At dawn, Bus number 969 leaves Sawda Ghevra packed with women. All day they mop, swab, rinse, wipe, returning in the evening. At least now, they don’t have water on the mind.
“We used to fight for water like animals. Our pots would break, clumps of hair would be torn out, our clothes would rip as we pushed, jostled and hit each other just to get to the mouth of the water pipe of the tanker that would come once a day. I still dream of the day I can open a tap and take a bath under it,” said Urmila,
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