Once upon a time when we were innocent

In the barren lawns of a plot under construction, stood a cart. Around half a dozen little children were frolicking around, in the little space that the cart had to offer. While their parents—all daily wage earners—were sweating it out in the cruel heat of June, laying bricks, carrying loads of cement on their weak shoulders that rested on under-nourished bodies, and were doing all other jobs that any construction laborer would, these children were too happy to have found some sort of a treasure. To me it all looked like some dangerous tribal people had found their food for the day—a healthy man—and were taking good care of it, feeding it and decorating it, so that the meal would turn out to be a delicious one. Spooky.