I was driving back from class today, and waiting at a signal, when I saw this man sitting on the pavement. He looked just past 35 or so, and he was sitting leaning against the wall. He was sitting on a blanket, with his legs stretched out on it. He was playing with some corner of his dhoti. There were a few things scattered around the blanket. The signal fell, and I drove home.
These people sleep on the pavement every day. They have no home and nobody. All they own in the whole world can fit onto one blanket. Life on a day-to-day basis must be terribly depressing and terrifying. I admire that man for packing up his blanket every morning and settling down every evening, somewhere else. I couldn’t have gone on like that.
There are these awkward times when I cross a beggar on the road, unable to give her/him anything because all I have with me is a debit card. I walk away listening to a string of curses. I forget about the incident after a couple of hours.
What must it feel like to spread out everything you own onto a blanket and not know where to go the next morning or how you were going to scrounge up a meal, if any?