Bawn in the USA

You’ve probably never heard of Santiniketan. I certainly hadn't, but my pivotal moment came at the train station in this rural Indian village: not the most extravagant of places for an epiphany, but regardless... The town boasts art galleries, lush vegetation, Visva-Bharati University and many cultural attractions but it was leaving that sparked my story. I cite fate, although it was more a combination of exhaustion, heat and a late train.

Running up creaky metal station steps, surrounded by heavy evening air and persistent black cloud of mosquitoes, I watched my train leave. I was overwhelmed by scents of sandalwood attempting to cover a much more dubious underlying stench, my head pounding from the shouts of children, when I realised my camera was gone.

Running up behind me, a little girl appeared holding it - shiny and incongruous in her tiny hands. Up close I could see her over-exposed eyes, and a face too weathered for her age. As she placed the camera next to me gingerly, her jade green top fell off a delicate shoulder. I thanked her, but my words felt sticky and awkward.

She ran behind a bench, and I spotted many eyes gleaming through the dusk. Slowly they edged nearer, and I saw their inquisitive faces, lurid but tattered clothes, grazes and bruises from unimaginable events. My girl had slotted a one-legged baby onto her hip; she clasped him like a nervous first-time parent and I realised that this fragile doll was his mother figure.

Her gaze remained fixed on me. Not food, nor money - her wish was shockingly simple.

‘Photo?’ Her uncertain voice was barely audible over screeching trains, but I heard her. I raised my camera and pain fled from her face as she grinned at the lens, pointing and posing with her friends. Momentarily, she was the child she deserved to be. Our lack of common language was irrelevant: the noise disappeared and even the air stifled less. Everything was consumed by children’s laughter, and a camera’s flash.

Eventually, my train ambled in. Looking back at the children’s haunting eyes reminded me of their reality. I had been a distraction, but the poverty, the disabled baby cared for by a 7-year old, living on a train roof - that was real. How easy would it have been to steal something so truly valuable to me?

In an insignificant train station I discovered how simple happiness can be, due to a lost camera and little girl with dirty hands.