Life as a Beggar

Have you given a single thought to the beggar who came a-begging at your car window yesterday? You, in your glittering black Mercedes, with a chauffer to drive you home. Probably you have not. Well, why should you? You have everything life has to offer: a magnificent home, an air conditioned office, and dozens of servants at your service.

In the morning your driver drives your children to the best school in the city. They study, have friends and make merry. They have tea at home, and nothing to do but study and spend a good time. You go shopping and throw dirty looks at street rats like me, whose only job is to spoil your lovely time by begging at the mall.

Have you ever placed yourself in my shoes? Have you tried to feel the misery of hundreds of poor little wretches like me, who are struggling to survive? Have you ever felt your soul sink with despair when you are faint with hunger and people like you pass by scornfully? You have not.

I live in a tent house—merely a shelter for the night. I have parents, yet live the life of an orphan. No one takes care of me. My father is a drunkard and my mother has so many children that she forgets our names. She works hard all day, but cannot earn enough to feed us all. I have neither education nor skill. I am forced to go begging for a living.

I live a wretched dog’s life. Each day I wake up before dawn. There is no water near our tent to wash or bathe. Not that I mind; bathing is not my favorite activity and I have got used to remaining dirty.

I wander the city streets, begging for breakfast. I find some stale bread in a dust bin and devour it ravenously. I prowl the roads aimlessly, often getting into a fight with other children over food or money or for no reason at all. We fight like wild animals, and I rarely get away without a sore eye or a bleeding lip.

I beg at signals and I beg at markets. I take delight in aggravating the well-heeled, stiff necked ladies at the mall. They ignore me, but I hang about them. They try to shoo me away, but I stick to them. It gives me pleasure to irritate these haughty ladies, whose well-dressed children give me hateful looks. Of course, I might get a penny or two as an added bonus.

I am often tempted to steal and do. I have a right to all the privileges the rich enjoy. If they do not give me my right, I will snatch it from them.

I have neither opportunity nor goal in life. My future is blank. I am already an addict and my condition can only grow worse with time. I have neither hope nor dreams for the future. I spend day after day of my life without purpose. My existence is useless. I will grow up as a beggar and criminal and at last will die alone by a roadside, with no one to cry over my dead body.