A small child, maybe 18 months old, dirty, dressed in rags, squatting in the gutter, drinking the dirty water.
The image is seared in my brain. I saw it at the beginning my trip, maybe in Mumbai, and it’s impossible to shake.
The children in India broke my heart.
Even in the worst of circumstances, a smile.
So much poverty.
I saw dozens of smiles.
We were “an event” for children, everywhere we went. And always, always greeted, whether by enthusiastic boys…
Or shyer, but still vocal young girls…
Don’t let the natty school uniforms fool you. Sometimes, they were the only nice outfits kids owned.
Yes, the children. They broke my heart, and yet, their joyous spirits were infectious. They were one of the best things about India.
And often, the saddest.