street clothes

A constant frenzy of action best describes India’s economy. It moves and swirls in an undeniable force that will pick you up and move you, like the undulating motion of the sea. There is the satisfying shear of scissors cutting through material. The delicious aroma of food pulled through air currents from the large aluminium vats on red hot coals where men hunched over—quickly stirring, quickly frying, prepare the goods. And there are the sweepers, moving the dust; and the labourers pounding brick into ash.

This is speaking from a “grassroots” level, literally. From the young boy who sits in the clouds of exhaust on the roadside before a giant mound of marigolds, to the shoe repair man planted firmly on the ground amid his assortment of shoes, and the children who sell issues of Vogue and other superfluous articles, it is all the same.

One more day of work, is equal to one more day where hand meets mouth, for one who is balanced every so precariously on the wire above complete loss and destitution. This threshold I tell you of now is so much lower in India—where people have nothing but a threadbare scarf that holds within its fibres a tiny frame, full of life and resilience. Any skill, or service is put to work here. Nothing is worthless, or inadequate. Anything, will do, for survival.

I have been there before. When I was sixteen, living on government welfare, without support from my mother, I became quite creative in the ways to earn money. And for those who don’t make the connection, money is life. There are those who have money, and those who do not. And there are those who will do anything for a shiny coin. It’s a means of survival.

Because I’ve lived that way (and yes, I begged for money, and sold everything I possessed), I can see things from the point of the ones here in Delhi who ask me for money. It isn’t easy saying, “no” when I see a tiny little child run towards me with both incredible hope and desperation. I want nothing more than to give them my entire purse and let them run away with my money. I treat them kindly though, and I don’t yell at them the way I’ve seen Ben^* (a male Canadian volunteer) do so. Yelling at the children only dehumanizes them. I meet their eyes, and I tell them no, tell them in way that doesn’t hurt.

I believe that a universal purpose of life common among every living individual, is to leave this world a better place. We are here to leave a trail of love, compassion and kindness. If we can exit this world having done more good than harm, then we have fulfilled the base purpose common to all of our lives. It is possible to go about each day without leaving anything less than a footprint of kindness.

It is not my place to try to change this country’s problems, but perhaps if my heart is receptive to listening without judgement, I could see the greater picture, and understand the complexity of life, here in Delhi.

^{* name changed to keep the identity private}