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  • My car stops at a red light in Andheri- a suburb in the city of Mumbai. The street children arrive with magazines, news papers, toys and flowers; some of them with dismembered limbs, begging for money and food.

    This little girl in the picture, sandwiched between her parents on a motor cycle, caught my attention. She was totally unaware about the scrutiny she was undergoing from a lone pair of eyes. It was saddening to see a tender little girl with such a crestfallen face. I tried to get a glimpse into her sad little world, read her thoughts. She looked as fragile as the flowers of bush-clover that would scatter at the slightest stir of the autumn wind.

    I had the urge to make her smile, to seduce her with the charm of my fantasy, with the promise of a prodigious world where all one had to do was sprinkle some magic liquid on the ground and the plants would bear fruit whenever she wished, and where all manner of instruments against pain were sold at bargain prices. The red light turned green, and within seconds I lost her in the chaotic traffic.
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