Hari and sailaja

Hari’s life was always tangled with failures in love. From childhood to college, every attempt ended in rejection. He would propose with all his heart, only to be met with a shake of the head or a polite smile, but Hari carried on with his crazy hope. Somewhere deep inside, he still believed that one day, one girl would understand him. It happened one fine day on the coastal bus ride in Vizag—he saw her. Sailaja. Elegant, quiet, and wrapped in a simplicity that stole his breath. Their conversations began like ripples, small and gentle. Soon, those ripples grew into waves of laughter, shared secrets, and stolen glances. Hari felt the bond turning into love, stronger than anything he had ever known. 

And then came the shock— He realized Sailaja was not just any girl, but his first childhood crush, the girl he had given ring to. His heart jumped with joy, but he kept it locked inside, never telling her. For him, this was destiny coming back, and he didn’t want to spoil it. Just when love was blooming, Sailaja’s phone buzzed. It was her amma, Suma. “Sailu, come home raa… your project is done, and more important things are waiting.” Sailaja’s face changed. On the other side, Suma reminded her that the family ritual—her head shave—was long overdue. It was supposed to be done when she turned 15, but now, at 23, she stood at the edge of marriage age.

Relatives had already started whispering about fixing her pelli with Vamsi, a foreign-settled cousin. That evening, Sailaja met Hari with a heavy heart. She told him softly, “We can’t continue this… I can’t explain now. Please don’t keep any more feelings Ra.” Hari’s world shattered. Days turned into nights of drinking, his beard growing wild, his eyes empty. The boy who believed in prema now sat broken, hiding his tears behind bottles, wondering yenduku life played such cruel games. The moment Sailaja entered her house, the air felt heavier. She paused at the hall entrance, watching her amma, father Srinivas, and grandmother sitting with relatives. Their words cut her heart like knives. 

“The gundu ritual has been pending for too long,” her grandmother said firmly. “Sailu is already twenty-three, yenduku delay cheyyali? Before pelli, this must be done.” Another relative added, “If she marries Vamsi, let her go to him with a fresh start.” Sailaja’s amma Suma nodded silently, eyes torn between love for her daughter and duty to tradition. For the first time, Sailaja realized the decision had already been made for her — both her head shave and her marriage. She walked slowly to her room, shutting the door behind her before the tears burst out. Everything she had dreamed of with Hari seemed impossible now. Her hands touched her thick hair, the hair Hari had once admired, 

She shivered at the thought of losing it. “Aiyo… why me?” she whispered to herself, burying her face in her pillow. Her love for Hari was true, but so was her respect for her parents. Going against them felt like betraying her amma, yet agreeing meant losing both her love and her identity. The overdue ritual weighed like a curse, and the upcoming marriage felt like a prison. Sailaja cried quietly, knowing she was trapped in a world where her heart had no voice. The next day, discussions turned towards traveling to Annavaram for a family trip. That’s when her brother Kiran stepped in, introducing Hari to the family as his “close friend.” In truth, Hari had already known Kiran through his sister’s secret love story, 

And the two had planned this together. For Hari, it was a rare chance to stay close to Sailaja without revealing the past. Srinivas welcomed him politely, though with the careful eyes of a father. Sailaja, hiding her emotions, felt her heart beat faster at the sight of Hari walking into her home. It was a small light in the storm, a secret relief in the middle of her family’s strict plans. And behind the scenes, Kiran and Hari exchanged knowing smiles — their game had just begun. The train kept swaying gently, filled with chatter and laughter from the family. Hari sat close, listening carefully as Kiran, with his usual energy, started telling him stories about their people. He spoke of their mother,

Suma, a strict yet deeply affectionate woman who held the family together with her discipline. Their father, Srinivas, was described as a calm, practical man—respected, but often lost in his work. Through their words, Hari began piecing together Sailaja’s world—the protective warmth, the unspoken rules, and the expectations she quietly carried. Every now and then, Sailaja glanced at him, unsure how to feel, while the rest of the family teased Hari and pulled him into their circle with surprising ease. Once they reached home and things settled, Sailaja found her chance. Pulling Hari aside into a quiet corner, her eyes brimmed with a mixture of longing and helplessness. “Why did you come here?” she asked.

