Raju has the kind of eyes I've always wanted, he has the smiling urchin's face I've always wanted, he has the kind of dusty skin I've always wanted. He takes us past Rishikulya to the beach and points out little specks in the distance and flaps his hands, then helps me collect rainbow-coloured shells that now lie in a plastic bag on my table, they might be mother-of-pearl but I don't want to find out they aren't.

Raju has a husky voice and a red shawl and says things I don't understand, it sounds like a mixture of Telugu and Oriya but it could be something else altogether. I say things he doesn't seem to understand either, we get by with what I've now learnt are International Gestures. IGs for what is that? And no, not there. And wait, wait, there's something in my shoe. He says he's in class three, he understands the word school, also cyclone. Because he's brought us through the cashew trees and mangroves and lots of sand right to the water I'm inclined to want to bring him along into the boat we hire to take us out to sea. But he disappears, and when we come back he's scrabbling around on the sand waiting for us, bringing out two more shells and a dead crab from his pockets.

He wants a toffee but he wants my camera more. He looks at it like it's a weapon at first and then he likes the attention, by the end of it he's making faces but don't be fooled, Raju's a gentleman. He drags us to see a freshly-caught swordfish and leads us back to his village, kicking stray objects in the sand out of his way, pausing now and then to pick up a dried fish or dig his nose or point at a solitary torn chappal lying around, and then he disappears again. Just like that. We pull out in the van and I'm still looking, only he isn't there.

When the reels are developed he looks quite different. The amber of his eyes and the shininess of his hair don't come through. But there's something quieter and more subliminal going on here, I look closer and there it is, Raju's a star.