Last night a beggar accosted me at the Airport road flyover crossing and left me very disturbed.
I do not give money to beggars as a matter of principle. I have always believed that anyone who can’t work to support themselves doesn’t deserve to get it free. I’ve lately come to believe that giving money to beggars is not just a bad idea, it’s plain
evil. When you give money to a beggar, you’re destroying his will to support himself. A beggar who’s not had to support himself for a while no longer knows how to. He’s permanently disabled, using society as a crutch. And it only gets worse with time.
If you’ve ever walked down Brigade road with a fair skinned person and seen beggars swarming around him, you know how when you try to pry the beggars off, they tell you to stop hassling them so they may continue hassling your friend. Their dependence on the societal crutch has grown to the extent that they consider this their God-given right.
If you really care for their welfare, you should give your money or time to an organisation that helps put beggars back on their feet.
Except, in this case, this man wasn’t begging. He was trying to sell me a pack of ear-cleaning buds. I didn’t need it, I have a mostly unused pack at home. Then I saw the desperation on his face. He appealed in Hindi, said he had not eaten all day and if I could please buy one. But I didn’t want it! He appealed again. His desperation was soul stirring. I considered giving him some money and not taking his product, and then years of hardening against beggars kicked in: no giving money to beggars.
By then he lost interest in me and moved on, and I suddenly realised that he wasn’t begging. He was offering me something tangible in exchange for the money. Despite his desperation, he hadn’t stooped to begging. Should I have bought his product just to acknowledge his honour?
It was too late now. He was gone and I was very disturbed. I tried consoling myself with cold capitalistic reasoning, that if he wanted money, he should sell something people want to buy; but it didn’t work. Other
distractions on the road put him out of my mind until I got to bed, and then I couldn’t sleep. I cried.
I’m reminded now of a passage from the Rough Guide book, First-Time Around the World:
Read on...