Nature v Nurture

It is said that in Mumbai there is no escaping the poverty that surrounds you.
I can now vouch for the authenticity of that statement.
Even the wealthy areas have all too obvious pockets of poverty like no other place I have visited. You might be waiting at a busy junction in Bandra, Queen of the Suburbs, when a tapping at the window will draw your attention to the inevitable alms seeker.

There exists in Mumbai an inverse hierarchy of begging. The less able a person appears to have the wherewithal to support themselves, the more readily one should contribute to their welfare.
I have taken the lead from our drivers, who have a consistency in their approach to giving.

The rules are pliable but appear thus:

1. If the beggar in question is a healthy adult of working age, then give nothing.

In this city of gold everyone has the opportunity to work, no matter how demeaning their role nor how poorly paid their task might be. To see people both living amongst and sifting through garbage in order to eek out a living is both disturbing and humbling at the same time.

These people however retain their humanity. They work, they eat, they survive.

The local or “Desi” population feel it is poor form to resort to begging and it highlights an underlying laziness on the part of the poor wretch who resolves to such action.

It may sound callous that someone earning a western wage should not give freely, but if one were to donate upon ever request, the inconvenience would be more in terms of time and sourcing of change than that of purely gifting money.

I think the only way forward is to find a local charity of choice, one that I believe is making a difference, one I can donate to in bulk.


2. A woman holding a young child is not necessarily the mother. Give with discretion.

I understand, though have no basis for my belief beyond that which I have been told by our driver, that it is commonplace that women borrow the children (at a rate of 50 rupees/day) from the natural mother in order to turn a profit at busy road junctions.

I can accept that this occurs though expect it’s frequency is somewhat overstated.

It is sad to witness a young child in arms mimicking the mothers hand to mouth gestures with no understanding of what they are doing or why they are doing it.

What chance in life if this is their trade before they are even able to speak?


3. Older people are deserving. Donate freely.

If a person has survived what has likely been a tough life and has managed to bag a life innings of 1st world proportions, then that has to be respected.

Their seniority itself dictates that they are no longer productive and therefore relatively incapable of supporting themselves.

Donate small denominations but with frequency.


4. Lepers should not repulse you, donate freely.

Being some of the most unfortunate members of society, this should go without saying, though being a typical “Britisher” my instinctive response to my first encounter with a leper was one of shock and fear.

I guess this is only natural as seeing as leprosy was eradicated in the UK waaaay before my time, and the sight of a bandaged stump or a hand with an obvious absence of finger joints does shock the fight or flight instincts into overdrive.

Fortunately, the usual status quo of having a car window between oneself and the “under handed” local sorts offers an element of security and safety, though I keep telling myself it is only ignorance that generates fear and I consider myself rather educated on such conditions.

Christ, you could spend months, nay, years, working with lepers an still come out of it with all major extremities intact.

After all, Ernesto “Che” Guevara did well enough to fight and fire in a revolution following his time spent with lepers. It was the Bolivians that got him in the end.

However, regardless of the early work of communist icons, there still existed that niggling doubt in the back of my mind which turned to outright fear and repulsion when whilst sitting in an auto wearing only shorts, shirt and sandals, a toothless and handless old man motioned towards himself as a sign to donate.

It was then whilst I was frozen with an immediate and temporary paralysis coupled with a twinned reaction of verbal incoherence (most likely emanating from the fear that had enveloped me due to his immediate proximity or perhaps more specifically the lack of a protective paneling between myself, and what now appeared a far too contagious disease) that he decided to reach out with his relatively good hand and touch my bare foot.

Jump???

I almost shat my pants.

Sod Donating. Sweet Jesus, charity was the last thing on my mind right then.

I just wanted the auto driver to do his best Lewis Hamilton impersonation and race out of his P4 grid position before we had even received the green for go.

It was only upon later reflection I realised that instinct is a powerful thing and in the nature/nurture debate, I am backing old mother N every time.