Poverty, like in so many countries, is extremely palpable here. In the middle of the night, there are families lining the streets. Children and parents work doing whatever they can—selling freezer bags on the train or maybe flowers on the street. When I struggle with money it’s the choice between buying new clothes and saving up for the text books I need the next semester. I know I am lucky, but I suddenly feel spoiled.
In Mumbai I am most often approached by children for money, but I am always reluctant to give it. I do not know where it will go, and I doubt whether they return home to their parents or if someone else is sending them out to panhandle.
This morning I was sitting on a patio, with a latte and a muffin, and the same little girl who followed me here is standing on the sidewalk bringing her hand to her mouth to show that she is hungry. I invite her on to the patio to have my muffin and suddenly all hell breaks loose.
“Ma’am this is not allowed” the barista says firmly.
“Why not, she’s having a muffin, and it is being paid for, doesn’t that make her a customer?”
“No Ma’am. This is not allowed. I will have to give her a paper plate.”
I understand that panhandlers may be a nuisance for business owners, but as far as I am concerned this is utter bullshit. The patio is practically empty, and the only other people present are a few businessmen who smile and wave at the little girl.
“I’ll pay for your stupid plate if she breaks it!”
He walks away, entirely annoyed. She eats the muffin in record time. Wiping up the plate and polishing off every crumb. She turns to me and says something in Hindi. I smile.
“Nay Hindi”
“Didi, thank you so much, before I was very hungry”
Every time I have given a child something they have never said anything, but have run off. The fact that she thanked me only made me feel guilty. How can I tell her that I did nothing, that the muffin cost me $1 CDN, and I didn’t even initially buy it for her? It meant food in her stomach and an easier morning, and to me it was only 40 rupees that I may not have noticed missing from my wallet.
I realize, of course, that I cannot feed a whole city’s hungry children, and have learned that when you feed one child, you are approached by ten others. (I have before left a fruit stand with a bunch of 6 bananas and returned home with none).
So listen, little one, I barely did anything for you. I hope someone who cares about you is keeping an eye on you.
In Mumbai I am most often approached by children for money, but I am always reluctant to give it. I do not know where it will go, and I doubt whether they return home to their parents or if someone else is sending them out to panhandle.
This morning I was sitting on a patio, with a latte and a muffin, and the same little girl who followed me here is standing on the sidewalk bringing her hand to her mouth to show that she is hungry. I invite her on to the patio to have my muffin and suddenly all hell breaks loose.
“Ma’am this is not allowed” the barista says firmly.
“Why not, she’s having a muffin, and it is being paid for, doesn’t that make her a customer?”
“No Ma’am. This is not allowed. I will have to give her a paper plate.”
I understand that panhandlers may be a nuisance for business owners, but as far as I am concerned this is utter bullshit. The patio is practically empty, and the only other people present are a few businessmen who smile and wave at the little girl.
“I’ll pay for your stupid plate if she breaks it!”
He walks away, entirely annoyed. She eats the muffin in record time. Wiping up the plate and polishing off every crumb. She turns to me and says something in Hindi. I smile.
“Nay Hindi”
“Didi, thank you so much, before I was very hungry”
Every time I have given a child something they have never said anything, but have run off. The fact that she thanked me only made me feel guilty. How can I tell her that I did nothing, that the muffin cost me $1 CDN, and I didn’t even initially buy it for her? It meant food in her stomach and an easier morning, and to me it was only 40 rupees that I may not have noticed missing from my wallet.
I realize, of course, that I cannot feed a whole city’s hungry children, and have learned that when you feed one child, you are approached by ten others. (I have before left a fruit stand with a bunch of 6 bananas and returned home with none).
So listen, little one, I barely did anything for you. I hope someone who cares about you is keeping an eye on you.
Rudayna, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You brightened the day of one child about which you may feel proud.
ReplyDelete