#indian mattress industry

[textileinfomedia]

DELHI: PROTEAN MARKET FOR READYMADE GARMENTS AND HANDLOOMS

Delhi is a city which shelves everyone. All kind of people, from every race, from every culture have found a haven in this humongous city. It all started from the local populace coming in interaction with people from different race and ethnicity. Owing to its multicolored populace, the fabrics and clothing in Delhi is influenced by multiple cultures. From the ethnic north Indian style to the mughal form of clothing, Delhi has it all. The cloth market in Delhi is a unique combination and blend of clothing style from different states and nations. The manufacturers, suppliers and manufacturing units in Delhi have a plethora of product itinerary to offer.

DELHI: ASSORTMENT OF APPARELS AND GARMENTS

The demand for apparel and garments in Delhi has skyrocketed in recent years. The manufacturers of kidswear , ladies tops, blazer, dhoti, hand gloves, pants, jersey, printed shirts manufacturers in Delhi, cotton shirts, harem pants, socks, sportswear, western wear and jacket have reported saying that the people in Delhi love something that offers them variety. Due to the extreme weather conditions, the winter wears market and the cotton cloth market has both flourished. The seasonal approach of populace has given Delhi a mega status in the textile market. The suppliers of men’s trousers, t shirts, underwear, sherwani, skirts suppliers in Delhi, tie, jacquard laces, cap, fancy lace, jeans, shirting, men’s kurtas, palazzo pants, suiting, readymade garments in Delhi, fancy neck, ladies petticoat, uniform, nightwear, blouses suggest the trend dominance of ladies wear in the city.

DELHI: PATRON OF HANDLOOM PRODUCTS

Delhi due to its strategic location is a thriving center for all kinds and variants of products. The handloom products are the real identity of the culture and ethnicity of our nation. There are different forms of the products that are available and captivating at the same time. The manufacturers and suppliers of different handloom products have made Delhi a hub for the handloom products from other nearby regions as well and home textile market and industry in India majorly depends on it. This makes Delhi a suitable place for the display of all kinds of handloom products.

DELHI: HUB FOR HOME TEXTILES

Delhi is a place where one can find maximum home textile products. The market for home textiles is wide and diverse. The people of Delhi have a fondness for the products that beautify their home. So the manufacturers and suppliers of dining table cover, pillow, door mats, towel, woolen blankets, table mats, carpet, car covers, cushion covers, kitchen towels, rugs, blanket in delhi, table linen, bed covers, mattress cover and curtains have boomed during the last decade. The sanitary and bath textiles have a diverse and vast market in Delhi. The manufacturers of bath towels in Delhi, table cover, floor mats, hand towels, quilts and napkin have built a stable and product rich market in Delhi.

DELHI: TRADE EXPERT IN TEXTILE MACHINERY

The premium component of the textile business in Delhi is textile machinery. The textile machinery market in Delhi is premium and wide. You can find list of Textile mills in India from Here that will be help for all textile machinery suppliers in India. Due to proficiency and skills of the laborers and manufacturers in Delhi, it has achieved a status of leader in the market of textile machinery. The manufacturers of texturizing machine in Delhi, dyeing machinery, spinning machinery, textile machinery spare parts, chain stitch embroidery machine, TFO machine, loom spare parts in Delhi, schiffli embroidery machine, and laser embroidery machine have the machinery of supreme quality and are the leading manufacturers of these machineries. The suppliers of jacquard machine, stone embroidery machine, embroidery machine accessories, power loom, mix head embroidery machine, air jet looms, sequin embroidery machine and computerized machinery for embroidery have always supplied the machinery and promoted the concept of self sufficiency. The importers of the textile machinery are also in great numbers in Delhi. The importers of winding machine, yarn coning machine, warping machine, sewing machine, ironing machine, water jet loom suppliers directory, industrial motors, multi head embroidery machine, chenille embroidery machine, garment machinery manufacturers in Delhi, textile printer, knitting machine, rapier loom and cording embroidery machine have provided and supplied the advanced machinery from other nations like Germany and USA. There are so many top leading companies of Textile in Delhi where you can get good quality textile machinery for your textile business. Delhi Textile market is very potential market for present and future of Textile markets in India.

[livingsolutio]

The Art of Furniture in Singapore: A Symphony of Style and Function

Design Excellence: Singaporean furniture is renowned for its design excellence. The city's designers draw inspiration from a rich cultural heritage and a deep appreciation for artistry. The result is furniture that marries aesthetics with functionality. Whether it's a sleek contemporary sofa, a meticulously carved wooden dining table, or a minimalist coffee table, every piece exudes a sense of elegance and innovation.

Diverse Styles: Singapore's furniture scene is a testament to its cultural diversity. It brings together influences from Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Western cultures, furniture singapore resulting in a diverse range of furniture styles. From traditional Peranakan furniture with intricate patterns to ultra-modern designs with clean lines and innovative materials, Singapore offers something for every taste.

Sustainable Choices: Singapore is also making significant strides in promoting sustainable and eco-friendly furniture options. Many local manufacturers and designers are prioritizing environmentally responsible materials and production processes. Bamboo, reclaimed wood, and recyclable materials are gaining popularity, reflecting Singapore's commitment to a greener future.

Small Spaces, Big Ideas: With limited living space in the city, Singaporeans have mastered the art of maximizing small areas. Furniture that is both space-saving and multi-functional is highly sought after. Innovative designs like sofa beds, foldable dining tables, and wall-mounted storage solutions cater to the need for efficient use of space without compromising style.

Customization: Singaporean furniture stores often offer customization options, allowing customers to create bespoke pieces that suit their unique preferences and needs. From choosing the type of wood to selecting fabric patterns and colors, customization ensures that your furniture complements your interior perfectly.

Affordable Luxury: Singapore's furniture market offers a wide range of products that cater to varying budgets. Whether you're looking for affordable yet stylish options or ready to invest in high-end luxury pieces, there is something for everyone. The local craftsmanship ensures that even budget-friendly choices exhibit a level of quality and style.

Design Districts: In Singapore, you'll find dedicated design districts like Tiong Bahru and Joo Chiat that are home to a cluster of furniture stores, showrooms, and design studios. These areas provide an immersive experience for those seeking inspiration and a chance to explore the latest trends in interior design.

Artisanal Craftsmanship: Artisanal craftsmanship is at the heart of Singapore's furniture industry. Skilled craftsmen and designers work together to create pieces that are not only functional but also artistic. The attention to detail and passion for their craft is evident in every creation.

Heritage and Tradition: Singaporean furniture often pays homage to the country's rich heritage and traditions. Peranakan-style furniture, for example,  mattress Singapore incorporates intricate floral motifs and vibrant colors, reflecting the Peranakan culture's unique blend of Chinese and Malay influences.

Global Recognition: Singaporean furniture has gained global recognition and is exported to various parts of the world. The craftsmanship and innovative designs have won the hearts of interior designers and homeowners alike, making Singapore a notable player in the global furniture industry.

[subashdhoni86]

The Rise of D2C Brands in India: Disrupting Traditional Retail Models

Introduction: In recent years, a new trend has emerged in the Indian business landscape, shaking up the traditional retail models that have long dominated the market. Direct-to-Consumer (D2C) brands, also known as digitally native vertical brands (DNVBs), have gained significant momentum and are reshaping the way products are sold and consumed. By bypassing middlemen and connecting directly with consumers through online channels, D2C brands are revolutionizing the retail industry in India. In this blog, we will explore the rise of D2C brands and the impact they are having on traditional retail models in the country.

The Changing Consumer Landscape: With the rapid growth of internet penetration and the increasing adoption of smartphones, Indian consumers have embraced online shopping like never before. This shift in consumer behavior has created a fertile ground for D2C brands to thrive. By leveraging digital platforms and social media, these brands can effectively target and engage with their customers, offering personalized experiences and building strong brand loyalty.

Disruption of Traditional Retail Models: The rise of D2C brands is disrupting traditional retail models in multiple ways. Let's delve into a few key areas where this disruption is most evident:

Eliminating Middlemen: Traditionally, multiple intermediaries such as distributors, wholesalers, and retailers were involved in the supply chain, resulting in higher costs for consumers. D2C brands cut out these middlemen and sell directly to customers, enabling them to offer products at competitive prices while maintaining better profit margins. For instance, Mamaearth, a D2C brand specializing in natural and toxin-free personal care products, bypasses traditional retailers and directly sells its products to consumers, ensuring affordability without compromising on quality.

Enhanced Customer Experience: D2C brands prioritize customer experience by offering personalized interactions, convenient online shopping, and seamless post-purchase support. By directly engaging with customers, these brands gain valuable insights into consumer preferences and can adapt their products and services accordingly. Wakefit, a D2C mattress brand, uses customer feedback and data to continuously refine its products and provide tailored sleeping solutions, thereby fostering strong customer relationships.

Agile Product Development: D2C brands leverage their direct connection with consumers to launch innovative products quickly. By gathering real-time feedback and market insights, they can swiftly respond to changing trends and customer demands. An example of this is Boat, a D2C audio brand that rapidly introduced wireless earbuds with active noise cancellation after noticing the growing demand for such products among its customer base.

Real-Life Examples:

Nykaa: Nykaa, a beauty and wellness D2C brand, has disrupted the traditional beauty retail market in India. By offering a wide range of cosmetic and personal care products through its online platform, Nykaa has become a go-to destination for Indian consumers. The brand's success has prompted it to expand into offline stores, providing a seamless omnichannel experience to customers.

boAt: boAt, an audio and consumer electronics D2C brand, has witnessed remarkable growth in a short span of time. The brand's trendy and affordable audio products have resonated with Indian consumers, propelling boAt to become one of the leading audio brands in the country. boAt's success showcases the power of D2C brands to capture the attention of young, digitally savvy consumers.

Conclusion: The rise of D2C brands in India is transforming the retail landscape by challenging traditional models and offering innovative, customer-centric experiences. Through direct engagement with consumers, these brands are revolutionizing the way products are marketed, sold, and consumed. As technology continues to advance and consumer preferences evolve, the D2C model is likely to become even more influential, paving the way for a new era in Indian retail.

