A single mom hardworking a tough life

The roof is thatched, sloping down to keep out the monsoon rain. A small veranda runs along the front, where a clay chulha sits next to a few pots. Inside, the floor is swept earth covered with a faded mat. One corner holds their bed: a bamboo frame with a thin mattress, folded clothes stacked neatly underneath. A handmade shelf of bamboo holds a steel glass, a notebook, and a small toy her child carved. She’s maybe 28, hair tied back, with calloused hands from building every part of it over weeks. Her child, about 4 or 5, is small enough to duck under the doorway without bending. He follows her everywhere with a stick “hammer” of his own, handing her bamboo strips and sitting beside her while she weaves.