The month of June settled over the Deccan Plateau with a heavy, stifling humidity, marking the uncomfortable heart of the Indian summer.
Inside the fortified, isolated sanctuary of the Shamshabad farmhouse, the lockdown had long since ceased to be a temporary disruption. It was simply the way the world worked now. The heavy iron gates remained permanently shut. The sprawling mango orchards, the manicured lawns, and the high stone walls formed the boundaries of their universe.
Siddanth Deva was currently standing in the center of the master bathroom, staring into the large, fogged-up vanity mirror with an expression of irritation.
For the past five years, his appearance had been a meticulously curated, globally recognized brand. He had maintained a carefully styled look: long, sweeping locks of dark hair that he frequently pushed back under his cricket helmet, paired with a clean-shaven face.
But the lockdown had destroyed his maintenance routine.
He had not seen a professional barber in over two months. The long locks had crossed the line from stylishly unkempt to unmanageable. The hair now hung heavily past his neck, curling awkwardly at the ends, constantly falling into his eyes the moment he stepped onto the treadmill or entered the batting nets. The summer heat trapped beneath the thick mane was making his daily morning workouts borderline unbearable.
Furthermore, because there were no press conferences, no television cameras, and no reason to maintain his usual public polish, he had stopped shaving.
What had begun in March as a lazy, three-day stubble had evolved into a thick, fully grown beard. It obscured his sharp jawline, blending into the overgrown hair on his head.
He wiped a circle of condensation off the mirror with his towel and glared at his reflection.
He looked less like the captain of the Indian cricket team and more like a man who had spent the last decade stranded on a deserted island.
He reached up, dragging a hand through the heavy mop of hair, wincing as his fingers caught in a tangle near the back.
"It has to go," Deva muttered to the empty bathroom.
He turned on his heel, walked back into the bedroom, stepping carefully over Ronnie, who was sprawled out like a heavy, breathing rug in the doorway, and found Krithika sitting on the edge of the mattress, folding a small stack of the twins' cotton shirts.
"Krithi," Deva announced, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "I need a haircut."
Krithika didn't look up from a tiny yellow shirt. "The salons in the city are closed, Sid. And even if they were open, we aren't breaking the lockdown perimeter just so you can get a trim. You'll just have to use a headband."
"I am not wearing a headband," Deva replied flatly. "I look like a caveman. I want you to cut it."
That made her look up. Krithika paused, resting her hands on her lap. She looked at his overgrown hair, the thick beard, and the desperate expression on his face.
"Me?" Krithika asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sid, I hold a master's degree in business administration. I do not hold a cosmetology license. The last time I cut hair, I gave my Barbie doll a fringe when I was seven, and she looked startled for the rest of my childhood."
"It's just basics," Deva argued smoothly, walking over and sitting in the armchair near the window. "I just need the top shortened to a medium length so it stops blinding me, and I need the sides faded down with the electric trimmer. I trust you."
Krithika studied his face. The overgrown hair really was becoming ridiculous, and she knew how much the heat bothered him during his morning training sessions.
A slow, highly mischievous smile began to spread across her face.
"Basic, you say?" Krithika asked, her tone shifting from hesitant to dangerously amused.
"Exactly," Deva nodded, failing to recognize the trap he was willingly stepping into.
"Fine," Krithika agreed, standing up. "But we do it outside. If I cut it in here, the cleaning staff isn't here to vacuum the carpets, and I am not dealing with your hair clogging bathroom sink. Go find a chair."
Twenty minutes later, an impromptu, highly unprofessional barbershop had been established on the lush green lawn behind the main house.
The late morning weather was surprisingly pleasant, a cool breeze cutting through the humidity. A simple, straight-backed wooden dining chair had been dragged out of the kitchen and placed squarely on the grass.
Beside the chair, Krithika had set up a small folding table. Arranged on the table was a chaotic, deeply unassuring assortment of tools: a pair of standard household scissors normally used for opening courier packages, Deva's personal electric beard trimmer, a plastic spray bottle filled with water and oil, a black plastic comb, and a large white bath towel.
