A Beggar’s Story

Earlier today I saw two little boys wrestling at the train station in New Jalpaiguri. They were shirtless, dirty and from “The Darkness”, meaning the abject poor of India with no escape in sight. They were enjoying themselves for the time being, just being boys, until the older kid came along carrying his naked baby brother on his back. It was time to beg.

These boys were the same ones that followed me from the entrance of the train station to the platform I’m on now. When I set my backpack down, they waited intently for me to reach my hand into my pocket to give them a few rupees. Instead I looked at them in the eye and said no. Still they waited patiently, and still no change on my part.

Eventually they walked away, found new people to ask, and were denied again. The baby, who was a little older than 18 months, motioned to his mouth. His naked body was covered in filth and his eyes were crusted over. The other boys were in shorts, their stick legs hung out from the holes and their malnourished bellies protruded over them. Yet people looked the other way, or did as I did – looked at them directly and said no.

More people came up to me, of all ages actually. One elderly woman stuck a tin bowl in front of my face, shaking the few rupees she had inside. She held it there for sometime, but instead I looked down and wrote this journal entry. Another woman approached me with her baby and palm outstretched. The baby looked like it had either a tumor or elephantitis on the back of her head. Still no donation from me. After packs of children came to me, a man in his 20’s crawled over to me. His legs were thinner than his arms, and his pelvis was the same size as his head. I have no idea if he has ever stood up straight in his life, but his limping 4-legged crawl suggested that he hadn’t. He put his face by mine, looked me in the eyes and waited patiently like the others. He tapped my shoes, each of them twice, almost like a blessing or a human plea for me to do something. But with no avail, he crawled away to the next person.

I’ve seen poverty before; it’s not new to me. I see it all the time in San Francisco since both of my parents work for homeless shelters. I saw it on my trip to Rwanda, when I went for an international youth conference to brainstorm economic rebuilding and created livelihoods after the genocide. I also saw extreme poverty when I visited my own family in El Salvador several times as a child. Like I said, I’ve seen poverty before.

The difference between what I have seen and what I’m explaining here in India, is that you need to make the conscious decision at the moment to give money or not. In San Francisco, Rwanda and El Salvador poverty is clear, but it’s easier to forget because beggars don’t tug on your clothes, follow you or grab your hand. Instead they sit on a corner with a sign or practice some other non-aggressive form of begging. Here you have to tell beggars to their face no and walk away feeling guilty for you answer.

If I made the choice to give money, the other beggars would ask and expect the same. Though I have some money, I can’t afford to give it all away, nor do I want to give it all away. If I had food on me, I would gladly share, but then when the next beggar sees and asks, I obviously can’t afford to feed her too. I find myself in this bind every time I enter a major city here, and so I always say no. What would you do?