Hari, steady and soft, answered simply, “Because I can’t stay away. I still love you. I can’t live without you.” She shook her head, tears threatening to spill. For the first time, she opened up about the burden she was carrying—the gundu ritual and the arranged marriage. Hari listened in stunned silence. Marriage he expected, but this head shave ritual was something new to him. She braced herself for his disgust, but instead he only smiled gently. “I love you with or without hair, Sailaja. Bald or with the longest braid—you’ll still be you. Hair will grow back… but if I lose you, I can’t get you back ra.” His words warmed her heart, but she still whispered in pain, “This marriage is impossible, Hari. 

Please don’t dream.” The next day, Srinivas couldn’t join, so Hari was asked to accompany Sailaja and the others for shopping. The market buzzed with colors, laughter, and bargaining voices. At the saree shop, Sailaja’s hesitation showed in every fold she touched, until Hari stepped in with an ease that surprised everyone. He picked out a soft-colored saree for the ritual itself, then another brighter one for her post-head shave look. The family praised his taste, nodding approvingly. “Perfect choice,” Suma said, Hari even selected bangles to match, earning more smiles. Sailaja, caught between embarrassment and wonder, couldn’t believe how he handled it all—

not even flinching at the thought of her soon-to-be bald head. His calm presence made the others laugh and joke, lightening the air, while she silently marveled at his unshaken love. The day ended with shopping bags full and everyone praising Hari, but in Sailaja’s heart, the conflict only deepened. Kiran had been watching Sailaja and Hari closely, his doubts piling up. Finally, when the truth of their city love story slipped out, his temper flared. “So this isn’t just childhood prema, ra? You both continued it?” His tone was sharp. Hari tried to stay calm. Before things escalated, Suma and Srinivas called them into the hall, curious about their hushed quarrel. “What’s the matter, babu?” Suma asked. 

Thinking fast, Hari smiled and said, “Auntie… uncle… Kiran was saying we should celebrate the haldi, bangles ritual and other traditions in a big way.” Kiran’s eyes widened—this wasn’t what he’d said! Srinivas looked impressed, “Aha, that’s a good thought.” Hari added smoothly, “Even my family can join. It’ll be memorable.” Caught in the flow, Kiran, half-teasing, muttered, “Then why not also keep engagement along with it?” At once, both parents beamed with pride. “Kiran, you are really caring about Sailu’s future,” Suma said warmly. Kiran glanced at Hari, realizing he had unintentionally deepened the mess. Later, Hari pulled Kiran aside. “Yenduku ra, you had to add engagement into this?

Already it’s a mess for me.” Kiran laughed nervously, “Relax, my love is already set, yours only fucked up?” Hari shook his head, but smiled, “I will manage… somehow.” Soon, the rituals began. The house bustled with laughter and color—the haldi smeared on Sailaja’s cheeks, the clinking of bangles as relatives teased her, cousins giggling over her shy smiles. Yet beneath the brightness, Sailaja’s heart felt heavy. Each turmeric streak, each bangled wrist reminded her of tomorrow—the overdue gundu ritual. She smiled outwardly, but inside she whispered, “Amma says I must do it… how will Hari see me tomorrow… bald?” Hari sensed her silence. He stayed close, cracking small jokes to lift her spirits.

But when he caught her eyes glistening, he grew gentle, not forcing laughter. Later, he surprised everyone by arranging a giant LED wall. “Let’s celebrate this evening in a special way,” he announced. The family clapped, curious about his plan. The short film began. On screen, a clip showed Hari casually chatting with Suma earlier. “Amma, tell me about Sailu… what was she like as a child?” he had asked. Suma’s face glowed with nostalgia. “Sailu was always quiet but strong-willed. Even in school, she would stand her ground… just like me.” Her smile trembled. “Now, she is grown… soon after this ritual, after pelli, she will leave this house. Every amma feels sad in that moment.” 

