Saw a woman on the street, her expression of resignation, nursing a baby. The curve of the baby's thigh, its face hidden by her sari, protected from the world if only for a short while longer. I think of myself and my baby. I feel like my heart is about to break. Is the baby a boy? A girl? Should I stop and give her money? How much is enough? Enough for her to buy a place to stay and educate her child? Enough for a meal? My car speeds by. I hold back tears. What use is my sorrow if all I do is watch? I feel anger at myself for hesitating and the moment and the scene has passed. I start to cry some hours later while telling my husband about it. He asks me to channel my sorrow.
India is too striking a land of contrasts. It is downright disturbing to see people checking out objects of luxury at swanky malls while right outside one sees the construction workers and their families building more swankiness to the shopping havens living in huts, their children running about finding play and joy in the bricks and stone and mud that form their parent's livelihood. Heartbreaking.
Compared to Bombay there aren't that many beggars on the street. Kids do approach us at certain busy street corners. But its rarer than usual here.
A Kashmiri trader of beautiful saris and shirts stops by. We met him at a home goods exhibition earlier and bought several kurtas/shirts. He has come to us bearing saris. Beautiful, hand-done embroidery on pastel georgettes and crepes. My mother buys a sari. I ask if the artisans might get some of the money that we're paying for the items. He says the artisans work on a monthly salary. I offer to pay him a bonus for the artisans. He refuses to take the money. Give them more work, he says, this isn't appropriate. It doesn't send the right message.
The same applies to the beggars, I suppose. Throwing small amounts of money helps feed them for a meal or two. But systemically, the solution is larger, so much more complicated. Education, work solutions. India has one of the smallest budgets in the world assigned to educating her people. Depressing.
But I feel a renewed sense of joy about getting involved in a local not profit, making a small difference.
I tell my husband. If we can help improve a handful of lives, help a handful of kids escape what is a small twist of fate--they were born in an inopportune place under less than ideal circumstances. My child could easily have been one of them and not the privileged little fella he is going to be and already is.
A handful of kids and a handful of women would be a good start.
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