the razor returned by Kari Varathan

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Balaji sat on the edge of his bed; his eyes vacant as he stared at the floor. The walls of the hostel room, once filled with laughter and chatter, now echoed with a heavy silence. Mani, his roommate and confidant, watched him with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Mani," Balaji's voice was barely a whisper, "I need to do something... something drastic."

Mani leaned forward, "What's wrong, da? You've been off since you returned from your village."

With a heavy sigh, Balaji recounted the tale of his unrequited love for Nirupama, the girl he had adored since his school days. "But she's married now, Mani. Married to someone else," he concluded, his voice cracking with emotion.

Mani moved to sit beside his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Balaji. But you can't let this break you. You have a whole life ahead."

Balaji shook his head, "No, you don't understand. I need to let go of her, completely. I've decided... I'm going to shave my head."

Mani's eyes widened in shock. "Shave your head? Are you serious? That's not going to change anything, Balaji!"

"It's not about changing anything," Balaji insisted, "It's about acceptance. It's a symbol of my loss, and I need to do this."

Mani hesitated, his mind racing with arguments to dissuade his friend from such a rash decision. "But think about it, Balaji. Shaving your head is a big step. It's... it's permanent, at least until it grows back. And what will people say?"

"I don't care what people say," Balaji's voice was firm, his resolve unshaken. "Will you help me or not?"

Mani pleaded, argued, and tried every logical reason to change Balaji's mind, but it was to no avail. Balaji's determination was like a rock, immovable and steadfast.

Finally, with a heavy heart, Mani conceded. "Alright, if this is what you really want, I'll help you. But only because I don't want you to do it alone."

A small, grateful smile touched Balaji's lips. "Thank you, Mani. I knew I could count on you."

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Mani searched through his cupboard. His fingers found the cold, metallic touch of the shaving razor he had never thought he'd use on his friend. With a deep breath, he followed Balaji into the bathroom, the razor's weight heavy in his hand, a symbol of the heartache that had led them to this moment.

The bathroom was small and dimly lit, the sound of running water from the tap filled the silence between them. Mani stood behind Balaji, a mug in his hand, ready to wet his friend's thick, wavy hair.

"Are you sure about this, Balaji?" Mani asked one last time, his voice tinged with hesitation.

Balaji nodded, his heart heavy. "Yes, Mani. I need to do this."

As Mani poured water over Balaji's head, the coolness of it seemed to seep into his thoughts. *This is it,* Balaji thought to himself. *The end of one chapter and the start of... what?* He felt a pang of sadness for the future he had imagined with Nirupama, a future that would never be.

Mani picked up the razor, his hands unsteady. "Okay, here goes nothing," he said, trying to mask his concern with a lightness he didn't feel.

With the first swipe of the razor, a lock of Balaji's hair fell to the floor. Balaji closed his eyes, a mix of emotions swirling within him—loss, grief, and a strange sense of liberation. *She's gone from my life, just like this hair, he mused, feeling the razor's cold edge against his scalp.

Swipe after swipe, more hair cascaded down, each one taking away a piece of Balaji's past. With every pass of the razor, he felt lighter, as if shedding the weight of his unspoken love. The sound of the blade scraping against his scalp was oddly therapeutic, a tangible manifestation of his inner turmoil being stripped away.

Mani worked meticulously, ensuring not a single patch was missed. "You're going to look so different, Balaji," he said softly, almost to himself.

Balaji opened his eyes and looked at the mirror. With each swipe, his reflection transformed, the familiar contours of his face now framed by a bare scalp. He hardly recognized himself, and yet, he felt a connection to this new image—a man who had faced heartbreak and was still standing.

As Mani finished the last swipe, Balaji ran his hand over his smooth head, feeling the cool air on his skin. It was done. He was no longer the boy who pined for Nirupama; he was someone new, someone who had confronted his pain head-on.

Though the ache in his heart remained, Balaji found a semblance of peace in this act of letting go. It wasn't a happy ending, but it was an ending nonetheless—one that allowed him to close a painful chapter and, perhaps, start anew.

But, The next day, as Balaji walked into the classroom, a hush fell over the crowd of students. Whispers turned into snickers, and soon, the teasing began.

"Hey, Balaji, did you lose a bet?" one classmate called out, laughter in his voice.

Another chimed in, "Or is it the new fashion statement? Going for the monk look?"

A group of boys near the back started chanting, "Baldy Balaji, shines so bright, doesn't need a lamp at night!"

But Balaji remained stoic, his expression unchanging as he took his seat. He could feel their eyes on him, the weight of their words, but he refused to let them see how much it hurt.

