…Look at her. She knows she’s going to have to kick some guys in the balls before this thing is through.” –Amy, on looking at one of the pictures from our series of LSF portraits.

 (Not saying which girl. Just repeating what she was saying. Might have been one of these three. Or not. No matter, is it?)

Tea with sister, mother, niece and goat, in the kitchen at Saru’s house. 

Two days ago we visited an orphanage which is home to 13 kids, aged between 8-14, all whose families were killed in a guerilla attack on their village. Surely there is some back story on this.

It was sad and beautiful and sad again, and then I guess hopeful–in that mysterious-pragmatic way that hugely bad things can sometimes kind of firm you up a little. They become part of you, maybe, maybe because they are part of life.

I want to say that the children did not seem particularly messed up–not that I am any kind of expert, and not that I had anything more than the fleetingest glimpse of their lives, do not misunderstand. It’s just that you sort of expect to see signs of trauma. Or you do when you are naive and dumb-eyed like I am.

The warden, a sweet-faced ~20-year-old with long black hair, a wife-beater tanktop, and a webcam (but no internet connection), had himself fled a situation made hot by the Maoists. As he explained to us the daily routine of the children’s schedule, we were struck by how accustomed/addicted we are to variety.

To live is to celebrate.