The morning air was already hot and cloying when Palli Mahalaxmi rose at about 5am. It was May, and in the summer heatwave that had engulfed this corner of southern India, even night-time did not give the villagers respite.
A single ceiling fan hung above Mahalaxmi, her husband and her son as they slept in a small windowless room made of thick concrete. Mahalaxmi set about preparing breakfast, and the family ate together from steel plates, just as they did every morning. Sweat dripped from their foreheads as the sun rose higher.
