Every season is unbearable A photo frame with an image of a grand building stood out like a protest banner. A protest against the abandonment of the state. Of the claim of the homeless to a dream at least. A child came running towards it. “My father put it there,” he said. “Where is your home?” I asked. “Look there,” he said. Behind the frame, a tattered tarpaulin sheet stretched over a mini world of belongings and a lot of discarded items from others. The father wasn’t around. Mohammad Fukan, a cleaner, said the people who live on that particular pavement across the grand hotel, The Lodhi, are mostly beggars and rag-pickers. The photo frame must have been one of those discards. “We can dream about houses like these. Dreams are free,” he said. “It must be cooler inside those rooms.” With all this heat that the concrete emits on days like these, the homeless say it is difficult to breathe sometimes. “We sprinkle water on the ground,” he said. No electricity, no roof and just a pavement and a lot of sky is what these poor have. “In this city, people like us wait for the season to change. We wait endlessly. Every season is unbearable,” he said. “I don’t know what climate change is. But to wait for the next season, knowing it will bring no respite is what it could be,” he said. Do those houses feel nice in this hellish heat? The child asked this as he pointed to the domed building in the frame. Photograph: Chinki Sinha