In every culture, there is the poor and disenfranchised. We see them on the corner as we rush out of the Starbuck's to try and catch our trains. Or perhaps we turn up our ipod's just a little louder and walk a little faster as we mute out their cries. They give us a helpless look and extend their hands before uttering: change? got any spare change? Before they can form their lips to ask the next question, we've answered a ringing cell phone, picked up the latest Red Eye (Chicagoans) or perhaps switched our attention to something that would allow us to avert our eyes. They get it: we ain't givin' them no change. So what do they do? They continue to the next strolling person.
Not here in Bangalore. The poor has proclaimed: Invisible...NOTHING! While riding in the back seat of our corporate provided vehicle, we are often approached by the poor in the street. These women, who often carry a baby in their arms go to the window and knock. I'm unsure of where to look: too afraid that if I look away I'm a stingy, uncaring American, yet, it's too cavalier of a move to stare this woman and her baby in their eyes and then give nothing. Maybe I could give something, however, my mind flashes back to the international security training: do not roll down your windows. You will put yourself at danger for you will become a target to the other homeless people who will also come and swarm your car for money. So, there I am giving the woman an empathetic shrug as I mouth: i'm sorry and hope that she can forgive me and quickly move along.
However, this ain't the US and you ain't getting off that easy. I'm going to press my hands and not only my face, but my baby's face against the window and I'm going to wait. I'm going to continue to beat on this window, point to my mouth, then force you to look into this baby's face. Oh yes, we've been in this gridlock for over 4 minutes and I'm still going to stand here. You're going to see me. I am not invisible! Yes...yes...feel that, the shame, the guilt...as you sit here with your carry away dinner bag from the five star restaurant and your back seat filled with shopping bags. Yes, there are other cars but I've chosen your car, you gluttonous expatriate! You can give me a few damn rupee. Don't want to get dirty? Afraid of your safety? Oh, you hear my knocking. Hoping traffic will clear up? No chance: this is Bangalore. I'm going to wait, me, my baby, our hunger...invisible. Invisible? Invisible NOTHING!
(sigh) I can breathe...the car is now moving.
No comments:
Post a Comment