Everyone in the house knew one thing for sure:
Aunty was already hot-headed.
And today… they were shaving that hot head clean.
She sat on the floor in her checked nighty, arms folded tight, face scrunched like someone had stolen her last cup of tea. The barber’s hands reached for her thick braid, and the moment he pulled it tight—
“Ayyo! Slowly da! You think my head is coconut ah?!” she snapped, one eye squeezed shut in pure irritation.
The braid came off with a snip, landing dramatically on the floor like a fallen warrior. Aunty glared at it.
“See what you’ve done. Twenty years of oiling, gone in two seconds. Happy now?”
The machine buzzed to life.
The first swipe across her scalp made her jump.
“Chee chee! Cold! Cold!” she yelled, swatting the air as if that would stop the sound.
Hair fell everywhere—on the floor, on her shoulders, even on the poor fellow shaving her head. Aunty kept muttering commentary like a live news channel.
“Left side also properly, don’t leave design like cinema people.”
“Arre forehead carefully, I still need dignity.”
“Why you laughing? You also want bald head ah?”
By the time the shave was done, her head shone under the light, smooth and bare. She touched it once… twice… then sighed.
“Hmph. Now I look like powerful woman only,” she declared, chin up.
Everyone laughed. Aunty stood, adjusted her saree, and gave one final warning:
“Anyone cracks joke… I’ll shave your head next.”
And just like that—hot head, shaved head, same boss attitude.
Some things never change 😄