As we walked through the streets of Pushkar yesterday, we stopped and took pictures of the little store fronts displayed with beautiful fabrics, and others ordained with beautiful gold and silver jewelry. At one point, we walked into a little opening that peered off across a lake. Children were swimming in the distance. The light blue of the sky was beautiful against the backdrop of the city buidlings and the darker blue of the lake itslelf.The peaceful bliss of the spot is not easily described. I began to turn around to make my way back out onto the street when one of my fellow travelers spotted them, a beautiful woman in a red headscarf standing with an even more beautiful baby girl, with dark black hair and little gold earrings.
"Her name is Amrika," I heard the mother say. It wasn't long until the pair was a tiny spectacle with our group around her. After a minute, the group contined to make its way through the city. The mother and child walked with us. She talked to a few others, but soon her and I were in stride with one another.
"Where are you from," she asked me.
"I'm from the United States."
"America," she said while nodding.
"What is your name?"
"My name? My name is Sita."
"Hi Sita. My name is Kayla." She extended her right hand to me as we walked, Amrika safely secured by Sita's left arm as she sat on Sita's hip.
"It's very nice to meet you Kayla," she said as we shook hands.
"It's very nice to meet you too. Would you like to get a picture with me?" She smiled and nodded, and so me and my new friends posed for a picture on the dusty streets of Pushkar. Sita smiled and her eyes were kind, but something behind her eyes was sad. After the picture, Sita walked a little ways up. After a few moments we were beside each other again. She motioned her hand to her mouth and then to Amrika's mouth - a motion I have seen many of the women begging on the streets do.
"Do you need money?" I began to reach for my rupees.
"No, no money. Just food for my baby. Can you get me food for her?" I nodded. She guided me to a merchant and his little store front only a few steps away. She pointed to a yellow box. "This will help feed her." The merchant got the food down, after Sita spoke to him in her own language. She held the box, and it was, as she said, food for her baby.
"375," said the merchant.
"Is that okay?" Sita looked at me. I nodded and I paid the merchant, the 375 rupees, about 6.41 American dollars.
"Thank you my friend." She nodded repeatedly, "It is so hard," she broke off and again motioned to her child's mouth. I nodded and smiled. She smiled back, her eyes still showing glimpses of her life, her unknown to me, yet obviously tough, history.
I parted ways from Sita and Amrika, waving and telling Amrika "bye-bye," over again.
I felt so good walking away, but after a moment a thought struck me, was I just conned? What if she worked with the merchant, and after I "bought" her food for her baby she returned the box and split the money with the merchant? This idea is not so outrageous as it might seem; as we continued to walk, we passed several children and others asking for us to buy food for them. Last night at dinner, Dr. Maher explained that people know others are more willing to buy food instead of giving money so many will have one buy them a box of food at one place and then they go to another store and sell it back for a little higher price. If these people are poor and in need of food, why do they not eat the food? Why do they try to sell it to get more money? I don't think poverty, or the desperation poverty creates, is easily explained.
When we were walking back to the hotel yesterday evening, I saw Sita and Amrika again. She waved at me, and was getting Amrika to wave. I waved and smiled back. She walked straight to me.
"Hey Sita! Hey Amrika!" Amrika grinned and stuck her hand out towards me.
"Hello my friend." Sita smiled. I talked and played with Amrika for just a minute. Her eyes smiled; there was so much contrast between her own dark eyes and her mother's eyes, her own eyes shone with happiness and wonder. So full of a life yet lived and a history yet told. I was only there a minute or two when I knew I needed to part because I saw that my market buddy was walking ahead.
"I need to catch up with my friend. It was good to see you again, Sita. Bye-bye, Amrika!" I smiled and waved as I started to walk to catch up with my small group. Sita and Amrika waved.
"It was good to see you too, my friend."
It was nice to see a familiar face on the street that was not part of our group. It was nice to see a familiar, friendly face. The probability of Sita conning me exists, but the probability of her sincerely needing help to feed her baby also exists. Even if she did pull a con, I think it was trying to secure provisions for Amrika. Even if she resold the food to try to get more money to spend on food for her and Amrika, was it not right that I helped her in some way secure a few small meals for Amrika? Should I not try to give when I can? Should we not all try to help those who are victims of brutal poverty?
Two sayings come to my mind when thinking about my interaction with Sita and Amrika. First, "If I gave something to everyone who asked of it, I would have nothing left." Why should I have more than another? Why should I not need to sacrifice to build another up? I think service to God through service to others is an overlapping theme in many religions, and rightfully so. I believe we should build each other up. The second, "Catch a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man a fish, and you feed him for a lifetime." I couldn't, in that moment, feed Sita and Amrika for a lifetime, but what can society do to work at building programs to help women develop skills so they can work and feed their children? What programs can be created to help children gain an education so they can break this cycle? What can we do to make sure one day Amrika does not need to ask help to feed her own baby?
Overall, regardless of whether or not Sita and Amrika gained something from me, I gained something from them. My heart goes out to Sita and Amrika, and I don't think the right words exist to explain what imprint these two have left on me. I think these human interactions, these gateways into human experiences, are part of the importance of this trip, and to understanding people in all situations in the world. We need to understand where others come from, and I believe we should help them when we can. The argument can be presented that people outside of our own culture are content with their lifestyle and do not need "help." If by "help" you mean forcing different cultural beliefs upon these people, then absolutely not. But if by "help" you mean ensure that mothers can feed their children and that these children can get an education and one day break away from the cycle of poverty, then absolutely, they do need help. At home and abroad, people need help, and if we don't decide to offer help, who will?
I hope this post means as much to someone reading it as the experience meant to me. Something as simple as not knowing whether or not you were conned can be more than an interesting story, as it can spark self and societal reflection. Something as simple as an interaction between a poor Indian woman and an American traveler can be enough to spur change - I hope this leads to some sort of positive change.
This has been one of the most meaningful experiences I have had thus far. I have had countless experiences, though, that will stay with me a lifetime. I look forward to sharing other experiences with you all. Tomorrow, we leave for Agra! :)
Sweetest story!!!!
ReplyDelete