Deva walked out of the house wearing a t-shirt and shorts, followed closely by Ronnie, who immediately found a cool patch of shade near the table and dropped into a lazy heap. Deva looked at the wooden chair, then at the household scissors resting on the table.
For the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
"Are those the kitchen scissors?" Deva asked, stopping a few feet away.
"They are the sharpest ones we have," Krithika replied, picking up the towel. "Sit down."
Deva slowly lowered himself into the wooden chair. Krithika stepped behind him, shaking the large white towel open and wrapping it tightly around his neck, securing it with a small metal clip she had brought from her vanity.
"Okay," Deva said, staring straight ahead at the mango orchards. "Just keep it simple. An inch or two off the top, and buzz the sides down. Nice and clean."
"Simple. Got it," Krithika nodded, picking up the comb and running it experimentally through the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
Before she could make a single cut, the heavy glass doors of the veranda slid open with a loud clatter.
Anjali marched out onto the grass, holding a mug of coffee. She took one look at the wooden chair, the towel around Deva's neck, and the scissors in her sister's hand, and her eyes lit up with the joy of a woman who had just found her day's entertainment.
"Stop!" Anjali commanded loudly, jogging across the lawn. "Do not touch that hair yet!"
Deva closed his eyes and let out a long, suffering sigh. "Anjali, go away. I am getting a trim, not participating in a reality show."
"You are not letting her just 'trim' it," Anjali said, arriving at the table and immediately inspecting the tools with a critical eye. She looked at Krithika. "What is your plan?"
"He said he wants an inch off the top and the sides buzzed," Krithika explained, already sounding willing to abandon Deva's instructions.
"Boring," Anjali declared instantly. "He's had the same long-hair look for five years. The lockdown is a time for reinvention. We have a blank canvas here. We need a vision."
Anjali pulled her smartphone out of her pocket and immediately opened the Pinterest app.
"Anjali, put the phone away," Deva warned, a distinct edge of panic bleeding into his usually calm voice. "I do not want a vision. I want to be able to see when I run."
"Ignore him," Anjali told Krithika, holding the phone screen up for her sister to see. "Look at this one. The textured crop with a high skin fade. It's very European football player."
Krithika leaned over, studying the screen. "A skin fade requires a straight razor, Anjali. We have an electric beard trimmer and kitchen scissors. We can't do a skin fade."
"Okay, valid point," Anjali conceded, rapidly swiping her thumb across the screen. "What about a pompadour? We keep the top really long, blow-dry it backward, and aggressively taper the sides?"
"He doesn't use a blow-dryer," Krithika pointed out reasonably. "He washes it and walks out the door. It would just flop over and he'd look like a mushroom."
"I am sitting right here," Deva reminded them loudly. "I can hear you discussing my head like it's a landscaping project."
The sisters ignored him.
"What about this?" Krithika suggested, pulling her own phone out and opening Instagram. She found a picture of a famous Hollywood actor and held it up. "The messy, medium-length textured look. We take the sides down tight, but leave enough on top so it sweeps back naturally. It works with the heavy beard he has right now."
Anjali squinted at the screen, tilting her head. "It's a little rugged. A little messy." She looked down at Deva, analyzing his overgrown beard and sharp features. "Actually... that might work perfectly. It balances the jawline."
"Exactly," Krithika agreed, high-fiving her sister.
Deva gripped the wooden edges of the chair. The illusion of a quick, simple haircut had vanished. He was now officially a hostage to a joint sisterly makeover committee.
"Listen to me very carefully, Neither of you are licensed professionals. If you mess this up, I will look ridiculous."
"If we mess it up, you can just take the trimmer and shave your entire head bald," Anjali replied with an unsympathetic shrug. "It's a pandemic, Bava. Nobody is going to see you. Stop whining."
Deva opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of rapid, high-pitched shrieking interrupted him.
While Deva was trapped in the barber's chair, the rest of the family had migrated out onto the sprawling lawn to enjoy the morning sun.
