My son picked up a spool of polyester thread today—price has gone up again, I tell you. I put my old Singer on double duty, but it hums like a sick bee, and I think: the government should lower the tax on this thread, na? A big man in Hyderabad does not think of a small tailor when he fixes the price. I keep the radio on, old S. P. Balasubrahmanyam song playing, and I mend a torn school uniform—this shirt has no right to cost more than a child's notebook. Fair is fair, that is all I ask.

My old sewing machine groans like it's at a shooting range, but our shooters? They make it look so smooth. My cousin's boy wanted to join the range, but the licenses and forms... ayyo, more threads to pull than in a school uniform blouse. Still, when the anthem plays, we all stop and listen, even if my hands are full of polyester.