Sources:

"How Nykaa became a $1 billion beauty behemoth" - Economic Times

"The rise of the 'D2C' business in India" - Mint

"The D2C revolution: How start-ups are bypassing traditional retailers to sell you things" - The Print

[willislangston45]

Chris Christie Confronted On Medical Pot

The recommended daily allowance is three or four fish oil capsules just about every day. Omega 6's and Omega 3s really should be balanced. A deficiency and/or too much either fatty acids occurs health conditions can occur and perhaps may not respond well to treatment. If you suffer from low blood you could be advised to increase Omega 6s in diet regime. Lesson: Choosing to run residence business can be the quickest road to divorce or family disengagement. Keep Spectrum CBD Gummies Cost updated on what is happening in your business, specially when you managed a business that's going to keep you away from on a continuing basis. Family rules, structure, and expectations may need to have to shift for awhile, along with the more that you just family can be a a part of creating that change, the healthier and happier everybody will be. After getting home within the book signing tour (he wrote an autobiography, Black Tuna Diaries) and a major international cannabidiol conference hosted by Patients Associated with your Time along with the University of Arizona, Platshorn got a surprise visit with a new parole officer. The stranger demanded a urine sample generating it clear to Robert and his wife that Platshorn may be returned to prison if he rejected. Obviously He's a pretty sharp business man and a lot of reps in his company are sure to make and this money. If you decide to join this company, to phrases ahead in the game, I recommend a good marketing model. Again, omega-3 fatty acid is if you can most abundant food associated with Omega about three. Fish, fish oil, and seafood are animal reasons for Omega four. They are the most direct primary element. Plants oils on the opposite hand provide Omega 3 as certainly. They include flaxseed oil, Hemp Legal, walnuts, and tofu (soy protein) all contain ALA another fatty acid solution. ALA breaks down into DHA and EPA on the blood pool. The greatest source of Omega 3 is fish specifically the oil of fatty do some fishing. The supplements arrive in both liquid and capsulized variations. Quality supplements are constructed from artificial fish oils; the only kind of oil is actually why fit for humans for dinner. It is purified in a process called molecular distillation. Hemp Hotel located in Amsterdam, Netherlands is simply full of items and amenities made directly from the Hemp Plant. Mind you, hemp isn't to be confused with its cousin marijuana. Nearly all of the mattresses, curtains, shampoo and soap are produced from the botanical herb. But not to worry--visitors have choice to make a choice from Afghan, Moroccan, Caribbean, Indian or Tibetan hemp. Lesson: Know your marketplace. Are they male or female duck? What age group? What industry? What socio-economic group? Where do they hang out on- and off-line? What would you give up read? The particular groups and associations (real and virtual, personal and professional) do they belong? What quantity of money do create? Can they easily afford your products or services?

[pgingurgaon]

Boys and girls paying guests at a PG in Gurgaon

Gurgaon is a city with a diverse population and different cultural influences. Girls and boys would search for the best PG because it is a major city with many industries and a sizable working class. However, many boys and girls travel from various states to study in Gurgaon. As a result, Paying Guest is a better choice because of its excellent location, value, and affordable price.

What is a PG?

A paying guest is referred to as a PG. A short-term facility is typically offered when a traveler needs somewhere to stay while visiting a new city. Additionally, this is a fantastic option for tourists who cannot find lodging in a new place. The PG rating covers their accommodation, meals, and activities. PGs come in a wide variety of forms. While others are more like a house, some are like a motel room.

The best PGs in Gurgaon: Where to find them?

The best pg in Sector 14 gurgaon can be located in a variety of ways. You can accomplish this by visiting the city or conducting online research. Several websites review PGs online and can assist you in determining which PGs in Gurgaon are the best if you complete an online search.

What qualities distinguish the best PGs in Gurgaon?

The idea of staying in a PG in Gurgaon is unusual as It's a location where you can last for a fair fee. For a single room PG in Gurgaon, you can pay a flat rate of approximately Rs. 2500 for your stay. The best location to stay in Gurgaon is in a single room. The best feature of this choice is that you can remain for however long. Because it has a single bed and a TV with a bathroom connected. The room has a TV, a kitchenette, an air conditioner, and a refrigerator. A refrigerator and a kitchenette are also included. It is the ideal location for people who are on a tight budget and seeking lodging at a fair price.

Benefits of the boys' PG in Gurgaon

The benefits include the following for boys PG :

Non-AC or AC rooms -

According to your guests' needs, the excellent accommodation amenities of the PGs in Gurgaon are available with or without air conditioning. In terms of quality and price, Gurgaon's services are the best in the area.

Sanitary food -

Food is the second most important thing to a person after a house. So it provides its tenants three meals of clean food each day, like how a man may maintain a happy life with decent meals.

24-hour electricity –

Everyone needs electricity, but students who study in the evenings must. Thus, they must have complete access to electricity in their PG. Every service provider must prioritize consumer happiness.

Benefits of the girl's PG in Gurgaon -

The benefits include the following for girls PG :

High-quality lodging -

Well-lit, ventilated rooms with beds, mattresses, air conditioning, TVs, personal closets, tables, bathrooms, geysers, washing machines, and refrigerators are available. The rooms are spacious and stylish.

Three hygienic meals per day -

A self-serve and fully equipped kitchen is an option in addition to offering daily three meals for breakfast, lunch, and supper with a menu that includes Chinese, north Indian, and south Indian cuisine. This suggests that you have the choice to prepare your meals.

24-hour access to water and electricity -

Water tanks, inverters, and an uninterrupted daily supply of electricity are all available in case of an emergency.

Conclusion

A PG is a terrific method to have somewhere to stay while visiting a different city if you are staying in Gurgaon. Furthermore, it is a fantastic method to save money. Its original concept has been created to assist girls and boys in finding a better area to live for studying or for employment-related reasons. Therefore, it is beneficial for anyone new to the city.

24-hour electricity – Everyone needs electricity, but students who study in the evenings must. Thus, they must have complete access to electricity in their PG. Every service provider must prioritize consumer happiness. Benefits of the girl's PG in Gurgaon - The benefits include the following for girls PG : High-quality lodging - Well-lit, ventilated rooms with beds, mattresses, air conditioning, TVs, personal closets, tables, bathrooms, geysers, washing machines, and refrigerators are available. The rooms are spacious and stylish. Three hygienic meals per day - A self-serve and fully equipped kitchen is an option in addition to offering daily three meals for breakfast, lunch, and supper with a menu that includes Chinese, north Indian, and south Indian cuisine. This suggests that you have the choice to prepare your meals. 24-hour access to water and electricity - Water tanks, inverters, and an uninterrupted daily supply of electricity are all available in case of an emergency. Conclusion A PG is a terrific method to have somewhere to stay while visiting a different city if you are staying in Gurgaon. Furthermore, it is a fantastic method to save money. Its original concept has been created to assist girls and boys in finding a better area to live for studying or for employment-related reasons. Therefore, it is beneficial for anyone new to the city.

[banglahits]

MRH HANDLOOM Rajasthan Handloom Soft Cotton Foldable Light Weight Mattress (Multicolor, 1 Sleeping Capacity or 78 x 36 Inches, 8kg)

MRH HANDLOOM Rajasthan Handloom Soft Cotton Foldable Light Weight Mattress (Multicolor, 1 Sleeping Capacity or 78 x 36 Inches, 8kg)

Price: (as of – Details) We manufacture and supply a high-quality cotton mattress, which is filled with cotton derived local Indian industries. Our cotton mattress is completely comfortable and gives a healthy posture while sleeping to ensure complete sleep and rest. It’s completely folding. perfect during guest at home. washable and can be placed anywhere Material – Inside Cotton And Cover Is…

[wileykrog7]

The Interesting History Of Bathroom Tile Designs

With all the brand new technological developments, it is exhausting to think about how the whole lot was done. Take bathrooms for instance. The design of a fugenloses bad could make an enormous distinction in how it appears to be like and works for you. While there are many variations in opinion on what a perfect bathroom should look like, there is one thing that people agree on: the bathroom tiles!

Introduction to bathroom tile design

Tile has been a well-liked design selection for bathrooms for centuries. There are numerous reasons for this – it’s easy to clean, timeless, and infrequently seems to be good in any style. But why have been bathroom tile designs so in style in the first place? Listed below are 5 fascinating bathroom tile design details: 1. Tile was initially used as flooring in Roman baths. 2. Within the 18th century, European aristocrats started utilizing tiles as wall decoration in their bathrooms. 3. American designers took benefit of the pattern and started designing bathrooms with tile floors and walls within the early 1900s. 4. The recognition of tile continued to develop throughout the 1950s and 1960s, when people began utilizing it as a decorative ingredient in their homes as properly. 5. Today, tile is still one in every of the preferred bathroom design choices, and there are many various styles to select from. If you’re trying to add some character to your bathroom, tiles are an incredible option to do it!

Traumatic events in history involving bathrooms

1. The Roman Empire built a large system of aqueducts to maneuver water from the Alps to the cities. As a result, they needed places to retailer the water and it was determined to build baths alongside the route. The first baths had been built in Syria in the first century Ad. 2. In 1190, King Richard I of England was on his means residence from the Crusades and stopped in Egypt on his way back. He grew to become so unwell that he was forced to take a bath and died shortly after. 3. In 1755, when Russia was nonetheless part of the Ottoman Empire, an outbreak of smallpox struck the city of Kazan. The emperor ordered all the smallpox victims to be burned alive as they had been thought-about a menace to society. One smallpox victim managed to escape and informed everybody about what occurred. This led to a mass panic and the emperor was finally overthrown. 4. During World War II, Nazis forced Jews into concentration camps where they were systematically killed. Lots of those who had been killed took baths earlier than their deaths in order to disinfect themselves from the diseases that had been rampant within the camp population.

Traumatic occasions in history involving the bathroom tile

Bathroom tile has been a supply of trauma for many people throughout history. Here are some of probably the most traumatic events involving bathroom tiles: - In 1692, a lady in England was tortured and killed after being accused of utilizing witchcraft. The woman's torturers took revenge on her body by sticking pins into the tiles in her bathroom. The Tile Baroness is now named after her. - In 1748, during the French and Indian War, British troops captured a French fort near Quebec City. One of many troopers determined to take a pee whereas standing on one of many soldier's privies within the fort's bathroom. When he finished, he seen that his foot was stuck in the urine-soaked flooring tiles. He struggled to free himself, and when he finally succeeded, he went into shock from the pain. He died from his injuries six days later. - In 1878, an 8-yr-previous woman in Iowa got lost in a blizzard and ended up at a farmhouse near Decorah. The farmer's daughter let her into the house, and she used the bathroom before going to mattress. When she woke up the subsequent morning, she couldn't find

Industrial revolution & the forking of two tendencies

The Industrial Revolution was a time when many new innovations have been made. One of those innovations was the bathroom tile design. During this time, people began to make use of several types of tiles of their bathrooms. This was because tiles had been very affordable and so they appeared superb in bathrooms. Tiles had been initially utilized in Roman baths. Later, they have been utilized in European bathrooms. It was not until the 1800s that tiles turned widespread in American bathrooms. It's because American builders were extra open to new ideas and so they were extra considering modernizing their properties. One in every of the most popular varieties of bathroom tile designs through the Industrial Revolution was the Moorish look. This type of tile was first used in England and it turned very fashionable during the Industrial Revolution because it regarded rustic and elegant at the same time. Another kind of bathroom tile design that became very fashionable in the course of the Industrial Revolution was the Tuscan look. This model of tile was first used in Italy and it became very popular because it appeared classical and modern at the same time.