A massive, woven picnic blanket had been spread out under the shade of a large banyan tree a few dozen yards away. Suma and Sesikala were sitting comfortably on the blanket, organizing a small basket of snacks and thermoses of tea.
Sitting quietly between his two grandmothers was Rishi. Ronnie had abandoned the shade of the haircut table to join the boy, resting his heavy chin affectionately on Rishi's crossed legs.
At nearly two and a half years old, Rishi had perfected the art of silent observation. He was wearing a small blue t-shirt and denim shorts. He held a small, plastic yellow car in his hand, but he wasn't playing with it. He was watching his father sitting in the wooden chair, his brow furrowed in mild curiosity, clearly wondering why his father was wrapped in a white towel on the grass.
Aadhya, however, was conducting a reign of terror across the estate.
She was a blur of perpetual motion, wearing a bright pink summer dress. She had spotted a large, brilliantly colored butterfly near the edge of the rose bushes and was currently engaged in a relentless, high-speed pursuit.
"Aadhya! Not in the mud!" Subba Rao shouted, jogging after his granddaughter, his face flushed and sweating slightly in the humidity.
Aadhya ignored him giggling wildly as she stomped through a damp patch of soil, her small sandals kicking up flecks of dirt.
Vikram, standing near the edge of the picnic blanket, laughed loudly at his Subba Rao's misery. "You have to cut off the angle, Subba Rao! You're chasing her in a straight line, she's too fast for you!"
"You try catching her!" Subba Rao panted, finally managing to scoop the wriggling toddler up by the waist. Aadhya immediately squawked in protest, pointing a demanding finger back toward the butterfly that had just flown over the boundary wall.
Subba Rao carried her back toward the picnic blanket, setting her down next to Rishi and the dozing dog. "Sit. Eat a biscuit."
Aadhya grabbed a biscuit from Sesikala's hand, took one bite, offered the second bite to Ronnie—who happily accepted the unexpected snack—and immediately noticed the gathering around the wooden chair.
She sprinted across the lawn.
Deva, currently bracing himself as Krithika picked up the plastic spray bottle, heard the rapid slapping of tiny sandals on the grass.
Aadhya skidded to a halt directly in front of his chair. She tilted her head back, looking up at her father wrapped tightly in the white towel. She stared at him for three seconds.
Then, she pointed a finger at his face, let out a mocking laugh, and sprinted away toward the swimming pool fencing, leaving her father thoroughly insulted.
"Even the two-year-old thinks this is a joke," Deva muttered.
"Close your eyes," Krithika instructed.
Deva closed his eyes.
SQUIRT. SQUIRT. SQUIRT.
Krithika sprayed water directly onto the top of his head. The water was shockingly cold. Deva flinched, water dripping down his forehead and catching in his eyelashes.
"That is too much water," Deva complained, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "You're drowning me."
"It has to be damp to cut properly," Anjali said, stepping up beside her sister. "Okay, let's start with the bulk on the top. Give me the scissors."
Deva's eyes snapped open. "Wait. Why is Anjali holding the scissors?"
"Because I have a steadier hand," Anjali declared confidently, clicking the metal blades of the kitchen scissors together ominously. "Akka is going to manage the trimmer for the sides. We are operating as a dual-surgeon unit."
Deva gripped the edges of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. "This is a terrible idea."
"Hold still," Anjali commanded.
She grabbed a thick, wet lock of hair from the very top of his head, pulled it straight up between her index and middle fingers, and positioned the scissors.
Deva held his breath.
SNIP.
The sound of the thick blades slicing through the dense hair was unnervingly loud. A six-inch chunk of dark hair fell onto the white towel draped across Deva's chest.
Deva looked down at the volume of hair resting on his lap. His eyes widened.
"Anjali," Deva said, his voice flat. "That was half a foot of hair."
"It looks like a lot because it's wet," Anjali lied effortlessly, tossing the severed lock onto the grass. She grabbed another section. SNIP. Another massive chunk fell.
"You're making me bald," Deva accused, feeling the strange breeze hitting the top of his scalp where the heavy insulation used to be.
