After a long flight, we had finally made it! I was excited as we began our descent to the Indira Gandhi International Airport. I had always felt drawn to India, where some of the greatest humanitarians of all time had lived – Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Teresa. India – land of the Maharajas, land of history, tradition and beauty. And now, here I was, flying over this land that had held so much intrigue for me since my teenage years. I looked out the aeroplane window to take in as much as I could of this magnificent country. It was then I caught my first glimpse of an Indian slum…
I had heard stories of the poverty that ravaged so many in this country, and had tried as best as possible to psychologically prepare myself for what I might see. After all, that is why we had come to India. Our sense of moral obligation had driven us to this country, and we were here with our charity to help as many people as we could, particularly children. But the slum was like nothing I had seen before. I asked myself “Could people really be living there?”
We eventually landed and made our way to our accommodation. My husband and I had barely been in Delhi eight hours, but after a quick nap, I was raring to go and explore this fascinating city. We hailed an auto-rickshaw and were on our way. The dirt, rubbish, animals and people living on the streets were a severe shock to my Western sensitivities. However, I felt I had enough internal reserves to effectively deal with what I saw. Little did I know this state of blissful naivety would be continually challenged throughout our time in India.
We continued our drive around Delhi. The day was drawing to an end, and it was time to head back to our humble hotel. We stopped at a traffic light, allowing my husband and me enough time to exhale, after our death-defying drive through chaotic streets. I felt a gentle pull on my right arm. I turned and was shocked to see a young girl, with dishevelled hair, a dirty face and hands, and filthy clothes. She would have been no older than 12 years. “Please madam, please. No father. No food. Hungry”. The light turned green, and we sped off in our rickshaw.
That night as I lay in our run-down hotel room, trying to adjust to the new time zone, and desperately trying to will myself to sleep, the image of the young girl kept coming back to me. I felt guilty. My shock at seeing such a young face begging for money, food, or whatever this clean, well-clothed Western tourist could offer, had paralysed me. All I could do was look on in utter disbelief.
Needless to say, this became a common daily, if not hourly, experience for us. Every traffic light or momentarily stop of the car would attract a begging child. Most spoke only afew English words, but the ones they used would wrench my heart: “Hungry”, “No food”, and “10 rupees”. Our driver would often translate the Hindi pleas into English for us: “Sister, sister, dear sister. Please I have no money and no food. I am hungry. Please give me 10 rupees, sister”.
We gave what we could, and carried around a small stash of 5 rupee coins at the ready, for those moments when the car came to a standstill amongst the crowded streets. Everywhere we went – be it Delhi, Jodhpur, Jaipur, or Agra – the situation was the same. Young children begging, begging, begging…
I began to feel deflated. My mind could not help but engage in philosophical musings about the state of humanity. How is it that I live in a world where running water, clothes, food, education are easily accessible and available to the large majority of people, and yet a mere plane flight away, children are living in filth and begging on the streets? How is it that we in the so-called more developed nations, do not do more to help people like those living on the streets of India? How is it that the population of India, seem to stand by and let their own people, their own children, their own future generation, live like this?
The questions were many, but the answers were few. We had come to India with high hopes and a sense that we might really be able to make a difference. But all I felt was a nagging sense of hopelessness. There was little we could do here. We could visit an orphanage and provide money for a weeks worth of food. We could give a begging child 10 rupees for them to buy a snack. But, we knew that just around the corner there were a hundred more children, more needy than the last.
Having left for India with a sense of self-purpose and in some respects, a sense of self-importance about the work we were about to embark on, a mellow form of depression now engulfed me and I felt utterly discouraged. I thought “Why bother? The little effort I put in doesn’t make a lot of difference to this world, and what I do today will only be undone by someone else tomorrow…”
Despite this overwhelming sense of despair, we continued to hand-out our rupees to any child who knocked on our window or pulled at our sleeves. Eventually, we exhausted our supply of rupee coins, and resorted to giving handfuls of biscuits, prunes, muesli bars, or any other item we felt might be of momentary use to the children.
On one particular day, in the city of Jaipur, we had stopped at a traffic light. While we were waiting for the light to change, a very dirty-looking girl – no older than 10 – came knocking at the window. I looked at her and thought how pretty she was. Big brown eyes, and dishevelled, though lovely long brown hair. If only she had a better chance in life…
By that stage our rupee supply was long gone, so I reached into our bag to pull out some biscuits. The light turned green and our car took off. I was disappointed as I had missed the chance to give this girl something, but figured there would be another child at the next traffic lights. “She’s following us. Stop the car!!” my husband commanded. I turned around to see the young girl somehow dodging the chaotic traffic, trying to reach our car.
We stopped the car and she caught up. I placed a handful of biscuits into her dirty hands. A huge smile broke across her face. Her gratefulness could not be masked. She turned and skipped off, happily munching on her handful of crumbly biscuits. Such a simple gesture, and yet to this young girl begging on the dusty and chaotic streets of Jaipur, it had meant so much.
That encounter with the young girl had a profound impact on me. Such a simple act of giving, and yet it had momentarily transformed the life of another person. In that moment, I felt what it meant to be human. I felt what it meant to serve others. And I felt what it meant to be alive. I suddenly glimpsed the meaning of our work, and felt more energised by it than I have by almost anything else. It was through that encounter I realised even the smallest gesture performed in the service of another human being, has an impact.
As we drove off in our car, I felt refreshed and overcome with a new sense of purpose and motivation. At the very core of my being, I finally believed I really could make a difference, and that every little action helps. I recalled the words of perhaps the most famous Indian of all, Mahatma Gandhi, who once said: "You must be the change you wish to see in the world". How right he was. If you want to make a change, you must become the change yourself. Changing the world for the better is possible. All it needs is for us to make a change – to become the change.
Natasha Tassell is co-founder, Trustee and volunteer of the A.R.C. Worldwide Trust. The trip to India was made in May 2007, as part of the A.R.C. Worldwide Trust Aid and Awareness Programs.
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