Swings in reputation & find out how to sustain with them

Bathroom tile designs have seen a swing in reputation over the years. From the normal and classic tiled designs of many years previous, to the more fashionable and eclectic kinds which might be fashionable now, there's a bathroom tile design to fit each character and magnificence. Here is a look on the attention-grabbing historical past of bathroom tile designs. The origins of bathroom tile design date again to antiquity. Greeks and Romans used tiles to decorate their baths and washrooms, and these early tiles had been typically simple geometric shapes or animals. As Europe began to industrialize in the 1700s, more intricate tile designs started to appear, typically depicting floral or heraldic motifs. These elaborate tiles were usually handmade and could take many hours to complete. The mid-nineteenth century noticed the rise of the Victorian era, which saw a dramatic enhance in luxurious residing. This enhance in luxurious led to an elevated demand for decorative components equivalent to bathroom tiles. Bathroom tiles grew to become notably in style among the higher classes, who might afford to spend more on decorating their spaces. In the course of the early 20th century, bathroom tile design began to shift away from conventional geometric designs in favor of extra trendy types. Artists corresponding to Piet Mondrian

Design preferences today and how to take care of flooring tiles

Bathroom tile designs have come a great distance since their inception within the 1800s. Back then, tiles were used as flooring in public baths, and their design was largely utilitarian in nature. Over time, however, bathroom tile designs developed to turn out to be extra decorative and fitting for numerous areas. Listed here are some interesting bathroom tile design details to think about: -Tile designs became more elaborate through the Victorian period. This was due in part to the growing pattern of spending time indoors instead of outdoors, and likewise as a result of wealthy folks needed to showcase their wealth and status by having fancy tile floors. -During the early twentieth century, designers started experimenting with different types of tiles. They included supplies like marble and granite, which hadn’t been used as a lot earlier than that point. -Today’s bathroom tile designs still offer a great deal of flexibility with regards to creating distinctive seems to be. There are lots of various kinds of tiles accessible, so you could find one which completely matched your preferences and wishes. Just be sure to maintain your tiles clean and freed from any debris or spills so that they remain trying their greatest!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Army Tent Poles, Sheets, Boots Made by Convicts," Vancouver Sun. July 3, 1943. Page 14. ---- By JAMES DYER The war has reached into British Columbia Penitentiary, perched on its hill overlooking the great bend of the mighty Fraser River at New Westminster, and many of its 268 convicts are today lending a hand to the United Nations' war effort in humble but none-the-less effective ways. Here, men whose terms ranges from two years to life - there are 12 of the latter in the grim, grey prison at present - keep themselves busy, some of them quite happy, at a variety of tasks from mending thousands of army boots and slippers, repairing uniforms, to the manufacture of tent poles, sheets, pillow slips and mattress for the men of the Armed Force. By permission of the department of Justice at Ottawa, The Vancouver Sun sent a reporter and cameraman into the prison to see how it works. No pleasure palace, B.C. penitentiary is a tiny, practically self-contained community, a congeries of small industries.

Here men who have a debt to pay to society are under a humane discipline that keeps most of them healthy, if not contented with their lot. Things within its 25-foot walls of sheer masonry are a little different from the average man's conception of a prison, gleaned from the movies. The visitors saw men at work, many of them learning useful trades which they can turn to honest use when let out into the world once more.

KEEPS NUMBERS DOWN War has had a double influence in this prison. It has supplied much useful work to convicts. It has kept their numbers down.

Warden William Meighen and his deputy warden, Robert S. Douglass, displayed a significant chart in their office. It was a graph showing the rise and fall of prison population from the year 1913 to the present year. Significant was the fact that the line on the graph dropped to about 110 Inmates in 1918-20, immediately after the first Great War, rose again to 450 in 1931. when the depression was in fall swing, and then, after a moderate recession during the next decade, fell away again sharply to less than 300 in 1942.

"There are always men who are weak, and these you will find in prisons," Warden Melghen commented. "But it would appear that when there are plenty of honest occupations for men, the prison poplation declines."

A conducted tour of the prison plant, under Warden Meighen's supervision disclosed one outstanding fact at the beginning. An entire new cell block, built only a few years ago, with 200 cells in it, stands entirely empty. And the main cell block, housing the 268 prisoners now incarcerated, is by no means full.

The cell blocks are the things about the prison which bear most resemblance to what one sees in the movies. In the main block, the chief feature is a huge central, dome-like court, with three tiers of free galleries, running all around. Radiating outward from these galleries are alleyways containing the cell blocks, the door of which each man has his name and prison number.

VARIETY OF WORK Heavy steel grilles guard each cell door and at the end of each alley nearest the central court are huge steel wheels like the wheel of a ship, by means of which the guards can lock every cell in an alleyway by a single operation. But, contrary to popular impression, the convicts spend few of their daylight hours to their cells. The prison finds a variety of work for them apart from war work. On the way from the gates to the central block, for example, Warden Meighen proudly pointed out a properous locking vegetable garden.

The men working on it were mostly "long termers," and seem to include Chinese and Indian prisoners. "We took more than 11 tons of tomatoes out of that last year," he said. PRISON WOOD PILE From the "inside gardens," as these are called the prison also has an outside farm with a piggery attached the warden led the visitors to the prison wood pile. A renewed venture this year and a valuable contribution to the war effort from Greater Vancouver's point of view is the gathering of stray logs from the Fraser River and their conversion into firewood for the prison.

We expect to gather $1500 to $2000 worth of wood this year," the warden commented.

The empty new cell block in partially used as a storehouse. Here are hundreds of army tent poles, made in the carpenter shop and ready for shipment.

The tailor shop is a huge room 120 by 45, in which nearly 40 prisoners, mostly young men, were at work on a rush order of thousands of pillow cases for the army. There were a score of electric sewing machines clattering here, and at a dozen long tables men were pressing out the completed cases.

"We have shipped 60,000 of them already, and not one rejected," Mr. Meighen said proudly

MUCH REPAIR WORK In the blacksmith and sheet metal shop, a dozen men were at work on various jobs, some for the prison - all repairs and plumbing work are done on the premises - others doing more work for the Army. There were broken Army cots, dozens of them; there were scores of battered, rusty garbage cans and coal scuttles, many of them seemingly beyond repair. The convicts were repairing them nevertheless.

It was a surprise to learn that all the familiar red post boxes in Greater Vancouver and New Westminster eventually end up in this shop for repairs and repainting. Broken down mail bags - which, incidentally, are made at the Kingston Penitentiary - come to another part of the prison plant for repairs.

The shoe repair shop was not doing much business. But it had repaired 300 pairs of Army boots in May, besides innumerable slippers. Last year it renewed more than 2000 pair of boots.

In the midst of the visit, a uniformed officer began making the rounds of the various shops. "Exercise!" he called out, and the heavy steel doors which, always locked, guard every part of the prison, began swinging open to let a stream of men into the exercising court.

"The men most take physical exercise every day - we have a P.T. Instructor," the warden explained.

Prisoners are served meals in semi-cafeteria style. There is no common dining hall, each man eating in his cell.

The luncheon was appetizing: the visitors tried samples of the beef stew and blanc mange and found them good. As the prisoners left the kitchen, they marched in platoons to their cell tiers and closed their doors. Then the tier guards spun their wheels, locking them in for the duration of the luncheon hour. SMOKE PERIODS Besides their recreation period and mealtimes, the prisoners are allowed smoking periods twice a day, the warden explained.

"For men who have not passed Grade Eight, lessons are compulsory. And we have the Department of Education's correspondence courses too, for those who want them. Come and see our library," invited the warden. PLENTY OF BOOKS The library is a small room with several hundred volumes, whose dog-eared condition be spoke plenty of use. The visitors had seen, in several cells, small piles of books. Here was where they came from. The library gets about 300 new books a year. "We also take a large number] of magazines," the warden point- ed out. "You won't find any crime magazines or detective stories, though," he laughed.

A thing that strike a visitor is the arrangement of loudspeakers in the cell corridors. The warden comments. "The men listen to the radio. We give them the news programs and good talks. They like plenty of music and radio drama - but nothing so much as a prize fight or a hockey game." ENVIABLE RECORD Warden Meighen, an affable veteran of nearly 30 years in the service, and warden of four prisons since 1923, has the enviable record of having had not a single prison break or riot at any prison he has governed. Incidentally, he spiked one popular misconception about prisons. That one is that prisoners placed in "solitary" are shoved into a hole in the ground, out of sight and sound. "See those windows over there?" he pointed to a wing of the main block whose ground floor windows were narrow slits. "Those are the windows of the solitary cells. "They may not be the pleasantest places, but at least they overlook a nice green lawn."

///

To study the effects of war on BC's penitentiary and at the same time give readers a glimpse Into the working of the penal system, The Vancouver Sun sent a reporter and photographer through the institution. Permission for this visit was granted for the first time by the department of justice at Reporter James Dyer and Cameraman Dave Bachan found that the war had reached into the confines of the prison as shown in the above pictures. Top, left, shows the prisoners, whose faces have been painted out in accordance with the justice department request to keep the identity of the men secret, working on taking logs out of the Fraser River to keep the jail supplied with fuel. In the centre picture the convicts are re-pairing letter boxes in the sheet metal shop. On the right is Warden William Meighen who has charge of guarding the men whose sentences range from two years to life. In the lower photos, a prisoner is seen dumping fuel in the storage yard while on the right the men are making pillowcases for the army.

[AL: Part of a coordinated effort to highlight the operations and contributions to the war effort of federal penitentiaries in Canada. What's fascinating is that, other than the drop in prisoner population due to the war, the various activities and work are the same as were being done before the war. This article does really highlight the centrality of unfree convict labour - to the operations of the penitentiary, to its dominant ideology of 'reformation,' and to the daily lives of the incarcerated.]

[fishnets-fingers]

Six Months - Part Sixteen

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n - idk if people still read this, but please leave any type of feedback. anything would be appreciated. happy reading!

Word Count - 10.2K

Warnings - fluff, angst, smut, mentions of divorce? needles?

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

A faint buzz reverberates through the white satin pillowcase, rhythmic rumbling against Layla’s cheek. Her steady deep breaths fluctuates as she rubs her eye, blinking rapidly trying to make sense of the sight in front of her. Bright light, cutting to the darkness emanating from the monitor assaults her vision, the lazy whir of the fan seemed to be the only other noise in the room. She feels a warm body against her own, heavy arm draped across her middle, sharp hot breaths against her neck that she soon recognised belonged to the curly headed boy she is so fond of. They must have fallen asleep watching Tapped - a documentary that Harry has been meaning to watch that highlights the effects of the bottled water industry on climate change. She feels the mattress for her phone, that was somehow wedged under the pillows. She brings the buzzing device to see a picture of her mother fill the screen, laughing at someone - a candid she had taken when they were at a wedding. She stares at the screen for a few seconds, weighing the options in mind - she knew why she was calling, it’s not like she wasn’t anticipating this. Somehow she finds herself looking at the white numbers on top of her screen, 10:32pm it said. Should she slide the call button across her screen and get it over with? Or should she deal with it later in the morning when it would be late in India, when her mother would be tired after a long day?  

Sighing she clicks on the power button, effectively stopping the incessant vibrations that rudely woke her up. She reaches forward to hit the spacebar, halting the documentary and fishes the earbuds that were now haphazardly tangled with the two of them and winds it into a manageable circle using the palm of her hand. She slowly manoeuvres out of his grasp, carefully without jostling him. He grumbles a little at first , making her hold her breath and freeze in place as he turns over to his other side and soon his breathing deepens again. She powers down his MacBook and places it on his desk. She takes the small yellow square sheet from his memo cube and scribbles down a note, saying that she’ll meet him tomorrow for their morning walk and puts it under his phone, on his bedside table and tiptoes out of the room.

