Paying off Guilt

Ching ching... the few coins rattle in a dirty bowl. Sometimes even the bowl is missing; it is just an empty wrinkled hand, spread in pleading. You don’t need to look into the eyes to see the pain; the grime on the hand, the gnarled fingers, the mud-stained nails, the pencil thin wrists, the open wounds are enough to make you feel the pain.

I’ve come across the whole wide variety there is – of beggars. The old, the young, the kids, the lepers, the pregnant, the disfigured, the blind, the handicapped, the ones on crutches, the ones on wheelchairs, the ones with grotesque faces, the ones with beautiful pained faces, the ones with no faces, the ones that sing, the ones that bless, the ones that curse, the ones that plead, the ones that cry, the ones that say nothing, the ones in rags, the ones wearing everything they own, the ones naked, the ones that pray, the ones who crawl, the ones who cannot even crawl, the ones who beg in the name of bhawaan, the ones who beg in the name of allah, the ones who beg for their kids, the ones who beg for their old parents, the ones who beg for themselves, the ones who beg alone, the ones who beg in couples, the ones who beg in groups and even as I write, there is some new variety out there on a traffic signal, on the temple pavement, in the railway bogie, in the marketplace, in front of fancy malls, outside exhibitions, in front of theatres, at bus stops, near masjids, near parks, in the parking lot, at eateries: all of them, asking for whatever you can spare.

I have discovered that I can always spare something, coins, even notes. But let me tell you outright, it is not out of the goodness of my heart, or my god-fearing conscience that makes me do it or pity for that matter. I have thought and thought and concluded; the one thing that forces me to shell out something every time is Guilt.

Yes, guilt, that drives me to pay up, every time a pleading hand is spread. I think this is the least I can do, to redeem myself from being a part of a society that causes these people to beg. People keep telling me that beggars are vicious leeches, they beg even if they have the choice of honest hard work, that there are begging mafias and it is people like me who promote this filth on the streets, that if people like me completely stopped giving them alms they’ll look for and find something better to do; but I don’t want to believe them. Even if what they say is true, it is hidden from me, what I see is a sorry face with a pleading hand. For all that might be said about these people choosing to beg; I think of the emotional compromise that the person standing in front of me begging would have done.

The day he would have had to decide that to keep food in my stomach I will have to depend on other people’s pity, the first time he would have spread his hands in front of somebody and asked for money, the end of the first day he would have sat down and counted his day’s collection; the things that would have passed his mind that day, the feelings that would have shook his being that day; we cannot even start figuring them out.

As I write this article; my friend calls me up and says ‘we’re all going to the coffee shop – join us!’. The coffee shop as a concept has evolved. You get coffee, sure; but the accompaniments are unlike a coffee shop; a hookah for instance. The reason I’m telling you this is that this outing is going to cost me about 300 rupees. And when I sit there, staring at people, in their best dresses shelling out huge amounts of money for overpriced food articles I am forced to see flashing images of the beggar I came across just as I entered the shop.

This spending that I and others including you do is a ‘lifestyle requirement’. It is all great and everyone agrees it is great fun. But when I see that hand, asking for money – I feel guilty of having spent that money having ‘fun’ while there are people who have to ask for money to eat. We take pride in the fact that we are free and that my government guarantees me with rights- rights that the beggar doesn’t even know of. And I feel guilty about it.

So, to save myself of the agony of seeing these unnamed faces while I sit at the bar ordering a drink, or buy an overpriced gift for my girlfriend, or watch the late night movie at the multiplex, or treat my friends to an expensive dinner; while I buy myself clothes worth thousands, while I relax in a spa, while I sit cosy in my apartment having a warm meal – I pay up.

Coins, notes anything that I can spare and is equivalent with my guilt rate value. It is cheap bail I agree – but it frees me, even if temporarily, from the charges of being a part of ‘the society’ that is the way it is.