It’s mid-morning and the local school in the large Delhi shantytown that I’m visiting, on the edge of India’s vast capital, is teeming with children. The narrow lanes ring out with their little voices reciting the alphabet at the top of their lungs.
But just next to the school, that reassuring sound and sight is replaced with something else.
Doors lead off the narrow lane on which it’s located to small homes.
From inside one of them, you can see groups of women squatting on the ground and bent over, peeling and sorting out piles of almonds.
Working alongside them are several children, painstakingly separating shells from husks before adding the almonds to the pile.
But even as we try to look in, our way is blocked by a man who wants to know what we want.
“Please leave, you have no permission to look inside,” he says when I tell him we are journalists.
We are hurried along.