As I lock my bike in a row of bikes resembling a parking lot, my ras wala — juice man — starts to make my favorite blend (pomegranate grape) with his hand-cranked blender. The cost of the drink in my hand is 20 rupees per cup, less than 50 cents. To me this is a small sum, but to the beggars around me it could resemble their daily “earnings.” They do not drink juice or any other beverage that they have to purchase. To conserve their money they only consume water from public wells on the streets of Varanasi, which they put in recycled bottles found on the road. Their clothes tell stories of hardships. Many of them are disabled; missing limbs seem to be the most prevalent handicaps. Beggars keep their distance during nights in Lanka because vendors will physically compel them to leave. Seeing poverty like that does not simply make me appreciate my lifestyle, it makes me want to act. Not knowing what else to do, I often buy a beggar the same drink I enjoy. After exchanging smiles, I walk a few feet over to my next stop, the man serving meat.
Once I take a seat on the meat vendor’s improvised stool, he hands me a plate of chicken. Around 10 p.m., the city power is cut. For a few seconds all conversations pause, as everyone is caught in darkness. Soon after, the sound of generators takes over, and people, now speaking much more loudly, resume their discussions. Watching this all take place, I notice that most of the people around me have legs as thick as my wrists. For a moment, I panic that my legs may look like theirs, since my customary diet is typical Indian cuisine. I slowly raise my left pant leg and my fear subsides. These people are clearly not starving, but appear to be suffering from some sort of malnutrition. One possible reason could be a lack of protein, since most Indians are vegetarian. I have also been told that when Indian food is prepared, vegetables are cooked at extreme temperatures for so long that they lose their beneficial properties. Since I have not pursued the matter by any means other than conversation and reflection, I am consistently left staring at the problem on those nights that I eat chicken.
On some nights I visit the unda wala — the egg man. When I order hard-boiled eggs, I specify without salt, and each time the unda wala serves me my eggs with salt. Not looking for trouble, I simply accept the extra sodium. For those of you worried about my cholesterol, fear not, because I consume no more than one yolk. On the other hand, the rickshaw drivers around me eat all of their yolks. They need both the protein and the fat after yet another day of biking locals from place to place. Still, they have the same thin legs which seem hardly impacted by their ceaseless pedaling. Thinking that I need a ride, the rickshaw drivers ask, “Where going?” While my next stop is home, they have already reached their destination. The rickshaw is their home, office and bedroom.
My time in India has allowed me to see certain issues from an alternative perspective. While I used to think that beggars were people too lazy to work, I now know that these people beg when there simply is no other option. Widows beg on the streets because no one is providing for them. Handicapped people are normally shunned from society and cannot find work. On the subject of malnutrition, I recently pondered the possibility that Indians are not malnourished but Americans are guilty of over-consumption. Lastly, I cannot decide if rickshaw drivers are living in poverty or not. Their job is hard and they are underpaid, but almost all their needs are accounted for, with the exception of health care. I cannot fully answer any of the questions I have asked or attempted to answer. Though it would appear to be frustrating, I enjoy this situation because if I knew the answers to everything around me, it would no longer be exotic. That is, in essence, why people travel: They are looking for something new and fascinating. Participating in the Bridge Year Program has provided the opportunity, Varanasi has supplied the interest, and now the ball is in my court to find some answers.
Andrew Finkelstein is a rising freshman participating in the University’s Bridge Year Program from Chevy Chase, Md.
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