Throughout the day, the teasing continued, but Balaji responded with nothing more than a calm smile or a nonchalant shrug. When asked why he had shaved his head, he simply said, "I felt like it was time for a change."

He never revealed the true reason for his drastic transformation, keeping the pain of his heartbreak locked away. It was his burden to bear, and he faced it with a quiet strength that left his classmates puzzled and, eventually, respectful of his silent resolve.

Mani watched Balaji from across the room, his heart heavy with empathy. The teasing from their classmates had been relentless, yet Balaji had faced it all with a quiet dignity that Mani couldn't help but admire.

**'He's so strong,'** Mani thought, **'stronger than any of us.'** The image of Balaji's calm, unyielding face amidst the mockery stayed with him, a stark contrast to the turmoil that must be churning inside.

As the day wore on, the idea began to form in Mani's mind—a gesture of solidarity, a way to show Balaji that he wasn't alone in this. **'What if I...?'** The thought was sudden, almost shocking in its intensity. **'What if I shaved my head too?'**

The more Mani considered it, the more it felt like the right thing to do. **'Yes, it's just hair. It'll grow back. But what Balaji needs right now is a friend who understands, who's willing to stand by him, even in this.'**

The walk back to the hostel room was a silent one, with Balaji occasionally attempting to pierce the quiet with small talk. Mani, however, was lost in his own thoughts, his decision weighing heavily on his mind.

Upon entering their shared space, Mani turned the key in the lock with a decisive click and handed the shaving razor to Balaji. The action was so unexpected that Balaji could only stare at it, confusion written all over his face.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Balaji asked, a frown creasing his brow. "If you don't want it, just throw it away."

Mani took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. "I... I want to shave my head too," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Balaji's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Why would you do that? This is madness, Mani!"

"It's not madness," Mani insisted, his eyes brimming with tears. "It's... it's solidarity. I can't stand seeing you go through this alone."

Balaji's anger flared. "Solidarity? I've shaved my head because I'm mourning a loss, Mani! Why should you suffer for my sadness?"

But Mani was resolute, his tears now streaming down his cheeks. "Because you're my friend, Balaji. And if you're in pain, then I'm in pain too. Please, let me do this."

The emotional plea broke through Balaji's defenses, and he found himself caught between frustration and a profound sense of gratitude. "Mani, this is unnecessary. You don't have to—"

"Please, Balaji," Mani begged, his voice cracking. "I need to do this. For you. For us."

With a heavy heart, Balaji relented, the razor now a symbol of their friendship and shared sorrow. As they entered the bathroom, Balaji's regret was palpable. He had never intended for Mani to be so deeply affected by his own turmoil, yet here they were, about to share a moment that would forever change them both.

The bathroom was filled with a tense silence as Balaji prepared to shave Mani's head. The razor, once a mere object, now seemed to hold the weight of their friendship in its blades.

"Balaji, are you sure you can do this?" Mani asked, his voice laced with a mix of fear and resolve.

"I'm sure," Balaji replied, though his hands trembled slightly. "Just... just sit still."

Mani took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. **'This is it. A show of support, a testament to our bond,'** he thought. **'But why does it feel like I'm about to lose a part of myself?'**

With the first swipe, a swath of Mani's curly hair fell away, revealing pale skin beneath. Mani's eyes were closed, his thoughts a whirlwind. **'One strip gone. It's just hair, right? But it feels like so much more.'**

Balaji watched the transformation, his own emotions a tumultuous sea. **'I'm changing him, altering his identity. But he asked for this, didn't he?'**

Swipe after swipe, Mani's familiar reflection morphed into someone new, someone unrecognizable. With each pass of the razor, his initial apprehension gave way to a strange sense of camaraderie.

"Almost done," Balaji announced, his voice steadier now.

Mani opened his eyes and met Balaji's gaze in the mirror. There was a moment of silence as they both took in the change. Then, almost instinctively, they reached out and touched each other's smooth scalps.

Laughter bubbled up between them, a release of all the tension and sadness they had carried. "You look like a peeled potato," Balaji teased, a grin spreading across his face.

"And you look like a shiny egg," Mani shot back, his giggles echoing in the small room.

The feel of their bald heads was peculiar, a sensation neither of them had experienced before. It was cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of their friendship.

Together, they swept up the remnants of their hair, the evidence of their shared mottai. It was a cleansing act, one that seemed to wash away the heaviness in their hearts.

As they finished cleaning, a sense of peace settled over them. They had faced loss and ridicule, but in the end, they found something deeper than friendship—a ray of love that would bind them together, no matter what the future held.

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