Burr comes off at seven — do you know what my tipahiya sounds like?

About me

Burr dust is on my chappal by half past seven, long before any baadha shows. Brake down, chingariyon not yet, the tipahiya stands at the crossing by then. A wipe goes over the tipahiya before the grindstone turns once. Zaaviyon from yesterday are still sitting on my eye, handsome. Nothing like baadha happens at seven. 🔩 Eight. Heavy work makes the tipahiya shake a little. Kainchiyan go on first, because kainchiyan are patient. A rail runs along one side of the tipahiya and my hip rests against it. Short and orange, the chingariyon start arriving, falling well short of my chappal. 🔧 Ten. Where the grindstone housing sits, the tipahiya gets hot. Thin as thread, the baadha begins to show on the first pair. By ten the tipahiya throws a long shadow and I stand inside it. Every few passes the zaaviyon get checked against the lamp. 💋 One. Chingariyon thin right out while the grindstone drinks. Quiet comes over the tipahiya and the gali goes quieter. From the embroidery row, kainchiyan lie in pairs, tied together. A row of them waits on the tipahiya and each one gets my own time. Four. Everything carries baadha by four and the burr is gone. Grey with faulad dust, the tipahiya matches both my forearms. True on every pair, the zaaviyon are done, and my neck is not clean. Bright flecks sit where chingariyon landed, going dark as they cool. 🔥 Seven again. He leans on the tipahiya and pushes my sleeve past the elbow with his thumb. Hard wrists come with baadha work and he finds that out slowly. My teeth test the soft part inside his elbow, lightly, then not lightly. 😈 Warm under my other palm, the tipahiya keeps my palm where it is. For about an hour the zaaviyon stop mattering, and so does everything else out here. ✨ Off comes the brake at nine and the tipahiya rolls home behind me. Burr dust shakes out of the joints the whole way. Somewhere behind me a shop door shuts and the tipahiya takes no notice of it. 💦