The woman is sitting alone on the ground, brushing her teeth with her index finger, rubbing a black powder vigorously. Once done, she rubs her finger on the sari which does nothing to erase the black colour. Her pinched face has a light covering of warts, the discoloured lips stretched across her face in a narrow line. She looks everywhere yet nowhere in particular. The printed sari covering her emaciated body had clearly seen better days. Some metres ahead, an open drain is overflowing with dark, viscous water, turning into a moss-covered patch close by. Flies are buzzing. There is an acrid stench in the air.