A small girl lingered at the side of a cycle rickshaw, absorbed in her solitary play

Little girl beside cycle rickshaw — Little girl beside a cycle rickshaw

When I stepped into the alley, I found everyday life spilling out in full. This was a corner of the Indian town of Berhampore. Several old cycle rickshaws stood along the roadside, their fabric canopies sagging wearily from the iron frames. Nearby, laundry was strung so close together that a gust of wind might easily tangle it with the neighbor’s wash. Mixed with the voices of adults passing through was the sound of children running about, filling the cramped space with a commotion far removed from any sense of calm.

Amid the clamor, a little girl appeared before me. In the photograph, she wears nothing but a pair of shorts—perhaps the most practical attire in Berhampore’s midsummer heat. Unlike the other children, she played alone beside a rickshaw. Whether it was her nature or just coincidence in that moment, I couldn’t tell. When she noticed me, she turned around, her finger in her mouth, giving me a puzzled expression that defied description.

The rickshaw is indispensable to life in Indian and Bangladeshi cities, but in the backstreets of a provincial town like Berhampore, it has become more than just a mode of transport. It serves as a storage space, a playground for children, even a patch of shade from the sun. For the little girl in the photo, the rickshaw was not simply a vehicle, but a convenient toy. Of course, if her fingers were to get caught in the wheel, it would be no laughing matter—but such worries belong only to adults.

Berhampore on Google Map

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