Her phone lights up again, vibrating against in the palm of her hand as she’s walking down the stairs. A heavy sigh escapes her knowing that she will not hear the end of it, if she does not pick up the call. So she walks over to the dark dining room, switching on the neon sign, settling on one of the pink velvet chairs before swiping her thumb across the screen. 

“சொல்லு, அம்மா. (Tell me, mum.)” She says quietly into the mic, hoping to not disturb anyone at home.

“நான் கூப்பிடும்போது உன் போனை எடுக்க மாட்டாயா? (Will you not pick up your phone when I call?)” A familiar voice accuses her from the other end. 

“Sorry. It’s 10:30 pm here and I dozed off. Your call woke me up,” Layla apologises sheepishly. 

“Oh. Is that why you haven’t been calling us often?” Her mother asks her. 

“Yeah. I sleep by the time it’s acceptable to call home and when I think of calling in the morning, it’s past midnight for you guys.” Layla answers. It was a lie of course. She found herself not wanting to call home every single day, quite liking the break. Plus, the more she called the more questions they would ask her about her day and the more lies she would have to come up with to keep Harry out of her stories. 

“நீ சீக்கிரம் தூங்குவது நல்லது. (It’s good that you are sleeping early.)” Her mother tells her. 

“Yeah. Nice to not go to bed at 1am after finishing my assignments,” she chuckles. 

“That’s because you always procrastinate and do things last minute,” her mother agrees and chuckles along with her. 

The response makes Layla narrow her eyes. It wasn’t the remark she was expecting. Was her mother being nice? Maybe she just wanted to catch up with her. 

“Of course that would always ruin my sleep schedule and I would wake up tired the next day,” she continues. 

There it is, Layla thinks as a satisfied smirk appears on her face. If there ever were an Olympics for spinning other peoples stories into ones where they were the centre of attention, Layla was sure her mother would snag a gold. 

“I did my work on the dining table at night. I didn’t ruin your sleep,” she counters. Almost all the time she slept on the couch, not wanting to wake her parents up, and woke up with a crick in her neck and a stiff back. “You did,” she mumbles under her breath, punctuating the statement with a little hostility. 

“You know I can’t sleep properly if you are not in the bed sleeping next to me,” she chastises her, making Layla roll her eyes. 

“I don’t see how that’s a me problem,” she rebukes. 

“என்னிடம் திரும்பி பேசாதே.(Don't talk back to me.)” Her mother hisses through the phone. 

“Sorry.” She mumbles automatically. She brings her palm up to rub her eye, and lets out a frustrated sigh when she sees black stains on her skin, in the pink hue from the wall. She smacks her head for rubbing on her mascara. “ஏன் எனக்கு போன் செய்தாய்? (Why did you call me?)

“You know I wake up, cook food, go to work, and come back to this house with your grandparents and your father all for you, right?” Her mother asks. 

“I know.”

“So you can’t spend two minutes of your vacation listening to me,” she hisses. 

“I’m sorry. என்ன நடந்தது? (What happened?)” Layla asks her. 

“எனக்கும் அப்பாவுக்கும் சண்டை. அது அவரிடமிருந்து ஒரு கேவலமான கருத்துடன் தொடங்கியது, நாங்கள் பிரிந்தபோது நடந்த ஒன்றை நான் அவரது முகத்தில் வீசியதால் அது அதிகரித்தது. (Dad and I have been fighting. It started with a snide comment from from him and it escalated because I threw something in his face that happened when we split.)”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why do you always assume that I am the one in the wrong, Layla?!?”

“I wasn’t!” She says, voice a little louder than what she intended. “I asked you why you brought up the past,” she tells her, bringing her voice down.

“Right. I’m always the bad guy because I come to you to share these things and you think your dad is innocent because he doesn’t trouble you with things,” she sighs. 

She feels a rush of anger bubbling inside of her. She knew the bad guy card all too well. She knew that’s a key move in emotional abuse, yet she can’t stop the tears that prick her eyes as she says, “I don’t think that. I’m sorry.”

////

Anne trudges down the stairs letting out a frustrated exhale. Hot flashes were eating her alive. She does not simply understand why nature has to punish uterus owners after having been done with menstruation. Almost every other day, she had awoken from her slumber by a sheen of sweat coating her body, feeling like she was going to melt alive if she had to stay in the bed any longer. And today was no different.

In her sleep induced haze, her body beelines for the freezer. Relief floods her system when she presses the bag of frozen peas against her sore breasts. She sits on the island stool, eyes slowly drooping. She'd gotten to bed after a hot shower as soon as she came back home from her full day shift at the hospital.

A faint sniffle makes her eyes flutter open. Soon a few hushed words follow, talking very rapidly in both a mix of English and Tamil. Were Harry and Layla having a fight? She strains her ears to identify her son's voice but is soon met with nothing but Layla talking in Tamil.

She glances at the oven clock. 11:24pm. She decides against going to the dining room, not wanting to interrupt anything. So she waits.

A few minutes pass by and she sees Layla by the threshold of the room, wiping her eyes on her shoulders while sniffling.

“Sweetheart,” Anne coos. 

Layla jumps, quickly wiping her eyes to pull herself together. She sees Anne at the kitchen island in her pyjamas. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” she apologises. 

“You didn’t, sweetie. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Nothing to worry about.” She dismisses quickly but Anne could see her smudged makeup and red eyes, under the soft overhead light from the kitchen . 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. But I’m here alright,” she gently reminds her, opening up her arms. 

Layla pads quickly towards her, melting into the welcoming embrace. Anne rubs her back as she shakily takes a breath in. 

“It’s my mum. It’s not anything new,” she mutters, voice barely audible, face pressed against Anne’s shoulder. “Just want it to stop because I’m sick of it.”

“I’m sorry, Layla.”

“Hmm.” Layla pulls away abruptly, looking into Anne’s confused eyes. “Your chest is cold,” she tells her, making Anne laugh at her explanation. Layla follows her eyes to the bag of frozen peas on the island and lets out a giggle. 

“Menopause,” Anne explains. 

Layla nods understanding. “If Harry ever knew, he’d stop eating peas completely,” letting out a chuckle. 

“Best to keep this a secret then,” Anne winks at her, and just like that Layla’s mood lightens. 

“I better get home. Told Uncle and Aunty I’d be home at eleven.”

Anne nods in understanding. “Layla?” She calls out when Layla is halfway through the sitting room. 

“Yeah?”

“I have a day off tomorrow. Would you mind accompanying me for brunch downtown? Just us girls.” Anne asks. 

“I’d like that,” Layla smiles. 

“See you tomorrow then.”

She follows Layla out to the foyer. Layla stops at the doorway, abruptly turning around to face Anne. “Thank you.” To which she receives a sympathetic smile with a small nod, before she closes the door. 

Layla keys into the house and walks straight into her bathroom to wash the gunk off her face. She skips her skincare routine, having no energy for it. She changes into her nighty. She picks up Dolphin and stares at the bed. As much as she’d killed to sleep in her own bed a few months ago, that’s the last thing she wanted at the moment. So walks to her Uncle and Aunty’s room along with her stuffie and bedsheet. She quietly curls up on the upholstered ottoman bench that spans the width of their bed, placed flushed against the foot of the bed and dozes off.  

////

“When did she get in here?” Vasanth says groggily, shuffling to the edge of the bed to pick up the extra pillows that they stashed on the floor. 

“Dunno.” Abi whispers, taking in Layla’s sleeping form on the bed bench. She was lying on her stomach, head buried into the teal cushion, somehow her nighty had managed to ride all the way up midthigh. Her bedsheet was tangled around her ankles, her hair a right mess and Dolphin has ended up trapped underneath her ribcage.

Vasanth goes over to her sleeping figure and pulls down her dress, so it rests by her ankles. He lets out a chuckle. “She always was a wild sleeper. Never could sleep without having to do a complete 180.”

“Oh yeah, you told me about the nighty ban of ‘05.”

“Wonder how she convinced her mum to get this.”

“Knowing her, it was probably your mum,” Abi says and the two giggle. 

“You have a point. She always could get her way no matter what. You know, once she convinced me to take her on this ride at the water park when she was only half of the acceptable height.”

“You agreed to it?!?”

“Oh yeah. She was like five. And I had to hold her down so she wouldn’t fall through the swim ring. She couldn’t swim either so I had to hold her up like Simba when we splashed in the pool. Thank god she didn’t drown,” he recollects, a smile gracing his face as he looks down at her. 

“You are definitely not doing that with our baby.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “But she would,” he smirks, pointing to Layla. 

She shakes her head in disapproval. “Hope she’s not sick,” Abi says, crawling to the end of the bed, pressing the back of her hand against her neck. “Doesn’t seem warm.”

“I’m not sick,” a hoarse voice speaks up, muffled by the cushion. “And I’d definitely do that with the baby.” Layla lifts her head and gives her Aunt an evil smirk. 

“You are definitely not taking the baby on any outing alone,” she laughs. 

“Oh please. The person you have to ban is right there,” she says, jerking her head to Vasanth. “Your husband once lifted me up and threatened to throw me in a crocodile habitat.”

“She was being an absolute brat that day,” he defends himself, throwing his hands up in front of him. “She wanted to get into the enclosure to pet the peacocks and when I told her we couldn’t, she just started crying and wouldn’t stop-“

“So your solution was to throw me to the crocodiles? Wow. A plus parenting skill right there,” she interrupts with a cocky smile on her face. 

“I just lifted her up to make sure she understood that I wasn’t fucking about when I told her to quit it. She was five. Plus, I held her over a monitor lizard habitat!” He defends himself to his wife. 

“How is that any better?!?” Abi starts laughing. Sometimes, she wishes she joined on their adventures from when Layla was little. They told her the wildest stories. It was one of the reasons she had taken a liking to Vasanth when her parents asked her to talk to a few potential grooms they had shortlisted. Their conversations were so organic and he was great with kids. 

“Don’t you have things to do other than making my wife question her decision of having kids with me?” He tells her, but the smile on his face conveys his intent of meaning no malice whatsoever. 

“Nah.”

“Why did you sleep all cramped up here, kutti?” Abi asks her, pushing some of her wild locks from her face. 

“Amma (Mum) called. They’re having a fight. Again. Didn’t want to sleep alone,” she shrugs. 

“Oh.” Abi replies, exchanging a knowing glance with her husband. “Then come make yourself comfortable here,” she pats the bed on her side. 

“Yeah. Sleep in a little, kutti.  You’ve been waking up early all these days to do your workouts and go on walks,” Vasanth says, pulling the sheets aside so she could crawl in. 

“Shit! Harry will be waiting for me to go on our walk,” she says, sitting up straighter. 

“He can go for a walk by himself this morning. I’ll go get your phone so you can text him,” he tells her while walking out of the room. 

