Post from Michelle:
A cup of hot chocolate sits steaming in front of me. I sit at a cafe in the town square and the cafe's large windows offer me a view of life on the streets. From here I can see the taxi stand, bus station, and people greeting each other while others hurry by. Directly below me is a row of lepers begging on a ledge, their backs leaning against the window. The two women and man chat, pausing only to ask for money as people pass.
All that remains of their fingers are stubs and their feet are bandaged and unwhole. The oldest woman is also missing her nose. These beggars have become a familiar sight during my stay in Dharamsala. They usually camp out on this ledge and I pass them several times a day. But the sight of the fingerless hands extending towards me made me uncomfortable and I would walk quickly by. But today I watch them undetected and the longer I watch, the more involved I become in their world.
I observe who they target as they beg - foreigners get the most pleas and animated gestures, monks are ignored, and it is give and take with the locals. I also watch the responses of the pedestrians. Some people hurry by, others quicken their steps careful not to look at the beggars, while others smile and say hello. A young woman stops and offers her crackers. I found myself secretly cheering when money was deposited in their tin buckets. Once in a while someone would stop and talk to the lepers and I would witness laughter, smiles and beautiful human interactions.
I watch as one of the women takes a 10 rupee note from the donations, fumbles with her bags, stuggling to grasp the handles with her stubs. She rises to walk to a nearby vegetable seller and buys potatoes and onions, no doubt for a meal later. I wonder about her daily life and how she copes each day as her body deteriorates. The longer I watch, the more compassion grows in my heart. The row of lepers ceases to be just beggars wanting something from me, but individuals trying to survive.
As I leave the cafe I make a point to give them each some money, a smile, and a blessing. By sitting and watching them my heart has grown a little bigger and I am thankful for that gift.
All that remains of their fingers are stubs and their feet are bandaged and unwhole. The oldest woman is also missing her nose. These beggars have become a familiar sight during my stay in Dharamsala. They usually camp out on this ledge and I pass them several times a day. But the sight of the fingerless hands extending towards me made me uncomfortable and I would walk quickly by. But today I watch them undetected and the longer I watch, the more involved I become in their world.
I observe who they target as they beg - foreigners get the most pleas and animated gestures, monks are ignored, and it is give and take with the locals. I also watch the responses of the pedestrians. Some people hurry by, others quicken their steps careful not to look at the beggars, while others smile and say hello. A young woman stops and offers her crackers. I found myself secretly cheering when money was deposited in their tin buckets. Once in a while someone would stop and talk to the lepers and I would witness laughter, smiles and beautiful human interactions.
I watch as one of the women takes a 10 rupee note from the donations, fumbles with her bags, stuggling to grasp the handles with her stubs. She rises to walk to a nearby vegetable seller and buys potatoes and onions, no doubt for a meal later. I wonder about her daily life and how she copes each day as her body deteriorates. The longer I watch, the more compassion grows in my heart. The row of lepers ceases to be just beggars wanting something from me, but individuals trying to survive.
As I leave the cafe I make a point to give them each some money, a smile, and a blessing. By sitting and watching them my heart has grown a little bigger and I am thankful for that gift.