To Give or Not to Give

A stony heart is essential if you are living and travelling in India. The hoopla of economic growth and prosperity feels like sheer blasphemy as you take in the sights of streets.

Daily I see destitution drowning to abysmal levels and am beseeched by crippled old men, wailing mothers and children with running noses asking for alms. Sitting along the footpath, at traffic signals, busy bus stops and railway stations – they are everywhere!

From start, we have been instructed to never give money to them. It seems heartless if you have not been exposed to this side of life in India. No harm in giving 10-20 rupees against the thousands that we spend on a single night out, right? Sadly, begging is now a business growing by leaps and bounds. The beggars belong to a ‘chief’ where they handover the day’s ‘earnings’ where a major chunk is retained by those ring-leaders. The sleeping baby in the women’s arms has probably been taken on ‘rent’ from the mother and drugged to keep it docile. And quite often, they consider begging an easier way to earn money than to actually work for it.

I know all this. My brain constantly reminds me of this business when faced with crying women and children begging for help. And even though I don’t hand over money, there is this tightening somewhere inside that makes it difficult to swallow and stomach the plight of these people. They may be a gang weaving a ton of sob stories to soften my heart, but there is no denying that their condition is desperate. And however cold I try to be, I simply cannot rid myself of those images.

Taking a leaf out of my friend’s book, I get children vegetable sandwiches or opened biscuit packets. Now this is where it gets interesting. While most of the kids gobble it down with genuine smiles, twice I have seen them throwing down the food and demand money. A friend got a donut from Dunkin’ Donuts and the kid gave him a priceless look of disdain. Only when he was told the price of the donut did the glee take over. So even though they lament about starvation, some only want money and have no qualms about disrespecting the food.

Which doesn’t help my feelings. It makes me question my beliefs about what is right and wrong. On one hand I find it impossible to turn my back completely, but on the other when I face them it is disheartening to see the callousness. Maybe they have accepted their state of life and will readily turn to shady businesses to earn some dough. The system isn’t really helping them so there is no reason why they should abide and play nice! I try by helping out at municipal schools and with local housekeepers; it eases the conscience to some extent at least. But…

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There are thousands like me who want to try and are trying already across India and other countries as well. We force ourselves to not give in to the harsh reality but every day the cries of the streets beckon, beginning a new cycle of second-guessing. Any answers? 

Linking up with JusJoJan and the SoCS prompt ‘most/least’.

Image Source

Not Just a Mother

My sister (L), Mom and Toothy Me (R)

My earliest memory of my mom is climbing into her lap to have chocolate milk. Sitting in her lap was mandatory to gulp it down! Her smell was home with traces of Pears soap. It stays the best sniff my nose has ever taken!

She is a dental surgeon and has built an extremely ethical brand for herself. She loves travelling and participates in treks including the mighty Everest Base Camp. Along with the majestic sights of Himalayas, she also took in the adversities faced by the locals lost in the mountains. Her pricking conscious drove her into building the legacy she inherited from her father –

“You can serve the nation through your profession.”

In 2000, she partnered with a non-profit to conduct free dental camps in the dense North East India – where help hovered at a non-existent level. Armed with medicine bags, makeshift equipment and a steely resolve she started a life-changing journey, approximately 2000 miles from home. Red tape, extreme weather, minimal transport, zero network, language barriers and patients caught in a time rip were few of the problems she faced. Yet those people, touched that a doctor actually cared to visit, went all out to support this 100 pound female.

Fourteen years, seven states and thousands of patients later, she has set up five clinics where doctors come all year around. She also published a book where she breathes life into her experiences and received numerous national awards for her work and book.

Yet, it took me years to truly comprehend the gravity of her work and the outstanding contribution she is making. Because, she was still MOM! I was too naïve to understand that my mom is also a woman – an exceptional woman carving her identity.

She was there for our exams, shopping trips, family functions, weekend getaways, spring cleaning! From gently waking us for school to waiting up for lunch, she was there and she was there in her element. She did about a thousand and one jobs a day and effortlessly loved, laughed, comforted and supported without even a sigh of exhaustion. The night before her book launch, she was asking for my food wishlist to carry back to hostel. She found the time to make my favourite sweets and get me a new dress. All before one of the most profound events of her life!

Until she was on the stage and I heard prominent dignitaries speaking about her, she was MOM! That evening, resplendent in flashlights, she became Dr. Pratibha Athavale.

Woman. Doctor. Humanitarian.

How did I fail so miserably in understanding the woman I love so fiercely? Yes, I was proud of her; I could wax eloquent to show off her work and that she is my mom. But the essence of the woman within her, of the caregiver inside her got woefully sidelined.

Now as she takes the spotlight I am happy that I feel and recognize the heart and soul of her work. I connect with her at a level beyond belief. We converse as two women. But the best part? In all her speeches – first and foremost she is still being Mom, seeking us out in the vast audience to share her happiness and appreciation.

Mum! 🙂 You are on fire…