“Kutti?”

“Hmm?” She burrows into the bed. 

“I’ve pulled up these hairstyles on Pinterest for the flower braiding ceremony. Can I try them out on you before I decide on one for me?”

“Sure. Are you sure you want to do your hair and makeup by yourself? It wouldn’t stress you out too much?”

“No. You are doing the décor and food and you’ve made Vasanth your muscle. My job is to literally get dressed and look pretty,” she chuckles. 

////

“Hi! Sorry. Have you been waiting too long?” Layla says breathlessly, slightly out of breath from practically jogging to the local bistro at the intersection downtown. The bistro’s name was displayed in yellow cursive, all over the windows. Anne was sitting at an outdoor table for two, under the brown awning. A perfect spot to enjoy the crisp Autumn weather while also observing people, both out on the street and inside the busy eatery. 

“Just got here a couple of minutes ago. Got a lemonade for you. Hope you don’t mind,” Anne tells her, lifting her tortoise shell sunglasses and perching them on the top of her head. 

“Thank you.” She says, trying to calm her frazzled state by taking her small water bottle from her bag, as she sits down. “I sometimes forget to calculate travel time whenever I get ready,” she explains, as she takes a swig of water. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Anne assures her. 

She tucks her long bangs behind her ears and wipes off the sweat collected on her upper lip. “You look amazing,” she compliments her and Anne’s eyes crinkle with a warm smile in response. She had on some blue jeans, a red v neck sweater tucked in, with a long light brown coat. 

“You look lovely as well. I love the way you did your hair.”

Layla had a half up half down halo braid, with indentations in her hair, due to the long period of times she had it wound up in a bun, and it created a subtle wave to her otherwise straight hair. She was wearing a pair of relaxed fit brown corduroy trousers and a chunky knit olive green sweater, with the sleeves pushed up to her elbow. She’d found them both at Goodwill when she went shopping with her Uncle and Aunt. She paired it with her signature gold huggies and her gold elephant pendant. Her watch, an analogue Winnie the Pooh watch with three bees that rotated around the dial, denoting the seconds that had passed. The gold lug and the case were distressed to the point that it was black with random scratchers of the original colour peaking through it. The brown strap was peeling, clearly something worn away with constant use. Something that Anne noticed Layla wearing, no matter what, even when the outfit didn’t go with it. 

“It’s really easy to do.”

They get interrupted by a waitress, who comes by to their table and places a mason jar filled with pink lemonade, two slices of lemon floating among the ice cubes, and a particular yellow looking juice in a tall glass for Anne. She hands out two menus, as they thank her, and tells them she’d be back to take their order in a couple of minutes. 

“What are you leaning towards for apps, Lails?” Anne asks, after a few minutes of silence as they flip through the menu.

“I’ve never heard of fried green tomatoes. So maybe that.”

“Good choice. I’ve had them before. The sauce they give you is really good. It’s a trademark of this bistro. They even sell the Voodoo sauce by the bottle.”

“Ooh, definitely that then.”

“Alright. I’m thinking of getting a Ciabatta French Toast. Would you like to split a side of collard greens?”

“I’ll have some of that and the vegetarian omelette.”

They tell the waitress  their orders and just look at a group of middle aged women coming out of the post office across the street. 

“Does Harry know we’re doing this?”

“Yeah. He wanted to join in as well but I told him it was strictly just us between us girls and he sulked all morning.”

Layla laughs. “I wish I was there to see it.”

“It was quite funny. Remind me to pick up some dessert for him. He likes the Apple Cranberry Cobbler here.”

Layla nods. 

“He’s not very good at sharing. Especially people. I don’t know if it’s a single child thing or a him thing. But he gets close to a very few people and latches on. I was so worried when we moved here, uprooting his life for this specific intensive training for cardiac nurses the university hospital was offering. That and I also wanted a fresh start after my divorce.”

“I remember you being worried that he didn’t have a lot of friends here,” Layla tells her. 

“He’s had a big bunch of friends back home but you could easily say that he was the closest to Mitch and Sarah. But after he started his OnlyFans, he pretty much spent most of his time at home. He’d still go around here and there but he’d mostly stay at home. He is a bit quiet and shy but he’s an energy vampire. He’d just come sit next to people who are conversing just to be in their company. You can’t tell because he seems confident. I think OnlyFans helped him with that. Of course, you too. When you initially became friends, it was so refreshing to see him leave the house and go out on road trips around the state.”

“I don’t think it was me,” she chuckles. “He was naturally his own when I met him. He was quite charming and I was an awkward mess.” She smiles thinking back to the first time she met him, and the embarrassment that pummelled her to the ground. 

“Maybe but I see a shift in him. He acted like he wasn’t bothered but I could always tell that he had a black cloud looming over his head. He moves around in a way that seems lighter now. I saw him lug his box of records to his room and I almost cried,” she beams. 

“Do you mind if I ask you about your ex?” She asks in a mousy voice, unsure if she was crossing a line or not. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about why Harry had cut him out of life like that. They barely talked about it, but whenever Harry talked about going on vintage record shopping it seemed like he had a special bond. 

“Not at all.”

“How did you two meet?”

The waitress comes in with their appetiser and they both mumble a small thank you. It looked like there were seven small breaded patties on the plate, garnished with spring onions. The tomatoes had been cut into quarter inch slices and fried till they turned a light golden brown. They both picked one up and dipped it in the red condiment before taking a sizable bite. 

“Ooh. Smoky,” Layla comments. 

“It’s the sauce.”

“I’m definitely going to buy one before we head out,” she adds, before popping in the rest of the fried tomato into her mouth. 

“We met when I was in nursing school,” Anne tells her, after she takes a sip of her yellow juice. “He was studying international business. He was a friend of a friend. Same circles while we went out to the pub with friends but never met. One day he came over to introduce himself and things just gradually happened over time. We got married after a few years and had Harry a couple of years later. He was our rainbow baby. But life got in the way I guess, I had to work long hours at the hospital at night and barely saw him because he left for work in the morning. He was a great Dad, he always encouraged Harry to express himself freely and would go to vintage stores to get old vinyls. He taught him how to put old record players together. Bought Harry his first camera when he started showing an interest in photography. He was estranged from his family, so we mostly spent time with mine. He was an entrepreneur, and he started facing a few losses in a few of his companies. I stepped in to financially support his ventures. Things were going well until he started being gone for long periods of time for his work. Then he’d be at home for a few weeks and then he’d leave all over again. He’d call every now and then to talk to Harry and that was basically all the interaction we had with him. I blindly trusted him, of course, he started getting more and more distant. Turns out he had a secret family in Cornwall. It started when Harry was about fourteen and he kept the act up for three years. Splitting his time between two families, until we became his secondary family.”

“Anne, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like,” Layla says, immediately. 

“It’s in the past now, sweetheart. I’m doing much better now. Anyway, turns out there were no losses in his business either. He wasn’t making bank but his companies managed to scrape through each year. Turns out he was with me because of my benefits, and would put the money I gave him towards his other family. The divorce was messy. I wasn’t in a state of mind to even consider an amicable split. Here I am now. I’m happy that it happened though. As much as I miss my family, it feels great to have a fresh start, a new set of friends, and lovely people in town.” Anne reaches to pour some water into a glass from the pitcher, raising the glass to her lips to help combat the dryness at the back of her throat. “But most of all, I just hope Harry doesn’t regret not continuing to have any relationship with his father,” she sighs. 

“I know I can’t speak for him but I don’t think he does. He truly loves you Anne. Don’t forget it,” she tries to reassure her.

Anne simply reaches forward to squeeze Layla’s hand, that was holding a napkin, and squeezes it gently. 

“Sometimes I wish my parents separated. They wouldn’t because of all the taboo that still surrounds divorce. Things would be so much easier. But… I mean even at this age, I despise change and I cannot bear the thought of something messing with this dynamic and me trying to cope with a tumultuous time,” she confesses. 

“I understand. It’s not easy for anyone involved. I was there. It can be a lot to take in.”

“Yeah but I always selfishly hoped that I’d be away from home and when and if they do decide to split. Have my own life, so I wouldn’t be affected that much.”

“It’s not selfish to want to start your own life, Layla,” Anne gently reminds her. 

The waitress appears with their food. Anne’s Ciabatta French toast looked delectable with glazed toast, caramelised apples, raspberries, blueberries and a mint sprig for garnish. It also came with a side of vegan bacon.  Layla’s vegetarian omelette looked colourful with tomatoes, onions, cheddar cheese and bell peppers. They had also neatly sliced up half an avocado, placed a dollop of sour cream on the side, and sprinkled the plate with some paprika powder. 

“You guys are leaving for New Orleans soon, right? Do you have a few places you want to check out?” Anne asks as Layla cuts up a small piece of her omelette with a knife.

////

“Was it so heavy when you loaded this in?” Layla puffs, walking backwards through the door. 

“Yes. Now move it,” Harry huffs, walking in quickly, forcing her to take a step back from the motion of it all, so the frame of the mirror won’t dig into her ribs. They get to the foyer by the shoe cupboard. 

“We have to put it down, so we can take off our shoes,” she reminds him. 

“Do we have to?” He whines, shifting his weight from one foot to another. 

“Yes. We just spent our whole afternoon at a farm. I don’t want us tracking dirt into the house.”

“Okay, let’s put it on the ground, yeah. On three,” he says, bending down, once he gets a nod of confirmation from her. 

They both bend down and gently place the giant ornate mirror on the dark wood floor of the foyer. Harry practically salivated when he spotted it through the window of a vintage shop. It was rectangular, taller than her, with the intricate carvings on the once gold frame - now it was scratched and some delicate parts chipped away, with the gold barely peeking through the dull black colour it is now. The mirror was shiny and reflective, although there were a few places, here and there, where it didn’t shine - black scratches on the mirror, but the distress oddly rendered it to be more aesthetically pleasing. The minute his brain processed the object that caught his attention, he practically yanked her into the store, after a couple of minutes he swiped his card and loaded up the mirror into his car with the help of his owner. 

“One, two… watch your fingers there, baby. Three.” 

Layla rubs her palms against each other, after she places the object against the ground. 

“Only two more floors to go,” she mumbles, bending down to untie her Doc Martens. 

Harry couldn’t help but just stand there, eyes fixated on the outline of the globes of her ass through her wide legged black linen trousers. She’d stepped out with a black full sleeve t-shirt tucked in, two more gold chains that were layered with her elephant one, and she had replaced her gold huggies with mismatched gold earrings - a star and a moon dangled from each ear. She pulled back her sleek low ponytail with a middle part, curtain bangs styled in a way they swoop away from her face. Harry had the wind knocked out of him and couldn’t help but feel ridiculously undressed in some black shorts and a grey hoodie with the word damn embroidered on it in large capital letters. 

“You act like you have never seen my butt before,” she snickers, without turning around. But from his vantage point, Harry could see the corners of her lips twitch up in a smug smirk. 

“What is that you always say when you spank mine? Hmm…” His thumb and forefingers come to dramatically scratch at his chin. “Ah ha! ‘I can’t help it. It’s right there!’” He mimics her accent, which as much as she hates to admit has a few American inflections. 

