I crack the cotton boll's protective shell, so tough that the muscles in my fingers cramp as I ply the encasement apart. Its edges jab into my skin, relentless in shielding the warm brown fiber inside. I pull at the fiber; it feels different from the bright, fuzzy cotton I’m used to seeing in the United States. Stronger and more compact, its color subdued like the desert fields of Kutch.
Shaina Shealy's blog
Courtesy of Shaina Shealy