“We are like children rear’d in shade Beneath some old world abbey wall Forgotten in a forest glade, And secret from the eyes of all.”
– Matthew Arnold
A childhood routine unfolds by the banks of the Ganges, where urchins frolic amongst the waves, unperturbed by the common din. Growing up by the muddy banks, the dearth of four walls and a roof, they turn to the river as their perpetual playmate. Personified, the river is deemed a guardian and infallible time-keeper. As sure as the tides, the regimen plays itself out tirelessly, with these children revelling in their buoyant imagination. They set sail, guided by fervor alone, on reams of foam for boats. The steady ripples soothe their calloused ankles, as the children flit in and out of the frothy waves; with the river patiently bearing witness to it all. A surging force of mirth, that reminds the casual observer of a long forgotten boyhood.
