I had come to India to learn about development issues first-hand. In Bhaje village, my base was an orphanage built after deforestation led to a devastating landslide where many lives were lost. I had a room to myself, while each of the other rooms held ten kids and a den mother. 

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The group that built the orphanage also worked in remote villages in nearby hills. I walked uphill for hours with social workers to villages where they ran health programs, women’s savings circles and other projects to help local communities. There were no roads, power or phones. But we were warmly greeted and invited into people’s homes.

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In this area, cows lived in people’s homes to keep them safe. I remember sitting on the floor of a mud-brick home with one of the social workers having chai with a villager. The cows were behind a small barrier in the same room.

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At one point, he stood and casually walked across the room. I had no sense that anything was amiss. But in one quick motion he clubbed a snake with a stick, threw it out the door and sat back down to continue the conversation.

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But in the streets and slums of cities like Bombay (now Mumbai) and Baroda, the poverty felt more grinding than in the villages due to the stark contrast between rich and poor.

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