Unknown Faces, Known Pain

Why is it that some people have fantastic, fabulous lives and others have wretched lives? Is it really fair to anyone of us? What gives other people the right to mistreat and look down upon others? You see all this cruelty from far and shame the wrongdoers but the next day, knowingly or unknowingly, you might be one of them.
In a third world country like India, poverty is one of the major problems. You see beggars everywhere and I really feel sorry for them. Of course, some of them might just be pretending to be sick and handicapped, like one beggar at NTR Circle who faked Parkinson's Disease to garner sympathy. When the vehicles stop, he shakes his head uncontrollably. When they drive off, his head is rod - straight. There is also another one at Paradise Circle who has only one leg and uses crutches. He hires an auto everyday to go to work and in the evening takes an auto back home after finishing his duty. Another way of getting money is by using children. It's really one form of emotional blackmail. A little girl has been coming to our college to beg for the last few days. Her name is Sapna and I see her being shooed away, ignored or made fun of by the more fortunate ones. I wish I could do something for these beggars. But there is a feeling of guilt because this is my parent's money. So I plan to do something when I stand on my own two feet and I hope this feeling stays because people say one thing whern they are kids and grow up to do quite something else. I remember crying once when I was little because my father refused to give a beggar money and now sometimes I pass by indifferently in front of their empty palms. Things are so much complicated now, you don't even know who deserves to be given money or not. Some of these beggars pull faces when I give them a coin and behave as if I did them a favour while some even harass you for more but some accept the alms graciously and bless you profusely. I particularly rememeber a beggar at Lifestyle crossing. He had no legs. I gave him a coin and he smiled so sweetly and went off and made me marvel at how happy he can be in his wretchedness. That really touched me. At times, just after refusal, my conscience haunts me until I set out the find the one I rejected and give him his due but there are some faces that are lost in the crowd forever and I cannot find them again because I let go of the chance to help them like the old fakir in my colony, the old man, near my mother's office, who looked like Santa Claus and the old lady near my school who only asked me to read out her prescription as she couldn't understand it. Their faces come to me at times and I feel really awful
Another face that I will remember is that little boy in Agra. He sold imitation jewellery for a living. He cornered me once and tried to sell his wares. I tried to brush him away politely at first but he kept insisting and in the end after a lot of bargaining and pleading, I bought a pair of earrings from him for Rs. 10. By then, my aunt was calling me from the car. He asked me to buy another one but I had to leave. As I sat in the car, I thought, would I really had been at a loss if I had purchased more of his earrings? No. I wouldn't. The money that lay idle in my purse would have meant a lot to that little boy. Well, I did help him in a tiny way, but I wish I could have done more. Sometimes I pray that Agra's little soul has a better life than what he has been given.
You don't have to be poor for someone to mistreat you or misunderstand you. At Yelahanka station, when we were waiting for the train to arrive, I saw a man standing really close to me and staring at me. I moved away thinking he was a lech and my father yelled at him. It was only later that both of us realised he was blind, when he tottered about with his stick, asking people if his train had arrived. My father felt really bad and so did I. I wanted to apologise to him but couldn't find the courage. Either he didn't hear what my father said or he was just used to it. Take New Year for example. I went with my parents and aunt to Blue Fox for dinner. The hotel people had hired a professional singer to serenade the customers. He went form table to table hoping that someone would ask him to play but people either ignored him or obliged in a very condescending way. I heard him sing and play. He was very good. But people here do not recognise talent or the dignity of labour, no matter in what form it is. More recently, we went out again to 100 Degrees. There we saw a noisy, obnoxious family with three kids who had brought their maid along to sheperd them. They made her sit outside while they feasted inside. I saw the threshold that separated the rich and the poor and also the humane and the barbaric. They could have jolly well left her out. Atleast she wouldn't be subjected to the torture of seeing all that she couldn't have right in front of her eyes.
There are different forms of cruelty, yes. You don't have to be an evil looking, hirsute gorilla spouting catchy dialogues to be a villain. But the world is not completely without saints. I don't aspire to be one but I hope I can do something for all those people whose suffering made me cry and remember them