And survival in Seemapuri means rag-picking. Through the years, it has acquired the proportions of a fine art. Garbage to them is gold. It is their daily bread, a roof over their heads, even if it is a leaking roof.
But for a child it is even more.�I sometimes find a rupee, even a ten-rupee note,� Saheb says, his eyes lighting up.

When you can find a silver coin in a heap of garbage, you don't stop scrounging, for there is hope of finding more. It seems that for children, garbage has a meaning different from what it means to their parents.
For the children it is wrapped in wonder, for the elders it is a means of survival.

One winter morning I see Saheb standing by the fenced gate of the neighbourhood club, watching two young men dressed in white, playing tennis. �I like the game," he hums,
content to watch it standing behind the fence. "I go inside when no one is around,� he admits. �The. gatekeeper lets me use the swing.