Poverty in the Present

In a book about a women’s experience traveling through India, I read that, “Loving India means accepting both her good and bad. I spent most of my time there vacillating wildly between romanticizing and criticizing the country…either view is valid yet incomplete without the other.” In reflecting on this I realized that I have conveyed many of the beautiful and amazing aspects of India while leaving out a lot of the destitute and undesirable parts. In an effort to give an accurate picture of my experience in the country, I feel it is necessary to augment what I have shared previously with the other side that may not be as heartwarming to read but in the same respect equally as important to understand.

The poverty in India is vast and incredibly heartbreaking. The way it harshly hits you in the face in the larger cities as compared to the rural areas makes it difficult to turn away from the sorrow that people endure. The ‘slums’ as they call the very poor, dilapidated areas in the big cities, although can be full of life with children playing a game of cricket with a piece of wood and stone and adults gambling with pebbles to pass the time, the conditions are beyond poor. The houses are constructed of cardboard and scraps, tightly packed side by side along the banks of a river contaminated with garbage, human waste, dirty animals and filth. The saddest part is that you know this river is their only source of water which they must use for bathing, washing and drinking.

A unique characteristic of the urban slums of India as compared to other developing countries such as South Africa, is they are not hidden or tucked away. Any visitor, whether they want to or not, catches a glimpse into the tough existence of slum dwellers. Simply riding in a rickshaw from one side of the city to the other you are guaranteed an intimate look at the reality of life in the slums since the homes (if you can even call them that) face the road and people are often spilling out into the streets. During this drive such sights as people defecating on the side of the street, unclothed children with a heavy film of dirt on their skin, cows and goats roaming between the narrow alleyways and void lots filled only of garbage and waste can be seen for miles.

A complicated aspect of urban poverty is those who migrate often see the city as a place of opportunity, leaving the life in their villages where they have a sense of community behind for the dream of ‘making it big.’ Once they settle in the city they realize that their perception of what would be is not only false but by moving away they have also lost that sense of belonging that was a source of comfort in the villages. As someone described urban poverty is not only being poor but a ‘poverty of spirit.’

Even more disturbing than the conditions of the slums are the beggars on the streets. Before coming to India, I had learned a little about the ethical issues involved in giving money to beggars as it perpetuates the industry of panhandling as a lucrative way to earn money and as a result poor people, particularly children and the disabled, are exploited (similar to the storyline in Slumdog Millionaire). When I learned of the ethics surrounding this, I decided to not give to beggars in India in an attempt to avoid contributing to this social ill as well as to erase the stereotype that westerners are the source of this issue since they are often the ones giving money. For awhile I was really sticking to this and found myself being able to turn away when I saw such things as a naked man hobbling in the streets, an old women with no limbs, a young girl walking on her hands and knees to get around, a blind lady without any fingers or toes, or thin, frail unclothed children…the list goes on and on. There is no way to even describe how disturbing each and every one of these images is each time you encounter it and to even go into thinking about the story behind each persons’ misery is just too much to handle. As a result of being overwhelmed in the face of these sights and my new moral commitment to not give to beggars, I found myself turning away, normalizing this poverty and just telling myself that there is nothing I can do therefore it is acceptable to ignore it.

On a trip to Mumbai this past weekend, to get these disturbing images out of my head, me and one of my friends decided to do something very ‘posh’ and have brunch at the Taj café (the Taj is the most luxurious hotel in the city and also the site of the Mumbai shooting attacks last year). We are both doing our internships with microcredit institutions that serve the poor, she in Mumbai the big city and myself in a smaller village. As we sat across the table from each other, without words we both sensed the pangs of guilt that consumed us as we devoured our brunch buffet, while sitting in our comfy corner booth and watching from the window the vendors outside on the side of the street, sweating feverishly to make in one month what we would spend on that meal. To ease our own discomfort we subtly convinced ourselves that we should not feel bad about our indulgence but that we deserved it and were rightfully treating ourselves therefore validating the privilege we enjoyed.