“You’re so annoying sometimes,” she chuckles at his impression. 

“And I love you too,” he grins, toeing off his black Vans.

“Please don’t scratch the wall. Uncle and Aunty will murder me.” She reminds him, bending down to grab the frame at one side of the hulking mirror.

“I don’t see how that affects me,” he retorts, going over to the other side, once his fingers have tightly gripped the two edges of the frame, the two carefully pick it up.

“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll kill you after,” she gives him a sinister smile.

The two start waking up the stairs again, slowly and cautiously. Layla was vigilant as she slowly made sure she had her foot firmly planted on each stair before she lifted her other. The pair was cognizant enough to not let Harry be the one who was the one climbing backwards due to his clumsy nature. They slowly make three fourths of their journey successfully, until Layla halts them.

“Time out. My palms are really sweaty,” she tells him.

“Come on! We’re almost there. Just a few more steps and we’ll be in the swing room,” he grunts.

“I’m losing my grip!”

“Just hold on!”

“You know what, how about I just drop it right now. I’m sure a tumble down the stairs and having a heavy mirror coming to crash on you would result in a few broken ribs. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” They halt in place.

“That’s a lot of smack coming from someone who wanted to hold hands at the corn maze,” he fires back.

“I get a little claustrophobic sometimes. I didn’t expect the maze to freak me out so much. I’m sorry we couldn’t do your whole entering from different sides of the maze and meeting in the middle,” her voice cracks at the end, eyes fixed on the shiny reflective surface, eyebrows furrowing, lower lip slightly jutting out.

“Let’s take a break,” he sighs. He can’t bear to look at her like that for a second longer. That particular face of hers always got to him. It was an indicator, like a dam nearing full capacity, he could either diffuse the situation by opening up the gates to regulate the water or let the levee break, both literally and figuratively. 

They gently place the mirror on the stairs, Harry braces the edge on the frame against his shoulder, so it doesn’t slide down the staircase. Layla quickly wipes her clammy palms against the fabric of her trousers.

“Did you really hate that you had to hold my hand through the corn maze?” She questions, voice a low register, eyes refusing to meet his, cast down at her feet. 

“No. I liked that you were right by my side. Better than my stupid idea.” He reaches a hand that wasn’t holding on to the frame, and clasps her fingers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologises, thumb soothingly rubbing back and forth against her knuckles. 

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said the whole breaking rib thing but my hands were really sweaty and I didn’t want to shatter the mirror that you were excited to buy.” Her dark embers flit to his soft lush mossy irises.

“I’ll listen to you next time.” 

With that, they pick up the ornate mirror and make their way to the swing room. Harry rushed downstairs to bring the small tin of gold paint and the brush they purchased at Home Depot, from the car. Layla went to get a plastic tarp that she could put under the mirror so it could catch any paint splatters, when she gets to painting it for Harry. 

The painting of the second cat with babushka was done. They were both placed on the far end of the room, so they could dry for a couple of days. Another canvas was at her desk with faint pencil outlines of a woman’s side profile. Harry could tell she wasn’t done with sketching because her guide lines, she usually does to get the right proportions, were still very prominent. 

“Did you hear anything back from the editor?” Harry asks Layla, sitting on the sofa bed; she was sitting on her desk chair trying her hardest to power her laptop open. She had made the mistake of hitting the install and shut down button, last night, for a new update on her seven year old laptop.

“I did. Got my certificate of publication with the DOI for my gender paper yesterday.” Letting out a sigh of frustration when she sees the blue screen again with a percentage that’s barely increasing. She abandons the angry whirring black device and plops down next to him.

“Oh wow! Congratulations, Lails. What is this your fourth paper?”

“Fifth and thanks!” She gives him her toothy smile. 

“We’ve got to celebrate!”

“I already had two scoops of ice cream last night,” she tells him proudly. 

He lets out a boyish giggle, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “What a geriatric idea of celebration you have in that smart brain of yours,” he snickers against her skin. 

“Fuck off. Let’s see what you come up with?” She pulls her head back and arches her brow at him. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a hot make out session,” he says in a smug voice. 

“Why does it always come back to filth with you,” she laughs. 

“When you’ve got a girlfriend as sexy as mine, it’s filth twenty four seven, baby.”

“And where is this girlfriend of yours right now?”

“Right in front of me actually,” he says, lips moving along her cupid’s bow. He nudges his nose with hers as his hand comes to cup her cheek to tilt her head to the side, so he could quilt his lips with hers. 

Her hands sneak their way up his torso, coming to bunch the material under her hands. Harry could feel Layla’s heart hammering against him, eyelashes intermingling, his thumb swiping back and forth feeling the soft skin of the apple of her cheek. 

She breaks away first to draw in a breath into her scorching lungs. Her eyelids flutter open to see the crinkles by the corner of his eyes, dimples appearing as the corner of his lips twitch up. 

Soon his expression morphs, his eyebrow knits together, creases appearing where they meet, his mouth curls downwards, green eyes springing open in alarm. 

“My lips are stinging,” he says, alarmed. 

Layla lets out a giggle. “It’s probably my lip gloss. I put on a plumping one today,” she answers, fingers coming up to wipe the light sheen of iridescence from his raspberry lips. 

“Why would you subject your lips to that?” He asks, as she pulls up the fabric of her sleeves, wiping the remnants of it from her lips. 

“Vanity,” she answers in a matter of fact tone. “Plus, it’s a nice tingly feeling. It doesn’t sting.”

He pulls her onto his lap. Layla adjusts a bit so she straddles his lap, and her hands come to loop around his neck, fingers immediately coming to play with the baby curls at the nape of his neck. His hands come to rest at her hips. He noses along the curve of her neck, wet lips trailing behind. 

“I’m sorry about what I said about the corn maze,” he mumbles along her flushed skin. 

“You’ve already apologised, babe,” she tells him, fingernails coming to draw soothing circles on his scalp. Layla feels his content sigh that penetrates the fabric against her collarbone.

 “I know. But I didn’t mean to make you feel bad for something you can’t control.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect it to be very tall. I’m sorry for threatening to break your ribs.”

“Hmm… but that was an empty threat. I just threw something at your face. Especially after you let me hide my face under your tee when we watched Dead Silence. You don’t go throwing around my fear of murderous dolls in my fac-“

“Hey,” she firmly stops his ramble. She tugs his curls, so she can pull his face from her neck. Once she has a firm hold of his eyes, she continues. “Don’t beat yourself over it. We say shit to each other sometimes and that’s okay.” She leans forward to ghost her lips over his. 

“Blue crayon,” he mumbles to himself against her lips. 

“What?”

“You. You are my blue crayon.” He continues looking at the confused expression on her face. “It’s a poem by Asher. ‘You are my blue crayon, the one I never have enough of, the one I use to colour my sky.’”

“Oh Har…” She presses her lips against his cheek, marvelling about the way it reddens under her lips. “That’s so sweet.” 

He crashes his lips to hers, hungrily taking everything she has to give. His hand tightens around her back, holding her flush to him. Layla’s hand slithers under his hoodie, feeling his taut pectoral and dragging it down to rub circles on his soft tummy. 

A delicious sigh washes over Layla, encouraging her to continue rubbing soothing circles by his belly button and tug harshly on his curls. 

“Touch me please,” he breathes into her gaping mouth. Layla obliges, hand skating it’s way down, enjoying the feeling of his happy trail, guiding her between his thick thighs. 

Harry’s tongue licks her top lip, and elicits a sweet whimper from his sweet girl, he takes that opportunity to sinfully suck on her tongue as her hips, involuntary buck up against his lap. 

A drawn out moan sounds from Harry’s lips as Layla’s hand wraps around his heated member. She delicately moves it up and down his length, a contrasting pace to the fervent dancing of their tongues. She pumps him slowly, enjoying the feeling of his weight in her palm. 

He breaks apart and lets out a breathless whimper, when Layla squeezes around his head, thumb busy swiping the pearling precome around him. 

He bumps his forehead to hers, hand coming to cup either side of her cheeks, the of their nose squished against each other, as his rainforest canopy like orbs searches her earthy hued ones. 

“You like that don’t you,” he comments, when he sees the alluring glint in her irises. 

Her dimple carves out as she gives him a shy smile. “Yeah. I like feeling you get hard in my hand,” she admits. 

“My filthy sweet girl,” he praises, hands coming to hold on to her tightly, so he can flip them over, so Layla’s back is against the soft cushion of the sofa bed and his hips are nestled in between her thighs. 

Layla’s hands find their way under his hoodie, feeling the taut muscles on his back, revelling in how the flex as his hand comes to push her hair away from her face. His thumb caresses her swollen lips. “You’re absolutely gorgeous you know that,” he breathes, coming to place the lightest kiss on each oh her eyelid. 

She simply smiles, looking at him with needy eyes. 

He places wet kisses from the corner of her jaw and makes his way to her throat, licking and biting as he pleases. He breathy moans of his name, grunts, and the way she clutched onto him tighter only encouraged him to pull her t-shirt down along with her bra. Her tits spring out, pushed up more dramatically by the way her fabric had bunched underneath. Harry greedily sucks a bruise on the flesh of her breast, and she whimpers in response. 

“F-feels s-s-so good,” she sputters out as his swollen raw lips wrap around her pebbled nipple, giving her other, smaller boob, the attention it rightfully deserves. She mewls as his tongue comes to flick it. 

“You make me weak, Layla Sathish. I’d crawl across the entire range of jagged mountains just to see you,” he whispers, against the valley of her breasts. 

“Harry,” she coos. “My sweet good boy.” Her hand comes to cup his face, thumb rubbing away the single teardrop that has escaped from being prisoner to his waterline. They both know his glistening eyes weren’t a response to unpleasantness but that of an euphoria that’s surging deep from his chest. 

“Want you,” he whines, against her lips. 

“You can have me.” Her hands fumble with the drawstrings of his trousers, his impatient hands come to push it halfway down his ass, just enough for his cock to spring out. 

He gets on his knees, peeling off her trousers and panties, throwing them somewhere behind, as he silently hopes it doesn’t fall on one of her paintings. He crawls back between her body again immediately, his dick nudging her entrance, against her folds, as Harry swallows her moans and whimpers. He feels her pulse hammering, like that of a woodpecker, against his throbbing length, at the juncture of her thighs. 

“Condom,” he says, not to her but more so reminding himself. 

“In my room.”

He haphazardly pulls up his trousers, barrelling down the stairs to fetch the foiled pack. When he returns, moments later, she’s right there exactly where he’d left her, making grabby hands at him. He quickly tears open the packet and rolls it down his length, squeezing a small dollop of lube onto his fingers, spreading it down his length. 

Once he’s satisfied, he sits back on his knees, bending down ready to pay attention to his third favourite part of her body, trampled by her eyes and lips, followed very closely by her full tits. He licks his lips, ready to lick a flat stripe against her core, her hands card through his hair yanking his head up to meet her eyes. 

“Fuck the foreplay. Need you inside me this second,” she demands. 

