I have been in Lahore for the past month, and as our car stops at the many crowded intersections, the beggars flock on to the cars. I had even seen beggars fighting over spaces and spots to beg on, and reorganising to even out the supply of cars at each ends of intersections. I have also heard of beggar mafias and the horror stories that follow them.
Hijras, transgender community of South Asia, dressed eloquently beg and entertain simultaneously. The time is limited, there are only a few minutes, to capture as many cars and as many clients. They knock on your car windows, perform a little and wait a few seconds for tip money. Many times, they get rejected, get told-off, and insulted; yet they move onto other cars confidently. There are ought to be people who pay them, for them to survive on this trail of rejection. It reminds me of the countless mind boggling jobs I had done as a student where constant call-centre hang ups and door knocking fails were a part of my short-lived cold calling job experiences. I was just not ready to face rejections, rejections hurt me. Interestingly today, I saw a beggar hijra dressed in green and white to mark the recent celebrations of independence day, who was rather proud of his patriotism when begging at the intersections.
On Lahore’s Akbar Chowk, I also see an old man almost in his mid to late 80s, who inflates balloons and twists them in different shapes. When he presses those balloons, he also simultaneously shakes his head with joy at the annoying sound produced by them. He obviously appeals to younger kids, who may nag to their parents for the balloons. Although being barely able to walk, he shows no resentment when he is rejected.
There are also the disabled, some can’t walk, some can’t see, some have broken limbs, they all beg and appeal for sympathy.
Oh and then there is the monkey man, he walks around with his monkey to beg at the traffic intersection. I always feel pity for the monkey, which can hardly bear the dire heat of the simmering Lahore sun. There are also kids, who hold books to signify the need of collecting money for education. It is all part of an act, they say.
I see these intersections as Begging Wonderlands for the variety they host. Initially, when I come back to Pakistan, I often notice these beggars but with time my empathy and sympathy both fade away. You have to, there are just way too many beggars. You want to help them all, yet you can’t at the expense of your own pockets.
“It is a business for them”
“Why don’t they work”
“You are only encouraging this behaviour”
These comments from locals grow on to you. They work as self-satisfying mechanisms countering the inner voices that haunt you for not helping the beggars, at the last intersection.
After a long discussion with my friend, who now proudly owns two houses, had left me with a feeling of failure. I couldn’t be bothered eating at home, I needed a ‘Lahore Broast’ food therapy. As the car was parked at a parking lot, I was waiting for my order. In Lahore, when you park your car on off-streets, your car gets surrounded by beggars, you don’t go to the wonderland, the wonderland comes to you. After a few minutes being parked outside the food store, I had a little girl knock on my car window, I was not even prepared to listen to her.
“What is the plan for tomorrow?”, I was typing on my Whatsapp.
She was selling one of those plastic balls, the ones that glow when you bounce them on ground. Least of my interests, but then I noticed something out of the ordinary. She looked like a well-dressed (belonging to middle class) 6-7 year old child. As soon as I realised that she did not look like a typical beggars, I asked her to come to me. Initially she ignored me, and later she came back with her tray of toys.
“Here”, I was offloading my guilt onto her by giving her 30 rupees.
“I don’t take money”, she replied and again left off.
“Wait!”, I shouted as she left my car for another car.
“I only sell these balls, and if you want to buy uncle you can”, she answered in her middle class Pakistani accent.
“So how much are they…”, I was now curious and I wanted to indulge her in a conversation.
“So do you go to school?”, I further questioned her when I managed to find myself a random ball that could be of no use to me in the future.
“Yes Mama told me to sell these quickly so that I can make quick money back into my school”, she replied.
“Ahaaan”, I said to myself. “yet another act”, I wondered.
“Here keep 100 for the ball and 40 for your school”, I gave her 140 rupees.
“Sorry I don’t keep the change”, she said.
She kept me baffled, but then she turned back and said, “Thank you uncle, do you know tomorrow is my birthday too!”
“Can I take your photo?”, I asked.
“No my mother does not allow that”, she quickly rushed back to her mother who was also selling the same balls on a table on the street. She handed over the money to her mother, and pointed out towards my car.
There was something very different about this girl, that I had not seen in any beggar in Pakistan before. She was happily selling, not for the sake of begging but for the sake of selling. She was not using ‘going to school’ as a reason to appeal towards my emotions, she was selling with dignity. In her mind, the more money she collected would get her back into the school quicker. It is why I think, she started knocking on the cars to sell more quickly, to get more money for her school.
This experience left me spellbound, her innocence showed her unsuspecting nature towards bigger troubles selling on the streets and the stigma that came with it.
“Perhaps, she might never be able to go to school again because of her family situation”, I wondered.
I could not stop thinking about the experience that I had to write this blog. I wanted to write because there are certain privileges we take for granted, education is one of them. And then there is a beautiful princess out there, who is fighting for her education out of the stigma of begging. She has also taught me a little lesson on resilience and resistance, something I had lacked in my door-knocking and call centre jobs.The lack of resilience eventually crawled on to my life, I had become a loser who would let every failure drown him down. Far more importantly, she also taught me that we all beg, begging from other humans of something we need, yet we have labelled our begging different words to satisfy our ego. Politicians beg for votes, advertisers beg for consumers and sometimes we beg for love too.
Perhaps, this is why, in both Sufi Islam and Buddhism, begging is seen as a way to destroy the menace nature of our ego. For all I know, the people of the Begging Wonderland have already reached Nirvana, that I know I will never achieve, due to my ego.
The Secular Tableeghi 