The hall grew hushed as Suma’s voice cracked faintly. Sailaja’s eyes welled up—her amma’s words made her heart ache. Hari, watching from the side, felt a mix of pride and pain. He had arranged this to make Sailaja feel celebrated, but each word also reminded her of the weight on her—marriage, gundu, leaving Hari behind. She clasped her bangled hands tightly, stealing a glance at Hari. He gave her a soft reassuring nod, as if to say, “I’ll be with you, no matter what.” The LED screen flickered again, and suddenly Kiran appeared. The whole hall burst into laughter as he nervously stared at the camera, scratching his head. “See… I am scared. Tomorrow some uncle will come and ask, 

‘Do you remember me?’ And then he’ll ask, ‘What is your salary? How much property? will you marry my daughter?’ Aiyo, what will I answer?” He pulled a silly face, making even Srinivas garu chuckle. Then, the next video rolled—this time Srinivas garu himself. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried weight. “Sailu… nenu tough ga behave chestha ani anukuntav. But from the day you were born, you are my heartbeat. I don’t show it… but every step you take, I am behind you, making sure you don’t fall.” His voice faltered slightly. “7 years back i only requested the barber not to shave her head... caring for her but now gundu became compulsory and demand... i truly feel bad for her.” Sailaja sat frozen,

tears welling up. She had never heard her father speak like this. Before she could recover, the final clip came up—Vamsi, smirking at the camera. “All these rituals, so many people, lights, decorations… yenduku? It’s just marriage, no? Two people, four family members enough. Why to waste money?” His laugh was small but sharp. Some elders ignored it, but Sailaja felt a sting she couldn’t digest. As the videos ended, the family clapped and laughed together, Nobody knew Hari had been recording their true words. To them, it was like magic—raw honesty stitched into a memory. But for Sailaja, it was life-changing. She sat quietly, replaying her father’s words in her mind. “All this time… I thought he never cared. 

But it was me, blind in my ego. Amma’s love I always saw… but nanna’s? I missed it.” She wiped her tears, looking around at her family smiling. For the first time, she felt the depth of the ritual—not the shaving, not the baldness, but the respect it symbolized. “I will do it. I will sit down and get gundu. For Amma, for Nanna. Hair will grow back… but their happiness won’t return if I deny this.” Yet, when she closed her eyes, Hari’s face flashed before her—his goofy smile, his silent support, his soft words. Her chest tightened. “Prema… pelli… Hari… can both happen? Or will one dream end tomorrow?” Restless, she forced herself into sleep, her mind still caught between love and duty. 

Dawn arrived, The garden behind the house was decorated simply, flowers strung, the sacred fire already crackling. Sailaja draped herself in light pink silk saree, jasmine flowers tucked into her thick braid for one last time. Sitting between her parents near the homa, she smiled faintly, hiding her storm within. From across the courtyard, Hari watched silently, camera in hand. His heart twisted—she looked divine, yet he knew within minutes her crown of hair would fall. His smile stayed fixed, but his eyes betrayed the heaviness. Sailaja, feeling his gaze, thought to herself, “He is watching me… maybe hurting more than I am. Will he still look at me the same after today? Will he still love me?”

She pressed her palms together, steadying herself as the barber arrived, carrying his tools. A wooden stool was placed in the garden, fresh water in a brass pot beside it. The grandmother guided Sailaja forward. Adjusting her pallu carefully, she sat down, spine straight, eyes lowered, ready to surrender. The gundu ritual was about to begin. Her heart raced. The barber dipped his fingers, wetting her thick hair, pressing the water into her scalp. With steady hands, he placed the razor on her crown and pushed gently forward. A clean strip of scalp appeared, glistening against the morning sun. Hari, standing behind his camera, felt his chest tighten—

This was the hair he had once dreamt of caressing, now falling lifeless to the ground. Srinivas garu’s voice cut the silence, “Hari, capture everything. These memories are important.” Hari nodded, his smile stiff, hiding the storm within. Through the lens, he clicked—each frame a knife to his heart, Sailaja’s beauty transforming with every stroke. She closed her eyes, whispering inside, “This is for Amma, for Nanna. I will not cry. Hair will grow back.” Half her head was bald now, the other half still draped in wet strands. The barber paused, poured more water, and pulled the razor across again, this time from ear to nape. Hair slid off in clumps, falling onto her saree, then down to the mat below.

