One of the biggest struggles for me on this trip so far has been adjusting to life without easily accessible, clean water. This means that I have to prepare myself with at least three water bottles before we start each day.

That might sound a little excessive. But after experiencing a few interviews where there were five or six of us in a tiny, unventilated room at about 40 degrees, I realised how important it is to have water on hand. Yet despite this realisation, I still forget the water from time to time and these days are very hard. I guess it’s not in my nature to think ahead about these things.

This is my first week in India and so far we’ve been visiting slums on the outskirts of Delhi. These slums are dry and outrageously arid. In the first two interviews I asked the women I was speaking with what their biggest challenge was. They both said water.

There is no source of water in their slum, meaning that it’s not possible for them to run a tap when they’re thirsty or need to wash. Instead they get their water from trucks that come twice a week with water pumps through which they fill up big plastic tubs or containers.

I actually didn’t think about this a great deal when they said it. It seemed to make sense, the water comes and then they store it for use throughout the week. Great.

But as we were leaving the slum, the water trucks arrived. I watched as hundreds (maybe more) from a slum of about 50,000 ran towards the trucks to fill up. It was all very civil, but there was something that seemed impossibly tough about having to hustle amongst your friends for what is essentially a finite amount of water.

I thought about how hard it would be to ration your water out over several days. Having to watch how much water you drink, despite the fact that it’s almost 40 degrees and you have no fan or air conditioning. Or having to be careful not to wash for too long even though you’re sweaty and dirty from a day of work.

The next day another reality hit me. We were interviewing a mother in her one-bedroom home where her sick daughter was also sleeping. Again it was intensely hot. The bed was raised and I was sitting on the concrete floor next to the bed. We had been talking for about 20 minutes when her daughter started to cough.

I asked whether we should leave but the mother insisted we should stay. Two minutes later the daughter started making a different type of noise. Then she threw up on the bed, the vomit dripping down next to me on the floor. We all left the house quickly to give the mother and daughter their space.

The two came outside and it was clear that they didn’t have water left. No water to help the daughter who was sweating and worryingly feverish. No water to wash the bed, which the entire family would have to sleep on that night. And we had no water to offer.

The wait for water must be heartbreaking.

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