In looking back on this I realized that much of our justifications were similar to how the caste system works in India, or in any country for that matter. Caste diminishes an individual’s destiny down to karma and their rightful place in the world; justice and equality are unrealistic and improbable concepts within this system. While in the village one woman said, “the issue is that in order for someone here to be rich, somebody else has to be poor.” Later, my co-worker asked me what I thought of this statement and I struggled within myself before answering. I didn’t want to believe and accept that as the truth yet at the same time, I knew deep down that the way our world, particularly capitalist societies are structured, this very well is the case. So although there was a bit of truth to our rationale around having a lavish meal…I still felt unsettled.

As the day continued, my friend and I were walking through a maze of market stands, tourist attractions, slum housing and throngs of people when in the middle of all this chaos we stumbled upon a temple. Although we had an itinerary of things we wanted to do in a limited timeframe I asked my friend, ‘Do you want to go in?’ She agreed and we timidly entered the temple, very aware of our lack of belonging that made us blatantly noticeable. We received many stares and looks questioning why we were there yet were so accustomed to this feeling of being on display that we willingly accepted it for what we were experiencing in return; a part of India that we had yet to see-people worshiping in a beautiful Hindu temple. As we were heading out, we passed by a group of 20 women, sitting cross legged in two long lines facing each other, chanting in tune while playing their tambourines carefully choreographed to the melody of the song. I was mesmerized and I am sure the women could see the excitement on my face so they kindly gestured for us to sit down and join the group. I was so touched by the groups willingness to include us in their ceremony despite us being there as spectators. As we sat down, the only way I can think of to capture the feeling of being a part of this group is magical and invigorating. The women were singing, clapping and very obviously so spiritually involved in their chanting. I was so happy that I just wanted to capture and bottle that moment up and initially, all I kept thinking about was how I could do so. I thought about taking a picture but knew it would be inappropriate, then I thought about how I could describe it to others and after a few minutes of my mind racing, I literally closed my eyes, took a deep breath and was just present, there, among the 20 women. I didn’t think about what I did the day before or what I was going to do after I left… all of a sudden, it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was that moment and allowing myself to be so fully engaged in what was in front of me that the outside world didn’t matter. Suddenly, the heat, dirtiness and poverty that characterized Mumbai felt miles away. Through the women’s commitment to their chanting and my own ability to let myself go, I allowed myself to be free and embrace the gift that was brought about by our spontaneity and opportunity to step into this unfamiliar sanctuary.

After this incredible experience, my friend and I did some more sightseeing in Mumbai and then rode the train home. While we were in the train station we went to use the restroom which you have to pay a minimal fee for. I paid the guard at the door for me and my friend to use the facilities and waited outside for her. As I was waiting, a little girl about 6 years old with matted hair came up to me. I looked over and I saw that she was with her mother and 3 younger siblings who were completely unclothed and obviously living at the train station. She started talking to me and I gave her a smile and looked away (I have found that sometimes not knowing the language is very convenient). My friend came out and I went in and used the bathroom. As I was coming out the guard at the door had changed and started yelling at me that I didn’t pay. I tried to explain to her that I paid before but in this case, my lack of communication skills was a hindrance and I felt powerless. The mother of the little girl then turned to the guard and said, I saw her pay before she went in, and the guard nodded her head and said go. Without even realizing exactly how or why, this feeling came over me and I asked the little girl if she was hungry. She nodded yes and before I knew it I was at the closest fast food stand ordering several of the most filling items I could find on the menu. The little girl was at my side the whole time, wide-eyed in anticipation of what I was going to get for her. I handed her the bag of food and walked away without returning to the family; I didn’t want to put them in a position of having to say thank you or feel indebted in any way.