"We are adding texture," Krithika corrected him, leaning around to inspect her sister's work. "Actually, Anjali, cut a little deeper on the left side. It's looking lopsided."
"Got it," Anjali nodded.
SNIP.
"Oops," Anjali whispered.
Deva froze. The entire universe seemed to stop spinning.
"What do you mean, 'oops'?" Deva asked, his voice deathly quiet. "In the history of the world, no one sitting in a barber's chair has ever wanted to hear the word 'oops'."
"It's fine, it's fine," Krithika said quickly, her voice slightly higher than usual as she stepped in to examine the damage. "She just... took a slightly aggressive angle. I can blend it. Give me the trimmer."
Krithika picked up the heavy electric beard trimmer from the table. She clicked the power button. The device buzzed to life with a hum.
"What guard are you using?" Deva asked, trying to turn his head to see the plastic attachment on the trimmer.
"Don't move your head!" Krithika scolded, placing a firm hand against the side of his face and pushing his head back to a straight, forward-facing position. "I'm using a number three."
"A number three is basically skin!" Deva protested.
"It's a summer cut, Sid. It's hot outside," Krithika reasoned.
She pressed the vibrating metal teeth of the trimmer against the base of his neck and pushed upward. The volume of hair that detached and fell down the back of Deva's t-shirt was staggering. He shivered as the loose hair caught against his sweating skin.
For the next twenty minutes, the sisters worked with chaotic intensity.
They communicated entirely in panicky whispers and vague hand gestures, constantly stepping back to view him from different angles.
"You took too much off the back," Anjali hissed, pointing at the nape of his neck. "Now there's a ridge."
"Well, if you hadn't chopped a crater into the top left, I wouldn't have had to take the fade so high to compensate!" Krithika hissed back.
"Give me a mirror," Deva demanded, reaching a hand out from beneath the towel. "Let me see what you've done."
"No!" both sisters yelled simultaneously, slapping his hand away.
"It's a process," Anjali insisted, picking the spray bottle back up and aggressively dousing his head again just to assert dominance. "You can't look at a painting halfway through."
"I am not a painting, I am a human being who has to do video calls with international business partners next week," Deva argued, wiping water out of his eyes again.
As the frantic buzzing of the trimmer continued, the rest of the family noticed the commotion and decided to offer their support.
Vikram strolled over from the picnic blanket, holding a cup of tea. He stopped a few feet away, surveying the ongoing operation. A massive pile of dark hair had accumulated on the grass around the base of the chair.
Vikram looked at the jagged, uneven lines Krithika was currently trying to smooth out with the trimmer.
He let out a loud, booming laugh.
"You are ruining the boy's head," Vikram chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. "He looks like a stray dog that got caught in a lawnmower."
"Thank you, Nanna. Your support is overwhelming," Deva said dryly, closing his eyes in defeat.
Sesikala walked over next, pushing Vikram aside gently.
"Krithika, be careful near his ears," Sesikala warned, her brow furrowed. "You are moving that machine very fast. If you nick his earlobe, he will bleed everywhere."
"I am in control, Athamma," Krithika promised, despite the fact that she was currently holding her breath to keep her hand steady.
Subba Rao wandered over, joining the peanut gallery. He looked at the pile of hair on the grass, then at Deva's unhappy expression.
"You know, Siddanth," Subba Rao noted mildly, adjusting his glasses. "The lockdown is eventually going to end. You could have just worn a hat for another month and paid a professional two hundred rupees to handle this."
"I am acutely aware of my mistakes, Mama," Deva sighed heavily.
"Nana!"
Deva opened his eyes. Rishi had finally abandoned his yellow plastic car and walked over from the picnic blanket. The little boy stood near the edge of the scattered hair on the grass, looking up at his father.
Rishi tilted his head, staring at the drastically reduced volume of hair on Deva's head. His brow furrowed in confusion. He reached his own small hand up, patting his own head, and then pointed at the grass, trying to understand how his father's head had ended up on the floor.
"I know, Rishi," Deva murmured sympathetically. "They destroyed me."
"We did not destroy you," Anjali declared, dusting her hands together. "Krithi, take the towel off. Let's dry it."
