Style in the slums of Delhi. A first workshop, within a slum, to teach youngsters an art, the art, of art, photography the medium. They sit intently, soaking up, in perfect silence. Is their silence interest or complete incomprehension of Bedford-born English? Into the street, to shoot, to practice, to put in to practice. One boy, small for his age, unblinking in his tutorial, is watched as he shows he understood every word, had absorbed the few pointers. He looks around, sees points of interest, shoots, turns round, sees a mother sitting and asks, as instructed, to take a picture, a scant wobble of the head means OK. The mother and child, perfectly model-like, without posing, without change of expression or posture turn and look into the young pupil’s lens. He shoots, his tutor stands next to him and captures the pose. Will the student get the shot, hold the camera steadily, think about framing and composition, will the shot be as good as the tutor hopes? With just an hour’s lesson, surely a vain hope? Back in the classroom, files downloaded, finally on screen, the perfect shot, the photo of the day, of the class, better than his tutor’s. Maybe, just maybe, another photographer is born. Success.