As I left I questioned my actions: Did I do this because she did something for me? Did I do it to feel good about myself and ease the guilt of my expensive brunch? Was I picking who was ‘deserving’ of the poor to give too? Why them and not the hundreds of other people I have seen on the streets since I have been in India? What difference did this meal really make if there are still millions of hungry people? I thought deeply about this the whole train ride home and although I still do not have an answer, I reconciled that although I don’t know if I did the right thing or the reasons behind why I gave in that time as compared to others, when people are in survival mode, these things are irrelevant. The family had a warm meal and would sleep with food in their stomachs that night; outside of all the moral dilemmas I was having in my head, I decided that for them, the mother and her children sitting in the train station, ultimately, that was the bottom line. Poverty would not be alleviated on a large scale as a result of my giving one meal to one family but in the end it was just that…one meal for one family.

As a result of this, I broke the prior commitment to myself to not give to beggars and internally decided that I would give what I could when I was compelled too. Although this is a bit arbitrary and I recognize it doesn’t really follow any logic, I decided that instead of clinging onto my ethical convictions as a security blanket in dealing with poverty, I would allow myself to act on emotion in the present moment. In thinking about my struggle I also realized that I was stuck between the familiar debate of ‘right and wrong’ and was using my education and theoretical approaches to judge a situation that quite possible doesn’t have a black or white answer or solution. Because India is such a complex country I don’t think there is ever a right or a wrong response but instead a variety of options that lie in the middle that must be navigated with each unique situation. To take a hard line approach can also be an easy way out and an excuse to ignore what you see. Although the luxury to choose when and when not to give is still a complete exercise of my privilege, the only solution I could find to my internal battle is letting myself feel a small fraction of the pain and then start thinking a little more with my heart instead of my head.

Leaving the array of complex emotions behind in Mumbai, I set out for a long and draining journey home. Each time I take a trip I have this moment of panic, wondering if I will actually make it home and to be quite honest, it is only thanks to the graces of the kind people I meet that I actually do. After transferring buses twice, on the last leg of my journey as I was sitting on the stuffy bus trying to make myself as small and compact as possible in order to make room for the extra 45 people crammed on the bus past capacity, I put my headphones on and created a space for myself to retrieve into my bubble. I used my ‘American’ music to tune out all of the noises on the bus and escape back to my ‘normal’ life. As I did so, I questioned why I left this life for the crazy chaos of India. All I longed for was some space: to not feel others sweat on my body, my toes being stepped on, constantly stared at as if I was an alien, pushed, crammed and at the mercy of other people. As I was sitting there in my own world, it occurred to me that in an attempt to ease my own discomfort, I was actually drowning out feeling anything. At that moment, I thought back to my experience in the temple and I took my headphones off and was just present. I felt 10 sweaty bodies pushing up against me, the smell of body odor and chewed paan (this weird horribly smelly chewing tobacco that is everywhere in India), the cool breeze and rain coming in through the window of the bus, the loud chattering of people that in my perception sounded like fighting, an old women making a seat out of a bag of rice in front of my feet talking to me in Marathi, ignoring the fact that I have absolutely no idea what she is saying, and the young girl sitting next to me who gives me a gentle smile indicating our shared commissary as she taps the guy leaning on me from the aisle and tells him to move over in a protective attempt to make the trip a little more bearable for me. It was then that I realized that it is not only in the pleasant times that I should be completely present but to really experience India, I need to resist finding a way to always ease my discomfort, as I so often have the luxury of doing in the U.S. and instead let myself feel everything that is around me, even if it is undesirable. Not having the space that we are so accustomed to in the west is part of what sets India apart and although it is annoying and unbearable at times, this lack of space is also what has allowed me to have the incredible connections with people that I do and experience something that is so different from the reality I live in the U.S.

In reflecting on this mix of emotions and experiences, I have come to see that although I don’t have most of the answers, I am at least starting to ask myself the questions which has pushed me to be just as ‘present’ for the joy and happiness as I am for as the hardships and sorrow.