Krithika unclipped the metal pin, pulling the heavy, hair-covered towel away with a flourish. She grabbed a smaller, clean towel and aggressively rubbed the top of his damp head, messing up the remaining hair completely.
"Okay," Krithika announced, taking a step back and placing her hands on her hips.
Anjali stood beside her, crossing her arms.
The two sisters stared at him. For three long seconds, they didn't speak. They just stared.
Deva braced himself. He expected laughter. He expected an apology. He mentally prepared himself to ask Rahul to order an electric razor so he could go into the bathroom and shave himself bald.
Anjali's eyes widened slightly. Krithika tilted her head, a look of surprise washing over her features.
"Oh, wow," Anjali whispered.
"That actually..." Krithika started, blinking rapidly. "That really worked."
Deva frowned, highly suspicious of their sudden silence. "Give me the mirror."
Krithika didn't reach for the small hand mirror on the table. She pulled out her smartphone, opened the camera app, switched it to the front-facing selfie lens, and handed the phone to him.
Deva took the phone, mentally preparing for the worst, and looked at the screen.
He froze.
He stared at his own reflection, his mind momentarily struggling to process the image.
The disaster he had anticipated wasn't there.
The accidental, aggressive over-trimming Krithika had executed on the sides had resulted in a remarkably clean, high fade that sharply defined the sides of his head. The "crater" Anjali had mistakenly chopped into the top had forced them to heavily texturize the remaining length. Because he hadn't combed it, and Krithika had just aggressively towel-dried it, the medium-length hair on top swept back and slightly to the side in a chaotic, thick styled mess.
But the most striking element was the contrast.
For five years, he had paired his long hair with a clean-shaven face, giving him a sleek, refined, almost predatory aesthetic.
Now, the messy, textured, shortened hair sat above the thick, dense, fully grown-out lockdown beard he had cultivated over the past two months. The combination fundamentally altered the geometry of his face. The beard squared off his jawline, while the short sides emphasized the harsh, sharp angles of his cheekbones.
He didn't look like a refined, billionaire CEO anymore. He didn't look like the polished captain of the Indian cricket team.
He looked significantly older. He looked rugged, heavy, and intimidating.
"You look exactly like him," Anjali suddenly gasped, pointing a finger at Deva, realization dawning on her face.
"Like who?" Deva asked, still turning his head slightly to examine the fade in the camera.
"Thor!" Anjali shouted triumphantly. "Krithi, look at him! He looks exactly like Chris Hemsworth in Thor: Ragnarok! The short hair and the thick beard! It's identical!"
Krithika leaned over, looking at the phone screen, and then looked back at her husband. An appreciative smile spread across her face. The smugness radiating from her was palpable.
"We are geniuses," Krithika declared, high-fiving Anjali with a loud, echoing smack.
"You literally cut a hole in my head by accident ten minutes ago," Deva reminded them, lowering the phone.
"We adapted to the creative process," Anjali corrected him smoothly. "And the result is a masterpiece. Admit it, Bava. You love it."
Deva looked back at the phone screen. He ran a hand through the messy, textured top, feeling the cool breeze hit the buzzed sides of his head. The relief of losing the heavy, sweaty locks was immense. And aesthetically...
He actually did love it. The rugged, heavy-bearded look felt right for the isolation of the farmhouse. It was a departure from his public persona, an aesthetic that belonged to the lockdown.
A smirk touched the corners of his mouth beneath the thick beard.
"It's acceptable," Deva conceded softly, handing the phone back to Krithika.
"Acceptable?" Krithika scoffed, crossing her arms. "You look incredible. You're welcome, by the way. My salon services will now cost you fifty thousand rupees per session."
"Put it on my tab," Deva chuckled, standing up from the wooden chair and brushing a few stray hairs off his shorts.
The transformation was so startling that even the elders noticed the shift in energy.
Vikram walked back over, adjusting his spectacles to get a better look. He let out a low whistle of approval. "Well. I take back what I said about the lawnmower. You look like a grown man now, Siddanth. The long hair always made you look like a college student trying to be a rockstar."
