Ananth ran the trimmer faster again and again over her head. Hair rained down onto the floor like black waterfalls. May be an image of 3 people and text The sound of the trimmer against her scalp was deafening to her ears. When her head was reduced to rough, uneven stubble, Ananth grabbed the shaving cream and applied it over her scalp. Then he picked up the straight razor. Without hesitation, he pressed the blade against her skin and began shaving away the remaining stubble. Each stroke scraped clean her scalp, leaving behind a raw, gleaming surface. By the time Ananth finished, her scalp was as smooth and bald as a newborn’s. He wiped her head clean with a wet towel, checking every inch. Pooja sat there — a broken figure, stripped of her pride, her identity, and her hair. She slowly raised a trembling hand and felt the alien, slick surface of her scalp. Without a word, both parents turned and walked away. Tleaving her alone in the room, surrounded by piles of her own hair, the buzz of the trimmer still echoing in her mind. The whole day passed like a blur. But that evening, Pooja quietly stepped out in a cap, walked 15 minutes to the park, and found Arjun waiting. He saw her, stood up — and froze when she pulled off the cap. For a moment, neither of them spoke. “They did this to you…” his voice heavy with anger and pain. Pooja’s lips trembled. “Papa… with his own hands, Arjun. Maa held me down. Mujhe lagta tha daantenge , maybe even lock me inside the house… but this? Woh bhi razor se… pura sir mundwa diya…” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly. “I told them… it’s all a lie, koi love story nahi hai… but they didn’t listen.” Arjun help her bald head gently, with care. “Listen to me, Pooja, You’re still mine. Samjhi? ganji, lambe baal, bina baal — I don’t care. I fell in love with you, not your baal. Tujhse pyaar kiya hai maine.” She let out a broken sob, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “Sab khatam ho gaya, Arjun… they’ll marry me off now to some stupid stranger. I’ll lose you, too.” Arjun replied “Ab meri baat sun. We’ll flip this whole game. You’ll act like you’ve changed, that you’re obedient, no love story, no boyfriend. Let them believe they scared you straight. And jab rishta fix karenge na… thab surprise hei tere liye.” Pooja blinked. “What…?” Pura plan set hai.” For the first time since the night before, a faint flicker of hope showed in her eyes. “Are you serious Arjun… sach mein?” May be an image of 2 people and people smiling He grinned, wiping away her tears with his thumb. “Bilkul. And you’re gonna rock that bald look for a few days. Dekhna… log bhi hairaan ho jayenge. Bald or not, tu meri jaan hai.” Pooja gave a smile. They sat there for a moment, holding hands. The plan was risky… but so was their love. And for the first time in two days, Pooja felt like she could breathe. next day while breakfast when Namitha asked gently, “Beta, kya sach mein koi ladka hai?” Pooja nodded slowly, “Nahi maa, sab rumors hain. trust me.” She avoided talking about the past or her feelings. At dinner, she ate quietly, never once looking her father in the eyes. Ananth watched her carefully but said nothing. The next days were filled with silence. Whenever Namitha tried to ask about boys or friends, Pooja would say firmly, “Maa, main ab badal gayi hoon. I’m ready to stay bald, no complaints.” She kept herself busy in the house—helping with chores, studying, and avoiding mirrors. One evening, when her cousin came over and asked, “Pooja, tumne toh apne sir mundwa diye, kya sach mein koi ladka nahi hai?” She smiled and said, “Woh sab galat samajh hai. Main bilkul single hoon.” Her parents slowly started believing her. But inside, Pooja’s heart was heavy. She was only pretending to be broken and accepted. Each night she looked at her reflection, touching her bald scalp softly, whispering to herself, “Yeh sab ek plan hai. I’m not defeated.” She waited for the right moment to prove her truth. One night Pooja stood in front of the bathroom mirror, holding the razor firmly in her hand. Her scalp was covered with short stubble from the week before, but now she was ready to go even further. Slowly and carefully, she moved the razor across her head, feeling the blade glide smoothly over her skin. The soft scratch of the razor against her scalp echoed in the quiet room. With each pass, the rough stubble disappeared, revealing a smooth, shining scalp beneath. When she finished, Pooja ran her hand over her head, feeling the cool, bare skin. A mix of courage and sadness filled her chest, but she knew this was her way to show she was strong and things went as they planned. May be an image of 1 person, slip, hairbrush and sleepwear Next day when Namitha saw her daughter again in smoothly shaved look , her eyes widened in disbelief. She blinked a few times, trying to process what she was seeing. “Pooja… kya kiya tumne?” Namitha was in shock. Ananth, who was sitting nearby, stood up and stared at Pooja’s bald head. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then tightened with a mix of anger and confusion. “How could you do this to yourself again? Tumhe humne saza di thi, par tumne firse apne sir mundwaya ?” Ananth’s voice was stern. Pooja met her father’s eyes calmly, her resolve clear. “Papa, main tumhari saza maan li, par yeh meri choice hai, i will not grow my hair untill you truely belive me.” Though silent, both parents understood this was no ordinary rebellion. A month later, Ananth came home with good news. “Namitha, I’ve found a match. Businessman’s son. Settled in Delhi, well-educated. Wants a simple, homely girl. Doesn’t care about her beauty. Just character.” Pooja listened silently. Her heart raced. The boy and his family came over the next Sunday. And when the boy walked in — it was Arjun. Ananth was impressed. Namitha was charmed. Pooja kept her calm. They talked, laughed, discussed life. The engagement was fixed in three weeks. Not once did anyone suspect. Not once did anyone know — that this silent, smiling, bald girl had not just defended her love… but had won the war without a single lie.