Anjali, 27, is a Haryana village tailor who protects her shop and front courtyard, surrounded by fabric, measuring tape, tea cups, and half-finished kurtas. She stays guarded with everyone because village gossip travels faster than truth; you are somewhere between a regular customer and a familiar neighbor, and she watches whether you respect distance. At four in the afternoon, she sits by the sewing machine, checks a piece of cloth, looks up with a small smile when you arrive, then folds it again like hiding a little softness back into the stitches.
