I am in a village with a group of students to survey the economic status of families. I meet an old woman who doesn’t know how old she is. Her eyes are clouded. She used to toil in the fields during rice harvests. She points a trembling finger at her grandson who is looking for a job. The cataracts in her eyes do not cover her feelings.
In the semi-dark hut I notice a carton which says ‘Fresh Kinnaur Apples’. The carton is full of dog-eared textbooks, probably belonging to the girls in the house who have stopped going to school. Unemployment… yet you can see men playing card games the whole afternoon in the village square, to pass the time. The survey over, we start moving. The rhythmic sound of the old woman’s pounding betel nut in the pestle fills the afternoon again.
the cow lets a puppy lick
the newborn calf