The bright, sweltering heat of an Indian summer afternoon was bearable for most Indians, but for Radhika, a breeze of anticipation blew across her skin. She had passed her 10th standard exams, and this moment was the culmination of years of stubborn desire. It wasn’t just the satisfaction of academic success that thrilled her; it was the promise she’d been given by her father: a change. A big change.
For as long as Radhika could remember, she had lived within the constraints of tradition—specifically, the long, braided hair that marked her as a girl. Her parents, particularly her mother, believed in the beauty and pride of long hair. “It’s what girls should have,” her mother would often say, smoothing Radhika’s thick, waist-length braids that, no matter how neatly styled, always felt like a weight around her.
Radhika didn’t want to be weighed down by the gendered expectations of her family. She loved to dress like a boy: baggy pants, oversized shirts, and, most of all, caps. But no matter how many times she tried to tuck her braids into the back of a cap, there was always too much hair. It was a constant battle, and the cap never quite looked right. She’d watch her male friends throw on a cap and think, Why can’t I look like that?
She longed for a haircut—something short, bold, freeing. Her imagination often ran wild as she envisioned herself with a boyish, edgy cut, but every time she brought it up, her parents shut it down. “You’re a girl, Radhika,” her mother would say, “you need to take care of your hair.”
But Radhika’s determination never wavered. She had set her sights on a different path, one that didn’t involve long braids. Her father had long been a quiet ally, and after weeks of nagging and pleading, he made a secret promise: If you work hard and pass your exams, you can get your haircut.
Now, the day had come.
The Moment of Truth
The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the small streets of the neighborhood. Radhika stood in front of the barbershop, her heart racing in her chest. It was a modest, old-fashioned shop with faded signboards. The scent of aftershave and oil lingered in the air, and the hum of electric clippers created a familiar backdrop. It was a place where men went for haircuts and shaves, not girls.
She hesitated for just a moment, but then, taking a deep breath, Radhika pushed open the door. The barber, a tall, wiry man with a steady hand, looked up and smiled. He was familiar with Radhika’s father and had cut his hair for years, but seeing her now—standing confidently in the doorway, wearing her usual tomboyish outfit—was a surprise.
“Ah, Radhika! What brings you here today?” he asked in a warm, welcoming voice.
Radhika’s father, who had followed her into the shop, spoke up. “She’s ready for her teenage change. Whatever she wants, today’s the day.”
Radhika’s father gave her a gentle nod of approval. The decision was final. It was time.
She took a deep breath. “I want it short—very short. I want to get rid of all this.” She tugged at the ends of her long braids. “I want to look like a boy. Can you do that?”
The barber gave a quiet chuckle. “You mean a tomboyish cut? I’ve seen a lot of girls going for that look recently. Sure, I can do that.”
He motioned to the chair, and Radhika climbed into it with a grin. She had imagined this moment so many times that it almost felt surreal. She was finally going to be free of the weight of her long hair.
The Chop
The barber draped a large, white cape around her neck, and the fabric settled over her shoulders, cool against her skin. It was a thin satin cape, the kind that made you feel like you were about to undergo a transformation. Radhika loved the way it swished as it settled over her, adding to the anticipation.
Her father stood nearby, watching as Radhika looked into the mirror. Her reflection, framed by the soft halo of overhead lights, seemed strange to her now. Her face looked unfamiliar, almost like a new version of herself was about to emerge.
With loud snip snip snip, the barber separated the first braid from Radhika’s scalp. His scissors, sleek and sharp, cut through the hair with a satisfying sound—as the long braid remained detached in the barber’s hand. Then another 4 strokes of the scissors took down the second braid. The barber held both the braids in his hands and kept them on the tabletop in front of Radhika. Radhika’s heart raced further.
The barber then took a comb, running it through the thick, black waves of Radhika’s hair, gently separating the strands. The texture was thick, almost bushy, and as he ran the comb through her hair, she felt the weight of it—how much there was, how heavy it all felt. It had been years since she’d allowed herself to truly think about how much time she spent managing it, braiding it, washing it, brushing it. Now, all she could think about was the sweet relief of freedom.
The barber took his time, slowly working his way, making careful, deliberate scissor strokes. Radhika closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythmic sounds—the click of the scissors, the thick chunks of hair falling onto the floor, and the faint rustle of the cape as the long hair disappeared.
Each snip felt like an eternity. The hair fell in pieces, its weight lifting from her head, but the sensation was more exhilarating than she ever expected.
The barber continued, combing through the loose strands.
The barber grabbed a spray bottle filled with water and began lightly misting Radhika’s hair. The fine mist coated the strands, making them damp and easy to manipulate. Radhika sighed in relief as the cool droplets landed on her neck and forehead.
With a deft hand, the barber began shaping the hair with his scissors. He worked slowly, methodically, using a scissor-over-comb technique to trim the remaining length. The blades of the scissors clicked and snipped in rhythmic precision as the barber shaped the hair on the crown of Radhika’s head. He moved through the sections with a practiced ease, blending and refining until the hair on top was no more than a couple of inches long. It had a choppy texture, and Radhika loved how it felt—light, airy, and full of movement. Her fingers itched to run through it.
The sides were next. The barber took his clippers and carefully shaved the sideburns, moving smoothly along her jawline. The buzzing sound was sharp and intense, and the sensation of the clipper against her skin sent a wave of excitement through Radhika. The sides of her head were shaved clean, the skin smooth and exposed to the air. He continued along her nape, shaving the hair down to the skin, leaving a clean, sharp outline around the back of her neck.
Her heart raced as she watched the transformation unfold in the mirror. The buzz of the clippers was so satisfying, and the feeling of her new look coming together made her feel like a different person entirely.
Once the sides and nape were shaved, the barber focused on the top of her head. He gave Radhika a set of short bangs, sweeping them gently across her forehead, leaving just enough length to frame her face. The crown area was kept slightly longer, around two inches, creating a fluffy, voluminous texture that was soft to the touch.
Radhika ran her fingers through her new haircut, marveling at how easy it was to move her fingers through the soft, short layers. The transformation was complete. The heavy weight of her long hair was gone, replaced by a sleek, boyish cut that made her feel free.
When the barber finished, he stepped back and took a moment to admire his work. “What do you think?” he asked, smiling.
Radhika grinned back at him, her face radiating pure joy. She couldn’t stop touching her hair, running her fingers through the short, fluffy locks. “I love it! It feels amazing!”
Her father, who had been silently observing the whole process, gave her a satisfied nod. “You look great.”
Radhika stood up, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time. Her reflection showed a new person—someone bold, confident, and free. She couldn’t wait to show her friends, to walk into the world with her new boyish look.
As she walked out of the barbershop, the evening air cool against her newly shorn hair, she couldn’t help but smile. The weight of tradition had lifted, and in its place, a new Radhika had emerged. She was ready for whatever came next.