They named you Baby, and you were a tough girl. A bit cheeky, naughty, and better than the neighbourhood boys at every game. When I returned to the Indian city of Varanasi more than a year later, you laughed loudly at the crazy child you now saw in the photo. Free, cheerful, uninhibited. That disappeared six years later. You were willing to pose to please me but were ashamed of your younger self. When I met you again relatively soon afterwards, you had suddenly become a young woman. Still a girl in my eyes, but already promised to your future husband whom you had never seen. Your families had come to an agreement, and you looked forward to your arranged marriage with joy and fear. Will your husband be kind? And your mother-in-law? What will the next photo be like, Baby? Will you have a family of your own? With a naughty daughter, maybe? Will you be smiling? Not for me, the photographer, but because you are happy at heart.