Hari’s eyes blurred with tears, but when Suma glanced at him curiously, he quickly rubbed them, muttering, “Dust went in, Amma.” She gave a small nod, believing him. Steeling himself, Hari lifted the camera again, filming each swipe of the blade. Sailaja’s lips trembled as cold air touched her exposed scalp. “Will Hari still love me after this? Or will he turn away like others? Amma says this is purity… but my heart fears losing him.” The barber continued, rhythm steady, and soon only a few damp tufts remained. Just then, Vamsi, watching closely, noticed Hari’s clenched jaw, the way his camera lingered longer on Sailaja than necessary. Suspicion sparked. 

He whispered to a cousin, “Something is not right with this fellow…” Finally, with a swift motion, the barber scraped the last patch. Sailaja’s head was smooth, shining, her flowers and braid lying in a heap beside the stool. At Hari’s faint request—masking his emotions as “better for photos”—the barber ran the razor once more, polishing her scalp clean. Srinivas smiled proudly, “Perfect.” Hari lowered his camera, hands shaking. Before he could step back, Vamsi snatched the phone from him. “Why are you so emotional, ha? Why are you shooting like she’s your… lover?” He scrolled through the photos, his smirk widening. “Ahh, caught red-handed.” The family gasped.

Hari tried to explain, “Uncle asked me to record—” but Vamsi’s voice drowned him out. Humiliated, Hari turned and walked away, shoulders heavy. A moment later, Sailaja rose, adjusting her pallu, stepping forward in her new bald form. The courtyard went silent at her transformation. Vamsi looked at her once—and burst out laughing. “Aiyo Sailaja… in gundu you are looking funny… maybe your family in gundu will also look funny just like you !” His mocking tone stung like fire. Sailaja froze, her eyes blazing. In one motion, she stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed through the garden, silencing everyone.

 “Don’t you dare insult me, my gundu, or my parents—even for fun,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. The family stood stunned, realizing the truth of Vamsi’s character as Sailaja’s bald head shined. The sharp sound of Sailaja’s slap still echoed in the hall. Vamsi froze, holding his cheek, his grandfather stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. “Sailu, aiyo, don’t take it serious… it was just for fun. But, truth is, without hair… you’re looking less beautiful.” The words pierced like a blade. Before Sailaja could react, Srinivas garu stood tall. “Enough! Beauty is not in hair or face. Character is important, and my daughter’s character is far better than his.” 

The entire family fell silent. Tears welled in Sailaja’s eyes; she rushed to her father and hugged him tightly, her bald head resting against his chest. “Amma, Nanna… I don’t want this marriage,” she declared with a firm voice. Srinivas nodded. “Then it’s over. This marriage is cancelled.” The family drama ended right there, with Sailaja’s courage silencing every whisper. That afternoon, back at home, the mood was calmer. Sailaja, now free of the wedding burden, sat with her father. Stroking her freshly shaved head, she whispered, “Nanna… I love Hari. I tried to stay away, but I can’t. Please… accept him.” Srinivas looked at her eyes, full of honesty and love.

For the first time, he truly saw his little girl grown up. Suma joined them, moving her hand on Sailaja’s bald head. “Sailu is right. Let her marry the man she loves.” After a long pause, Srinivas smiled faintly. “Then let’s bring him back.”  He dusted off his old scooter, the one he had promised never to ride again until Sailaja hugged him with true daughter’s love. With Sailaja holding him tightly from behind, her bald head against his back, they rode through the streets in search of Hari. At the railway station, Hari stood alone, heartbroken, waiting for a train. Srinivas approached first. “Hari… forgive me. For what Vamsi did, for what I did. I don’t want anyone else. 

Only you should be my son-in-law.” Before Hari could respond, Sailaja appeared beside him, eyes brimming with emotion. She smiled through her tears. “So… will you accept a bald girlfriend? A bald wife?” Hari chuckled softly, wiping her tears. “Raa Sailu… with or without hair, you are mine. Hair grows back, but my love will never go.” She laughed shyly, leaning into him, while Srinivas looked on with pride. The platform lights flickered, the train horn blew in the distance, and amidst all the chaos, Sailaja and Hari embraced tightly — a bald-headed bride-to-be and the man who loved her just the same. The story ended not with hair, but with heart.