“But I need to make sure to prep you-“

“Harry. Just do it,” she commands authoritatively. “Please,” she adds, in a much softer voice. 

He uses the little lube that’s on his fingers and rubs it at her entrance, spreading it through her puffy folds, mixing it along with her arousal. She jumps, retracting her hips from where a sudden jolt of pleasure radiated, as his fingers brushed on her clit. 

“Squirmy wormy,” he chuckles, hand coming to guide himself to her entrance while the other braces himself against the cushion, right by her arm. 

She giggles. “A fitting name for your flaccid penis, don’t you think,” she tells him, as her hand comes to boop his nose. 

“How do you manage to insult me every single time I try to have sex with you?” He rolls his eyes with the exact amount of dramatic flair he could muster. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” She cocks an eyebrow up at him. 

“Love it.” He answers, pushing into her slowly, relishing the way she just reeled him in. Velvety, warm, wet, and enslaving him. 

She arches against his chest, hands coming to rest against the globes of his bum, sinking her nails in when he finally bottoms out. 

“Layla, my heart. Always so right for me,” he groans against her neck, he pulls back and burrows into her again. He propels his hips into hers, in an unhurried asynchronous pace. Whimpers and groans leaving his lips every now and then. She whines and lets out sharp exhales as their bodies move together, slowly pushing each other towards the edge. There was a poetic urgency about them barely taking their time to undress fully, doing the bare minimum so they could get inexplicably close again. 

On cue, her foot comes up to rub against his calves, a very trivial act but it meant the world to him. He thinks back to all the times he’s had sex before, but cannot remember a time where he enjoyed doing it to simply please his partner instead of chasing the high of his lust. With her it was about him showing her how much he truly loves her in a very tangible manner. A ritual that he willingly partakes in wanting to pleasure her and feeling pleasure seep through his veins when she’s content. He never would have thought the absolute little things would drive him absolutely insane, like the way she rubs her perpetual icy toes against the back of his calves, the way her thighs tighten around his waist, her brushing off a pesky curl that had managed to obscure his vision, or even the way she’d have an iron grip on his hair needing to desperately tether herself.  

One arm snakes between her back and the cushion, coming to rest against the curve of her spine, cradling her body to him, while his other weaves into her hair, fingers coming to stroke her head in rhythmic motions. 

“Ahh, shit,” she breathes out, eyes scrunching shut as she feels the radiation of sweet pleasure sweep her entire body from between her thighs. The new angle, and his leisurely pace, nudging that sweet spot. 

“More?” He asks, lips against her temple, tasting the slight saltiness from the beads of sweat that has formed there. His heavy breath against her flushed skin and all she could do was nod as Harry repeats his movements exactly like before. 

Fire blazes through her body, her jaw slack, muscles tightening, chest being pressed up against him, her breathing stops for a second before letting out a huge breath, her walls quaking around him. He eases his hips into hers letting her ride through her orgasm. 

“Make me feel so fucking good,” he whimpers, quickening his pace a little to chase his high. She looks up at him with her big doe eyes and nods, telling him that he could let go, and he stills inside of her, a particular vein in his neck bulges out as he slowly spills into the condom. She brings his head down to her lips and places a feather light kiss against his sweaty forehead and his cock twitches inside of her. 

It was at that moment Harry finally understood something he’d read when he’d borrowed a copy of his mum’s tattered Rumi book. Lines he’d been mulling over in his mind for years, not really understanding what the words that were woven together on the page truly mean. Now he understands the full weight of it.  ‘Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.’”

////

A small ding from her phone, brings her attention back to the phone that was resting in her pocket. 

Appa (Dad): Are you sure you want to do this?

Layla: yes. why would i ask you if i could pierce my ears, if i wasn't sure about it? 🤪

Appa: Forgive me for thinking you learned a lesson. You used your monkey hands to pick and prod at your freshly pierced cartilage and infected it. 

Layla: okay. but look at the lesson i've learnt from that… 

Appa: Let me guess. That lesson is that your Appa is a clown that will spend thousands of rupees for consultation with  dermatologists to figure out if it’s a keloid or just an infected hypertrophic scar. 

Layla: 😂 nice one. 

Layla: no the lesson is to not clean it every hour and to not change the earring within a month, no matter how excited i am. 

Appa: Right…. Why aren’t you asking Amma?

Layla: please! she said no for the helix itself. you were the one who convinced her. convince her for this also. 

Appa: Amma and I aren’t in talking terms…

Layla: i know. she called. but enough about that, just say yes to this and back me up if she gets mad. 

Appa: Fine do whatever you want 🙄

Layla: yay 🥳🥳🥳 nandri (thank you) father. 

Appa: But no belly button piercings! It’s not the 90s. 

Appa: ESPECIALLY NO TO FACIAL PIERCINGS!

Layla: 🥺

Appa: I’ll throw you out on the street!

Layla: 👍🏽

That’s how she found herself in the tattoo parlour. She’d found a few ones online that weren’t too far away from the house. The loud Metallica through the speakers, and the sterile smell of disinfectant were promising to her. 

“Have you decided on what jewellery you want?” The receptionist asks, as he walks back to the front of the shop, from a long corridor. 

“Yeah. I think I’m going to have to go with this ring,” she says pointing to a dainty conch ring from the display. It had white stones placed a few millimetres from each other, and surrounded the entire band. She figured it would go along well with her diamond helix stud. 

“Ms. Sathish, we don’t recommend a hoop for a conch piercing initially. It draws out the healing process as it’s more prone to getting snagged and bumped into things. I’d suggest you pick a stud to get pierced with and then switch to a hoop after 6 months,” he explains, with a sympathetic smile. “We have a wide range of studs you can choose from,” he points to the other side of the desk, where Harry is currently perusing through the different accessories displayed in front of him. 

He had somehow adopted a dad-like stance, hands behind his back, slightly hunched over the display case, neck straining as he looked to see the description of the metal and the quality of it attached onto the price tag. She just crossed paths with him downtown. Her AirPods plugged in, her freshly created queue of Panic! At The Disco, blasting the only difference between martyrdom and suicide is the press coverage in her ear, looking at the blue arrow on her phone telling her where to walk to. Harry just happened to come out of an electronic store, getting his camera battery fixed. 

She pads over to his side, quietly looking over his shoulder. 

“What about this, hmm?” He points over to a small stud, white metal, five white crystals melding together, making a small flower. 

“No. I’m not feeling it. I’d like the metal to be gold. ”

“What about this? Lots of people your age are very into them,” the receptionist says, pointing to a small gold eye with a blue Iris. “It’s from our evil eye collection.”

“Not really my vibe,” she frowns.

A small butterfly catches her eye. It was different from the other butterfly studs, which were just made from white stones. This stud was different, made up entirely of the gold metal, you could make out the veins and the pattern on the butterfly’s wings. 

“Can I look at that please?” She asks the receptionist, who takes off the tags from it after she gives him the okay and quickly disappears down the hallway. 

“Down the corridor, and on the third door to the left,” he instructs, when he returns and Layla gathers up her water bottle and her wallet from the sofa. 

“Do you want to come in?” She asks Harry. 

“Yeah. Give me a minute. Be there in a moment,” he tells her. 

She nods and walks down the corridor, taking in the monochromatic art that covers the green walls. She timidly pushes the door open and pops her head in. 

“Hi. Come on in!” A chipper man, greets. His hair had a wonderful sprinkle of greys in his chestnut hair, that was tied behind in a ponytail. He had on a t-shirt that showcased the sleeves that were etched into his skin. A thick moustache decorates his mouth, almost covering his top lip, black ear gauges, and clothing giving him an alt biker vibe. 

“Hello!”

“I’m Brian.”

“Layla,” she extends her hand out and gives him a firm shake. 

“You’re here for a conch today. One side, right?”

“Yeah. The left.”

“Prefect. Will you pop up here for me?” He pats on the waxy black cushion of what Layla presumes must be a tattoo bed. She hikes herself on there, legs dangling.

“You’ve already got your hair up. So, well done.” He tells her, rolling over a small metal table, with a few apparatuses - that included a metal needle, a straw like tube, the stud she’d selected, some gauze, and a small bottle of disinfectant. 

“Is it okay if I touch your ear?” He brings his hand towards her face, when she gives him a small nod. 

“Okay. I’m just going to look at your ear, to see if a conch would suit you well,” he explains as he looks at her ear, hand coming to brush a few strands of baby hair out of the way.  

“You’re good to go. You’re thinking of changing to a hoop?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m going to mark where I’m going to pierce it now.” He brings up a small pen and makes a small dot in the curved cartilage. “What do you think?” He asks, passing a small handheld mirror, so she can check it. 

Harry walks into the room, and comes to stand by her right. 

“Who might this be?” Brian asks, nodding toward the tall Brit. 

“I’m Harry.” He smiles. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Layla clarifies, as she tilts her head in different directions observing the small black dot in her conch. “I‘m happy with it. I just hope the hoop does not droop terribly.” She hands the mirror to him. 

“It won’t. I’ve placed it a little higher than normal because of that.” He brings a wad of gauze, and rubs the wet fabric against the marked spot, disinfecting her. 

“I see that you have your helix pierced. How was that experience for you?” He asks, as pulls the blue latex glove onto his hands. 

“I got it two years ago.”

“And how was the pain?”

“Not bad. Just a small prick. But I think it was the sound that got to me,” she chuckles. 

“Sound?” Harry queries. 

“Yeah. I could hear them pushing the needle through my cartilage. I know the Tamil word for the sound. Let me think… Ah! It’s like a gritty sound, like you’re crushing dried up leaves in your hand. Sorta like that crunch,” she tells Harry. 

“I’ve had few tell me that actually,” Brian explains to Harry. 

He comes to stand by her left, fiddling with the stud. “Okay, Layla. I’m going to need to take five deep breaths for me?” 

“Okay. But fair warning, I tend to jerk and pull away.”

“You’re a squirmer, huh?” He chuckles. 

“Don’t I know it,” Harry mumbles under his breath. 

“Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.” Brian comes to tilt her head a little, angling it for his ease. “Deep breaths now,” he reminds her. 

Layla’s eyes screw shut, shoulders immediately rising up in anticipation of the jab. She tries to breathe evenly but it was hard for her to breathe any other way other than a shallow manner. 

Harry looks at this and his hand immediately comes up to hold hers, but he notices that she’s clutching her wallet and water bottle in each hand. So, instead of prying her fingers from it, he presses his palm against the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles. 

As Brian pushes the needle through her ear, he sees her jaw tighten as she grinds her teeth together, no sound escaping her mouth. Her shoulders drop, and almost immediately after she slightly jumps, as he puts on her stud, screwing the back securely. 

“All done,” Brian tells her and she slowly opens her eyes with a smile on her face. 

“Thank you!” She blinks back the thin film of tears. She picks up the mirror that was next to her and admires her new piercing. 

Brian’s phone goes off and he walks over to look at his screen. “Be back in a minute,” he informs them before slipping out the room. 

“What do you think?” Layla asks Harry. 

“You look cute. Especially with your angry red ear. All around adorable, really.” He comes to kiss the tip of her nose. 

