My impatient hands couldn’t get anywhere with the stuck knot. She tried too, but to no avail. ‘Tchah,’ she said, ‘this string has become all ghachar ghochar. Wait.’ I stood there as she sat up, bent over the knot and carefully teased it apart. It came to me later when we were lying there catching our breaths. ‘What was that you called the petticoat string?’ I asked her. She giggled. ‘Ghachar ghochar,’ she said.
