

NARENDRA* walks into a dingy room as we wait for his 15-year-old son to return from his second day at work.
“Just tomatoes for dinner today … with ₹2,500 rent and then electricity, my poor son has to look after me now. I am useless, I have told my wife to consider that her husband is dead. This month some [workers’] union friends lent me money and we managed to send ₹3,000 back home but how will I send money [regularly] now? I have told her to consider me dead, her son will look after everything now.”
A bespectacled Narendra visibly struggles as he walks towards his 3x4 metre room. With barely any space to stretch one’s legs, one corner of the room has a single stove burner and two kadhais while a small plastic bag of rice and six tomatoes sit in another corner. We enter the room ducking under the clothes hung above.