Thak, thak, thak. The first thing that hits you is the sound. The early-morning summer sunlight slants into the hunks of meat as Rahul lifts a three-pound iron cleaver and brings it down with practised precision, reducing ‘medium’ cuts into ‘small’ ones at the slaughterhouse in Hyderabad’s Jiyaguda.

Around him, life unfolds in familiar chaos. Men and women in gumboots and rubber slippers sip chai, rinse their hands, sort meat. Buyers haggle, cleaners scrub, traders shout instructions. Some move about in clothes stained with blood and flesh, unfazed, immersed in routine.