"Thank you, Nanna," Deva laughed, shaking his head.
Subba Rao nodded approvingly from the background. "It is a very dignified look. Much better for a father."
"Okay, nobody move!" Anjali suddenly yelled, holding her phone high in the air. "We need a picture. The internet will collapse when they see this, but for now, it's going in the family group chat. Everyone get in!"
The sprawling lawn instantly devolved into a frantic, chaotic attempt to organize a family photograph.
"Aadhya! Get back here!" Krithika shouted, dropping the spray bottle and sprinting across the grass to intercept her daughter, who had just tried to launch herself toward the swimming pool gate.
Krithika scooped the squealing toddler up, carrying her back to the wooden chair.
"Sit," Krithika told Deva, pointing at the chair.
Deva obediently sat back down in the center of the frame. Krithika walked over and sat sideways on his right knee, balancing Aadhya on her hip. Aadhya immediately reached over and grabbed a fistful of Deva's new, textured hair, pulling it hard.
"Ow," Deva winced, gently prying her small, ruthless fingers away.
Vikram, Sesikala, Subba Rao, and Suma arranged themselves in a semi-circle behind the chair.
Anjali stood to Deva's left, holding her phone out at arm's length to capture the entire group.
"Wait, where is Rishi?" Suma asked, looking around the grass.
Deva looked down. Rishi was standing near his left leg, still holding his yellow plastic car, looking overwhelmed by the sudden crowding of bodies.
Deva reached down with his free arm, hooking Rishi around the waist, and lifted the boy smoothly onto his left knee. Rishi settled comfortably against his father's chest, looking at Anjali's phone lens. Ronnie, sensing the family huddle, trotted over and forcefully wedged himself between Vikram and Subba Rao's legs, panting happily at the camera.
"Okay, everyone look here!" Anjali instructed, balancing the phone. "Smile! Aadhya, stop pulling your mother's earring! Three, two, one..."
Click.
Anjali reviewed the photo on her screen, grinning widely. "Perfect. Sending it to the family group now."
The impromptu barbershop was dismantled as quickly as it had been established. A member of the estate's maintenance staff was called over with an outdoor vacuum to clear it, while Krithika gathered the tools and carried the chair back inside.
Deva walked upstairs to shower, washing away the itchy, microscopic fragments of loose hair.
When he stepped under the rushing water, he ran his hands over his head, marveling at how light and cool his scalp felt.
Hours later, the intense heat of the day broke, giving way to a cool, quiet evening.
The farmhouse was silent. The twins had finally exhausted their energy reserves and were fast asleep in the nursery. The elders had retired to their rooms to read or watch television.
Deva walked out onto the wide, elevated stone balcony adjoining the master bedroom. He was wearing soft, loose pajamas, the evening breeze cooling the damp, short hair on his head.
He heard the soft slide of the glass balcony door opening behind him, followed by the familiar click of Ronnie's nails on the stone before the dog settled heavily at his feet.
Krithika walked out, holding two warm mugs of green tea. She handed one to him and stepped up to the railing beside him, her shoulder brushing against his arm.
They stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the crickets and the rustle of the leaves.
"Still feeling the breeze on the back of your neck?" Krithika asked softly, a smile in her voice as she looked at his profile. The sharp, clean fade on the sides of his head looked incredibly striking in the dim light.
Deva chuckled, taking a slow sip of the hot tea. "It's going to take some getting used to. I keep trying to push the hair out of my eyes out of habit, and there's nothing there to push."
Krithika leaned closer, resting her head against his arm. "It suits you, Sid. Really."
Deva lowered his mug. He turned slightly, wrapping his free arm around Krithika's waist, pulling her flush against his side.
He kissed the top of her head, resting his chin there as they looked out over the quiet, dark orchards.
"It was a good day," Deva murmured into the cool night air, his voice vibrating with a deep, profound sense of gratitude.
"Yeah," Krithika smiled softly against his shoulder, the warmth of her tea radiating through the ceramic mug. "It really was."