Courtesy Reuters

As I cross the main road to the Red Fort in Delhi, I hear a young girl behind me. “Deedhi,” she says, “dus rupaye dedo” (sister, give me ten rupees). She isn’t alone. Around her are a group of young children. Some are just five or six years old, some are older. All of them are wearing ragged clothes and have dusty feet and sweet faces. They are in high spirits, and I want to give them something. I don’t have any change, though, so I say, half in Urdu and half in English, “Main dhoongi, when I come back! I will give you

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