Naturally, one of the things that I struggle with the most here in India is the massive gap that often exists between what I can/do provide Kaia and what many Indian parents are able to offer their own children. Here I am not talking about middle-class Indians and their choices between schools, toys, etc., but those of the working poor and destitute that one frequently encounters on the streets. For example, almost everyday on our way back from Kaia’s school, the same mother (at least that is the way that she is presenting herself—there is a wide assumption among Indians that these folks are exploiting these babies for added sympathy and are not even their own) and young child rap on our window, asking for money. Through many experiences of traveling and living in poorer countries, I have developed my own approach to addressing street beggars—I don’t give money, but try to give food as much as I can. Everyone deals with the intensity of this inequality in a different way, but for me this is what I am comfortable with. In the case of this woman and baby, because we’re coming back from school, we typically do not have food with us, but I am trying to make it more of a habit to carry around a small bunch of small bananas for these kinds of occasions. Anyway, when we stop at the intersection that they frequent, it is after about 30 seconds that there is a rapping at the glass and there I am gripped by the sight of a, probably, 18 month old with dirty nose, pussy eyes and well established hand-to-mouth begging motion in coordination with the mother. I always make it a point to make eye contact with them if I have nothing to offer and utter a ‘sorry’ that I hope will translate across through my body language. I often wonder what Kaia is thinking as he watches and, as I know that he is taking it all in, am reminded of how important it is for me to treat them with as much respect as I can. I cannot imagine or assume the conditions that have led this woman to regularly beg for small change by this dusty intersection, but I can try to show Kaia that you can still try to be human about their plight….
Yet, even more illustrative of the chasm of inequality is found next door to our apartment building, where they have been renovating a home for the past 6 months. Over this time, Kaia and I have watched a crew of pencil thin, but wildly strong men tear down and re-build this structure. Of course, Kaia loves it because they have a cement mixer on-site, but he also loves to watch them carry heavy pans of rocks on their heads from one place to another. We can sit there for about 30 minutes and watch the process. I marvel at the cruelty of some of the tools that they are using—short handles that require deep bending, for example—and that they are all working in bare feet, while Kaia gets smiles and attention that all children should receive…which brings me to the little girl who also frequents the work site. While most of the workers are men, there are a few women who also move and carry the heavy loads of rock, sand and gravel. One of these women has a small child, probably about Kaia’s age, and she spends the entire 12-14 day there with her mother, sifting through the rubble for shiny colored wrappers, tossing stones and generally keeping herself entertained. Of course, the mother doesn’t have the time to keep full tabs on her and I am amazed that this little girl can just hang around. I am so aware of the dozens of stray dogs and vehicles coming and going on our street, and I don’t feel comfortable when Kaia is more than 5 feet from me. The thought of him cruising around while I worked…I just can’t even imagine it. But this is not to say that how this girl is being raised is a bad (or good) thing, but rather how incredibly different her and Kaia’s lives are. We go to watch them construct the home as a form of entertainment, with the dozens of smiling Indians, and this small girl, as a part of the experience. But, when we get too hot or bored, we retreat to our penthouse apartment and grab a cool drink from our refrigerator and plop in a DVD….
Why I Love this Time: Walks on the beach finding sea shells amidst the wrappers and ribbons.
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