A Dignified Life: Dedicated to My Friend from the Neighborhood

Hello, wonderful world. We are in the final week of our summer stay in Bangalore, and something just happened to me that will stand out in my memory forever.

This post will not be easy to write because I could misrepresent my message in so many ways. But I must try.

We live on Alexandria Street in Bangalore, and since we arrived I have enjoyed daily life in this little part of town. Within five minutes or less we can walk to the supermarket, the tailor, the cellphone shop, the fruit stand, and just about every other kind of service you can dream of.

One of my favorite parts of living in the same place rather than moving around is seeing the same people each day. The cashier at Nilgiri’s Market knows us now, as does the man who has repaired the holes in our clothing.

But my favorite person in the neighborhood is an elderly man. He doesn’t speak a word of English and we don’t even know each other’s names, but we are friends. He also has no legs.

The first time I saw him he was sitting on a small platform with wheels outside the fruit stand. Now here is where writing this post gets tricky. The relationship between the Indian poor and Western visitors can be complicated, especially in mainstream areas. Challenges exist on both sides.

Westerners sometimes unknowingly (or knowingly in the worst cases) treat the poor as characters in their story of exotic India. I’ve heard some Westerners say that seeing rich Indians is not like seeing “the real India.” I understand their point somewhat, as India’s masses do not fall into the category of rich. But why are wealthy Indians any less real than their poorer counterparts? Wealth is a part of Indian culture, and always has been.

Similarly, I have seen Indians who are not in need play on the sympathies of Western tourists, finding all kinds of ways to extract money from them. I do recognize the complexity of this relationship, which makes what happened to me today even more special.

As many of you who know me can attest to, I love people. I think that every one of them is valuable and I always seek out connections in the world. With some of them I end up moving on, but overall in my travels the good energy I get from people has outweighed the bad. Now, back to my friend without legs.

As I mentioned in my last post, when it comes to giving in India I have decided to follow my heart. There are so many in need, but I want to give to people with whom I feel some kind of connection. I feel that creates more dignity for both sides. From day one I liked this elderly man. He always looked calm and sat upright on his cart, but his smile is what sealed the bond.

Here, writing my post gets tricky again, because I believe in anonymous charity, but I tell the story of my giving only to share the real joy – the friendship. Believe me, I don’t want to tell same story of the Western “hero” saving the poor Indian. That story is pretty old and inaccurate.

The first couple of times I saw my grey-haired neighbor I gave him some money, as his need was clear, but I always shook hands with him and we grinned at each other. For the next several weeks I saw him off and on every few days. He never asked me for anything, but our connection grew through waves hello, smiles, and an introduction to my husband. Whenever we saw each other we would light up. I grew accustomed to his face and felt strange if days went by without his presence. Sometimes I gave him money, but often I didn’t. It did not seem to matter.

Today I was rushing to a meeting and I saw him sitting on his cart outside the fruit stand. Jay and I waved hello and were given his luminous smile in return. We didn’t have time to stop and continued on to the office.

After our brief meeting we passed by the fruit stand again. Our friend was still there. I knelt down and gave him some money, then reached out my hand to shake his. What he did I will never forget. He took my right hand and kissed it. Words are not adequate to express what this meant to me, and to my husband as well. While gratitude may have been a part of it, I believe the meaning behind this sweet gesture was warmth, connection, and humanity. This elderly man and I simply liked each other.

What I admire most about my neighborhood friend is that he leads a dignified life. He clearly has struggles, as living without legs in India is a major obstacle, especially for the poor. But he gets around, goes to pray at the nearby mosque, and drinks tea with friends in the afternoon. I did not take his picture, as I did not feel it would be appropriate, but perhaps through my words you can picture him.

I hope I have conveyed my story authentically, because there is no message other than how glad I was to have met this man. He is my friend and I will miss him.