Many families across the country are preparing to celebrate the birth of Christ and new life while other families await a fresh beginning with the dawn of a new year.
In some homes though there are only tears and despair bordering on hopelessness, with a frenetic search on. For many the leads have run cold but there is an all-consuming fire within their bodies and also their souls.
We are in the 1950s. You are dressed and ready to go to your first school, the Kindergarten Class at Holy Family Convent, miles away.
Your conveyance is a beautiful black rickshaw with a scarlet plastic seat. Your rickshaw-puller is Pichcha-Muththu. All that shiny blackness makes you think of crows. Even Pichcha-Muththu is crow-like, so dark is his skin. He is an old man, or so he seems. His face is crinkled and his little beard and moustache white.