I came to India knowing that witnessing poverty would be part of the deal. And I'm finding it difficult. We pass through dusty, polluted towns and villages, teeming with people struggling against so many odds. Poor they may be, but they are proud.
Then there are those who live by trickery.
And then there are the beggars.
The Night in the Desert Experience was really no more than a bit of amusement for rich westerners. Yes, it was fun to ride on Sarya, and I had never seen so many stars, the Milky Way was a thick smear as if across the screen of my new iPad bought specially for the trip. The silence, the stillness, the vastness of it all...as I lay on my open camp bed and drifted off to sleep.
But before that, as the sun started to go down the punters spread out to find their own solitude or togetherness; and it was then that the beggar boy, about 15 or 16 years old started his rounds.
I heard him approaching. I stared ahead, determined to ignore him and he might go away. He stood in front of me and whined 10 rupees, just 10 rupees.
I stared past him, angry that he was "spoiling" "MY" sunset... Well, I'd paid good money for this!
Look at me, Sir. It's important. Look at me.
I looked. He stood before me displaying both arms that ended in stumps where his elbows might be.
Ten rupees, Monopoly money worth about ten pence.
I pulled out a note from my westerners' wallet and he indicated to me to slip it into his trouser pocket. And with a quick sideways lurch he pushed it down with his stump and went on his way, no word of thanks.
There he is, scurrying across the sand like a scarab beetle, and ruining one of the pictures of MY view.
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