The boy in Gaforgaon

It was September 1988, and we had had the worst floods in a century. These people at Gaforgaon had not eaten for three days. A torn sari strung across the beams of an abandoned warehouse created the only semblance of a shelter. Their homes had been washed away. Family members had died. Yet the children had surrounded me. They wanted a picture.

It was dark in that damp, deserted warehouse, but the broken walls let in wonderful monsoon light, and they jostled for position near the opening. It was as I was pressing the shutter that I realised that the boy in the middle was blind. He had pushed himself into the centre, and though he was not tall he stood straight with a beaming smile.