Layla unscrews her bottle and sips on some water. Brian comes back into the room. He places another small gold single ball stud on his tray, no bigger than the size of a mustard seed. “Alright, Harry, switch places with Layla, please.” He says, walking towards a cabinet to rifle through. 

“What?” Layla whips her head to face him. 

“Decided on it last minute really,” he shrugs. “Thought I’d get one of my lobes pierced.”

“Really?” She hops off from the cushion, gently so as to not have a high impact, mindful of the heaviness of her left ear that was accompanied with a dull throb. 

“Yeah. Reckon I should get my left pierced?” He takes her place on the narrow bed. 

“I think so too. It would really go with your contrasting arms,” she points to his heavily tattooed left arm. 

“Okay, Harry.” Brian says, coming up to him. “Just gonna mark the spot,” he explains, putting a small dot on his left lobe. “You two have similar ears,” he chuckles. “Small, attached lobes, no space between your anithelix and it’s fold.”

Layla had never really paid attention to that till now. Now that she leaned against the bed, getting a great vantage of his ears, she can say that Brian’s right. Their ears do look eerily similar, except for their lobes - hers were attached fully and his lobe tapered a little before fusing. 

“That’s so weird,” she comments. 

Once Harry gives him the go ahead, Brian moves over to his work table and fiddles with the earring and the needle. 

“Alright, bud,” Brian says, rubbing some disinfect on the spot he was going to prick. “Deep breaths okay.” He reminds him as he picks up the needle. 

Harry flips his hand over, the one that was on his knee closest to her, and wiggles his fingers looking at Layla. She smiles and threads her fingers through his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

He barely reacts when Brian puts the needle through his ear and doesn’t even flinch when he gets the earring on. After he’s done, he hands the mirror to Harry, so he can admire his handiwork. Layla can’t help but help but think about how cute he looks with his freshly pierced red lobe, tan cardigan, tight white t-shirt, and some shorts.

“Alright. Follow me out, so I can get you your cleaning solution and tell you how to clean your piercings. Harry, wait for two months before changing your earring. Layla, yours would take a little over eight months to fully heal. Don’t change anything until then,” he tells the two of them.

They both follow Brian out and carefully listen to how they could go about cleaning as he hands them the cleaning solution. They pay their bills separately, leaving a decent tip for Brian and head out after thanking him. 

////

Harry is at Cherry Pie again. He’d come to Raleigh to pick up the costumes for his mum’s birthday party. He zipped over there to pick up a few things he’d needed for his photoshoot for OnlyFans. He was in line at the till behind two other people, a short plump blonde man who had a crop, a whip, and a DVD titled ‘Naughty Pool Boys 2 : Too wetter.’ Another woman with pink pixie hair buying a penis shaped baking tin, he’d also saw her timidly swipe a pair of white briefs with the word ‘Eat Me’ stamped in black block letters at the bum. He looks at the things in his own basket, when suddenly five consecutive dings came from his phone.

He quickly fishes it out of his pocket and his eyes nearly pop out when he clicks on the notification.

I’m going to fucking kill her, he thinks to himself.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

[southeastasianhistories]

The Australian external territory of Christmas Island is infamous for its immigrant detention center. But the island also has a history of solidarity: in the 1970s, its Chinese and Malaysian workers led a union struggle against colonialism and apartheid.

Christmas Island rises from the Indian Ocean around 1,600 kilometers from Australia. Closer to Singapore than the mainland, it is home to a population of around two thousand people, the majority of whom have Chinese ancestry, with a sizable minority of people of Malay heritage. This tropical rocky speck is unlike most of Australia — on Christmas Island, Lunar New Year, Hari Raya Haji, and Hari Raya Puasa are public holidays.

Christmas Island is well known to Australians, but not for its natural beauty or unique red crab migrations. Rather, this far-flung external territory primarily features in Australia’s consciousness as a site of human misery. It plays host to an infamous immigration detention center, a cornerstone of a draconian border protection system that has driven Australian politics to the right for years.

However, few realize that Christmas Island has a more radical, internationalist history. It was the site of a militant trade-union struggle against a form of apartheid that segregated white and Asian workers until the 1980s. The victory of those who stood up to the Christmas Island Phosphate Company demonstrated the power of collective action to overcome racism and exploitation.

British Imperial Apartheid Settlement of the uninhabited island, named Christmas Island in 1643, only began after British surveyors discovered phosphate deposits in 1886. Britain annexed the island in 1888 and gave the Christmas Island Phosphate Company a ninety-nine-year lease on the territory. Phosphate mining began in 1899, using indentured labor from Singapore, the Malay Archipelago, and China.

In 1919, Britain transferred the management of mining on Christmas Island — as well as that of Nauru and Banaba, now part of Kiribati — to the British Phosphate Commissioners (BPC). The BPC comprised government representatives from Australia, New Zealand, and Britain. In 1949, the British government sold its mining rights to Australia and New Zealand. And in 1958, the UK transferred sovereignty over Christmas Island from Singapore to Australia. All the while, the BPC continued to manage the island using extraordinary powers. The BPC paid Asians a fifth of what white workers received and could summarily dismiss workers, who had no right to appeal.

The authorities deported fired workers within twenty-four hours, stamping their passports with NTR — “Never to Return.” They forbade Asian workers from owning land on Christmas Island or settling permanently. The BPC owned everything, including the local shop.

The island’s housing, transport, swimming pools, and education system were also highly segregated. White families lived in houses built to Australian standards while Asian families lived in small flats without hot water or air conditioning. Single Asian men lived in dormitories the size of bathrooms, without mattresses.

There were also two schools, one Asian and one European. The island’s European population were almost totally opposed to proposals to integrate the two schools.

Unsurprisingly, given this setup, one resident described Christmas Island as pretty much the last outpost of the British Raj. The BPC men were all there with their white shorts and long socks and they all played golf on Friday afternoons. The European people would put on shows at the Christmas Island Club, but by virtue of the fees, it was a European stronghold.

Striking Against the BPC The catalyst for change came in 1974, when workers struck to oppose the dismissal of Teo Boon How, the chief interpreter in the administrative office. The BPC had fired him on March 26, ordering him to leave Christmas Island within twenty-four hours. The next day, more than 1,100 workers refused to report to work, instead marching in protest.

The strike forced the acting administration to rescind Teo Boon How’s deportation order and later to reinstate him. This was not the first strike on Christmas Island. However, it signaled a shift. It was the first time the island’s Asian community exercised political power.

On March 21, 1975, fifteen Asian community leaders met secretly and formed the Union of Christmas Island Workers (UCIW). On Teo Boon How’s recommendation, they elected schoolteacher Michael Grimes as the UCIW’s first general secretary on a part-time basis, in part thanks to his experience organizing teachers’ unions. They also elected as president Lim Sai Meng, a worker with a Chinese background who had come to Christmas Island from Malaysia in 1973. Within a week of its formation, more than seven hundred workers had joined the new union.

Grimes had arrived in 1975, alongside some twenty other people from the Commonwealth Teaching Service. Their salaries outstripped those of local teachers, highlighting the extent to which the BPC underpaid Asian workers.

In 1978, Grimes resigned as UCIW secretary and was replaced by Gordon Bennett, an English migrant. Bennett’s more militant style of union organizing caught the attention of mainland Australian newspapers, highlighting the plight of Christmas Islanders.

The Chinese community nicknamed Bennett “Tai Ko Seng” (Big Brother Who Delivers). Under his leadership, the UCIW immediately called for a $30-a-week raise and minimum wage parity with the mainland within a year. The workers also demanded Australian citizenship rights for Christmas Islanders and called for the Australian government to take full administrative control of the island.

In 1979, the workers met at a cinema in Poon Saan, Christmas Island’s second-largest town. Almost the entire workforce of the island voted to take strike action in support of the UCIW’s demands, bringing phosphate production to a halt. The workers self-levied to raise a war chest of $70,000 for their campaign.

The BPC fought back against the industrial action. They stood down three hundred workers in May, following a strike by ship loaders. According to their industrial agreement, the BPC didn’t have the power to sack these workers. James Taylor, the deputy president of Australia’s arbitration commission, came to the island to mediate the dispute.

At the company’s request, Taylor inserted a stand-down clause into the ship loaders’ agreement, retrospectively legitimizing the BPC’s move. Unsurprisingly, this only fanned the flames of the strike.

The workers reacted swiftly. A mass meeting of 1,500 workers voted to prevent Taylor from leaving Christmas Island. Taylor was only allowed to leave some days later, after Australian Council of Trade Unions president Bob Hawke flew to Christmas Island and intervened on his behalf.

Next, the UCIW took its campaign to the mainland, where they made use of a series of creative tactics. They took the home affairs minister to court for underpayment and established a protest tent camp outside Parliament House in July 1979. Later that year, they waged a twelve-day hunger strike, garnering media attention.

Against all odds, the union won the pay raise it had demanded immediately. And its protest actions resulted in a public inquiry into the BPC. The inquiry recommended that Christmas Island be brought under the same administrative jurisdiction and industrial legislation as mainland Australia. A former BHP executive, Wilfred Sweetland, ran the inquiry and was scathing of the BPC, describing it as “colonial” and “repugnant.”

By 1981, the UCIW had won all its industrial demands including wage parity. The publicly owned Phosphate Mining Company of Christmas Island took over the phosphate industry. This finally put an end to the BPC’s rule. Following his victory in the 1984 election, Bob Hawke’s Labor government brought Christmas Island fully under Australian administration.

Ongoing Injustices Despite these victories, Christmas Islanders are still confronted by injustices. In 1987, the Australian government closed the phosphate mine. Although union workers purchased the mine and reopened it in 1990, other attempts at economic diversification have not borne fruit.

The Australian government blocked proposals to boost tourism by revitalizing the island’s resort and casino, previously legislating to prohibit casino operations. This means that Serco, the company that runs the notorious Christmas Island Detention Centre, is the island’s largest employer.

The battle against the legacy of colonialism is also not over. Christmas Island has many of the characteristics of a non-self-governing territory, as described by UN Charter Article 73. Yet Australian governments still treat it like a distant possession. Islanders do not enjoy basic democratic rights.

Australian citizens in Christmas Island can vote in federal elections, but they must do so as part of the Northern Territory, and have no say over the Western Australian state laws that apply to them. Just as Christmas Islanders did not get to vote over the transfer of sovereignty to Australia in 1958, the Australian government has not consulted with them or allowed them a say over the island’s governance since.

Following its historic victories in the early 1980s, the UCIW has maintained its key role in the life of the island. Gordon Thomson, a UCIW leader who also serves as the president of the Christmas Island Shire Council, summed it up well: the collective power of unionism yet remains the most important and only real means of resisting those who would destroy us and the gains we have made as a union since 1975. Indeed, the story of the UCIW’s victorious battle against the colonial apartheid regime in Christmas Island should be as well known in Australia as other historic struggles, like the Wave Hill walk-off or the green bans. Christmas Island’s history shows that militant, class-struggle trade unionism is a powerful weapon against colonialism and racism.

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