Saloni stood in front of the full-length mirror, nervously smoothing her fingers through her thick, shoulder-length hair. It was a deep chestnut brown, wild and untamed, a reflection of her personality that had only just started to form. For years, she’d worn it that way – medium length, following her mother’s wishes for the thick, glossy locks to be the picture of femininity and grace. But today, on her 18th birthday, Saloni had made a decision. It was time for a change—a bold one.
She had spent the whole morning in her college dorm, replaying the scene in her mind over and over. Her friends had asked her why she wanted to cut her hair. She told them it wasn’t just about the cut; it was about marking a transition in her life. “Adulthood begins with the head,” she said with a playful wink, brushing her hair back and imagining what it would feel like without the weight of her long locks.
“I’m going to get a pixie cut,” Saloni had announced decisively that morning.
Her friends had stared at her in shock, but she was used to the dramatic reactions by now. The thought of cutting it short made her heart race with excitement. The length, the bushiness, the constant struggle to tame it, oil it, maintain it—it was all going to be reduced. Today was going to be the last day she wore her childhood hairstyle. And after this, she promised herself she wouldn’t go short again until much later in life.
The decision was as impulsive as it was exhilarating, but Saloni had always liked to go against the grain. The sense of freedom that came with the idea of shedding the heavy burden of her hair was too enticing to ignore.
“Let’s go to the local barbershop,” she thought, recalling the old barber shop near her house in the bustling streets of old Delhi. It was a simple place, small yet well-known for its traditional services. The kind of place where men and boys went to get their hair cut short—nothing fancy, just efficient. It was exactly the vibe she was after.
The local barbershop smelled of sandalwood and aftershave as Saloni entered, her nerves buzzing. A few men were sitting in the waiting area, flipping through magazines, while the sound of massaging machines buzzing filled the air. She was the only woman in the room, but she didn’t mind. She had come here for a purpose.
“Namaste, Madam!” the barber greeted her with a smile, his mustache twitching slightly. He looked her over, and his eyes seemed to take in the full picture of her—her youthful energy, her bushy hair, her confident stance.
“Chote karne hai baal”, (“I need to cut my hair short”) Saloni said, sitting down in the worn leather chair with a determined expression.
The barber, Mr. Raj, was quiet for a moment before nodding. “A bold choice for a young lady like you. But I can do it.” He motioned for her to sit back and relax. “Trust me, you’ll look stunning.”
Saloni felt a surge of excitement, and she leaned back in the chair, her medium length hair cascading below her shoulders, ready to be transformed.
Mr. Raj started by draping a faded white cape around Saloni’s neck, and the cool fabric settled over her body, slightly scratching her skin. As the cape tightened, she could feel the tension in her muscles ease. The moment had finally arrived.
He picked up a pair of sharp scissors from the metal tray beside him. They glinted in the overhead light, their edges gleaming like they were made to cut through something more than just hair. Saloni’s breath caught in her throat. Raj started with scissor over comb method and the first new snips was loud and deliberate. It startled her at first—the sound of hair being severed was more dramatic than she had imagined. Mr. Raj snipped through the left side of her hair. In a blink of an eye, several inches of thick brown strands tumbling down the white cape, to the floor. The sensation of the cut was startling—cool air brushing her neck as the weight of her hair disappeared. Saloni closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of liberation.
The barber continued his work methodically, cutting through the thick locks with expert precision. Each time the scissors opened and closed, the bushy layers of her hair fell in clumps to the floor. A strange mix of relief and excitement washed over her as she watched her reflection slowly change in the mirror in front of her.
With every snip, the transformation was more pronounced. Her once-shoulder-length hair now hung in uneven tufts around her face, almost like a boyish crop. The front pieces were shorter than the back, creating a disheveled, tousled look that she was beginning to fall in love with. The wild, untamed volume she had grown so used to, was gone, replaced by a sleek and modern style that suited her face and her new identity.
Raj said “Ho gaya madam” (“It is done madam”) as he started cleaning up her nape when Saloni said it wasn’t short enough. Raj said alright, and after some more scissor-work, he picked up the buzzing clippers. Saloni’s heart skipped a beat. The clippers sounded like a swarm of bees. Slowly, he ran them through her hair, shaping the sides and back into a neat pixie. The vibrations from the clippers sent shivers down her spine as they moved up the back of her neck, trimming and refining her new look. Raj then applied alum on the skin around the haircut, took a straight razor and cleaned/shaved the edges around her nape and gave her boyish sideburns.
Saloni couldn’t help but smile at her reflection now. There was something striking about her appearance—her sharp jawline and high cheekbones were accentuated in a way they never had been before. Her youthful face, which had once been framed by the softness of her bushy hair, now looked more confident, more mature. She was, in every sense, an adult now.
“Done,” Mr. Raj finally said, running a comb through the back of her head to smooth out the edges. He stood back and admired his work.
Saloni felt the back of her neck, her fingers grazing over the soft, almost bare skin. Her hair, now a short, chic pixie, was light, airy, and refreshing. She caught a glimpse of herself from every angle in the mirror. It was perfect.
When Saloni got home, her mother’s reaction was not exactly what she had hoped for. Mrs. Mehta, Saloni’s mother, looked horrified as Saloni entered the house. “Saloni! What have you done?!” she gasped, her hands flying to her face.
“It’s my decision, Mom. I’m an adult now,” Saloni replied calmly, lifting her chin proudly. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
Her mother scowled but then paused, realizing that the girl standing before her was no longer a child. With a deep sigh, Mrs. Mehta muttered, “Fine. You’re an adult. But I wish you had at least consulted me first.”
Saloni smiled brightly. “You always said I was too young to decide. Well, now I’m not.”
Later that day, Saloni’s new look turned heads at college. Her male classmates couldn’t get enough of her new pixie cut. A few even ran their fingers through her short hair as they complimented her, amazed at how cute and daring she looked. The boys took group photos with her, laughing and posing with her, running their hands over her nape and marveling at the smoothness of her new hairstyle.
It wasn’t long before other girls at college started experimenting with their own haircuts. Inspired by Saloni’s bold decision, they too went to the barber to chop off their long locks in favor of short, daring pixie cuts.