In her early thirties, Pathani, a woman with an infectious smile and an easy laugh, has a jhuggi or hutment in an unplanned settlement on an outskirt of the city. However, she spends most of her day on a footpath adjacent to a bustling and polluted road, miles away.

Carrying a child of barely eighteen months on her left hip, Pathani introduces her as her daughter. Two slightly older children remain at home in the jhuggi, left to their own devices as there is no family member available to care for them. Pathani’s youngest is still dependent on breast milk, necessitating her presence to feed the child. Some kind neighbours keep an eye on the two children left behind, allowing them to play with others in the neighbourhood.

Pathani has a round face with sunburnt flushed cheeks, a red forehead and a thick unibrow accentuated by a dupatta around the head. Adorned with a large nose stud and glass bangles, she presents a unique aesthetic.

Under the large shade of a miserably neglected tree, and by a long boundary wall, Pathani rests during green traffic signals. When the signal turns red, she navigates through the halted vehicles - buses, cars, rickshaws and motorbikes – appealing for alms. The wall against which she sits resting, feeding her baby, chatting with other beggars, or eating her lunch, serves as a multifaceted backdrop, covered in graffiti and posters, predominantly advertising a clinic’s miraculous ‘doctor’ claiming to cure every ailment, particularly focusing on men’s virility.

Revealing a personal aspect, Pathani shares that she underwent an operation after the birth of her third child to prevent further pregnancies. Her daily earnings amount to at least Rs 500, complementing her husband’s income from selling plastic stencils of mehndi designs. He earns about the same amount. Each of them pays for the commuting costs, occasionally waived, and minimal food. On Thursdays and Fridays they join the queues at restaurants distributing free lunches to beggars and the impoverished. If they are lucky, they get to travel to a charitable joint that is a bit far, where food is distributed every day during lunch time.

Reflecting on her past, she mentions selling ballpoint pens, an endeavour that failed to bring in substantial income, leading to her decision to become a beggar. Remarkably, she asserts that she avoids paying any bhatta or extortion fee, and despite spending her days on the street, she has not faced any type of abuse from men.

The conversation takes an abrupt turn when a group of beggars approaches menacingly, shouting at Pathani to move away and avoid talking to strangers, concluding the interaction with an unsettling tone.

The writer is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com