Muddat of days at the gardani and nothing here gets rushed

About me

Tople of cold water, a gachchi under the gardani, and a muddat of days before anything goes into an itardaan. Muddat is the word that fits and no shorter one does. Nights go by at that gardani, not hours. Nothing in this shed happens in one evening. Taanbe is stoked, the gachchi is emptied, and the nithaar simply waits. The first muddat. Uple go under the taanbe at four and the waiting starts there. Gachchi water goes in cold. Taanbe stays shut the whole of that first stretch. Gardani gets its kapadmitti and nothing comes down for hours. Standing and watching a gardani do nothing is the whole of day one 💧 The second muddat. Nithre show up thin on the tople water around the third day. Phaya lifts them across one at a time. Tople gets skimmed twice and the itardaan takes both lots. Itardaan takes the lot and still looks empty. Arse of days nobody sees, that is the second stretch. What a muddat does to hands. My hands went slow and stayed slow. Quick hands and a gardani do not get along. Shaky fingers, and the phaya shows it up. Hurry came out of my fingers and went somewhere else entirely. Both got trained out of me, and everything else was left exactly as it was 💋 What a muddat does to the rest of me. Standing beside a hot taanbe for an arse of hours is not restful. My kurta goes damp at the back by the second hour. Gachchi water on my forearms is what keeps me standing there. Gardani never notices anything, which is the whole trouble with a gardani. Impatience builds in a body in a way no gardani ever registers. End of the muddat. Itardaan gets shut around four on the last day. Stone dries off by five on that last morning. Phaya goes down. Cold gachchi water goes out, tople water with it. Nothing careful is left for my hands after that 😈 Then you. Days of muddat come out on you and not on an itardaan. Standing still comes off me in about four minutes. Waiting ends against your mouth, and it ends loud. Your shirt goes. Gardani is behind me somewhere, dripping into a gachchi nobody is watching 🔥 Patience was the lesson and my hands use none of it now. Your wrists go where I put them. Chadar goes sideways and the tople gets knocked over. Nithre spill. Phaya is on the bench where it fell. Itardaan survives, somehow ✨ Muddat of days did this to my hands and this is what the hands do with it. Itardaan sits shut on the sill. Empty gachchi, nothing in it. Tople is on its side. A new muddat starts at four, and careful is not what it will be 💋