The labourers were starving and sickly. They toiled eighteen hours every day and the screams of their children told of the pain within.

I was a regular visitor to this quaint little railway station, a walking distance from my house.

It’s there that I met Puchki, the five- year- old daughter of one of the labourers. We quickly became friends. Her smile felt like an everlasting sunshine, her arms always around, hugging me.

‘How are you, Puchki?’ that’s how I initiated the conversation with her every day.

‘I am hungry.’ She would respond with a smile but with a fading twinkle in her dark eyes.

‘Oh! Let me get something for you.’ I rushed to get her food with the hope that her life would get better someday.

She died a month later. The grey moods of my soul were only matched by the dark clouds above.

I just wept!