On the train at night. Lucky to miss rush hour, and avoid being packed as tight as sardine’s in a sealed, strong smelling, aluminum can. Instead, I’m watching a Hindi DVD on my laptop. Sitting on the cushion seats of “1st class,” enjoying the distinct Hollywood inspired foreign flick.
Leaving the train with a good feeling. Glad to be in India. Glad to be in a position to really make a difference.
Getting off the train. Glad to be heading back to my apartment to finish up some work for tomorrow’s class.
Walking up the station stairwell. Holding my head high, thinking of the best – knowing everything will be alright. Hearing some chanting. Knowing that poverty is a personal struggle and can be overcome with personal conviction, hope, and the help of good people.
Shock. Stumble. Devastation. A man sprawled in the middle of the walkway. One leg missing, the other twisted behind his back. A stump for one arm, as the other twitched. Grasping the coins dropped by his face that lay pressed against the cement.
I walk past this man a few times a week. Most of the time, there are too many people surrounding me to even notice he was there. Like a dented crevice on a bridge. An obstacle to avoid tripping. Not a man, but a suffering animal straining through each thin heart beat.
Feeling depressed. Must move on. Must struggle to block out the images that at one time were only imagined in my mind, and now so real, I can only wish it was fiction again. Must not get stuck at the crevice on a bridge. Must move on to make a difference.
Scurried through the street shops. Bought a bottle of water for 8 rupees (20 cents). Refreshing serenity. Thankfully to have the ability of mobility.
3 comments:
When we lived in El Paso, we saw similar kinds of poverty being so close to Mexico. You probably do not remember the problem of aliens who would beg for money. They would sometimes sit outside grocery stores or even by street lights, depending on the side of town, until the border patrol would pick them up and send them back to Mexico. Maybe next time you see the man, you could give him a piece of candy or a nickel. I know it is heartbreaking, keep your chin up. Enjoy the beauty of nature and the culture you are experiencing. -Mom
Actually, I do remember the poverty on the border in Texas. The main difference between El Paso and Mumbai, is that the beggers here are not "aliens."
Also, when sitting in an open door Rickshaw, the illusion of personal space can disappear very quickly. It really jerks your heart, when there's a frail hand touching your leg, corse eyes desperatly in need of comfort, skin that's thin enough to see each bone. The first week, I could not bare it. The second week, I could tune it out. The third week, I could almost turn the entire problem of poverty into an illusion.
Even so, I would have harsh reminders to jolt me back into reality (Refer to BlogPost: "crevice on a bridge"). In any case, the work we are doing here as social entreprenuers is one small step towards solving the problem.
Josh-
I work with your mom, Mindy, here at Daffron. she has talked to me about you several times in the course of our often art-centered conversations. I'm the gifted/talented teacher here---our curriculum focuses quite a bit on art and humanities in general...so that's how we got to talking. Anyway, I SO wish I had done what you're doing when I was in college. I never did for some reason although I have since traveled quite a bit...but I am green with envy! I know that your trip must have it's ups and downs...but what an experience! You'll remember it forever. I am enjoying your BLOG immensely. Thanks for taking the time to share your experiences with us.
Alison Abney
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