Street Girl in India

On my return trip to Kolkata my Dad and I stayed at "The Monica Guest House". Opposite from our bed and breakfast were several men, and one family, living side by side on the street. the family included a mother, her daughter and her toddler son. The daughter looked like she was about the same age as me (10). They all had shaved scalps: in desperation for help, they must have given their hair as an offering to a Hindu god. The mother and daughter had one ragged, torn dress each, and the son had just one pair of blue shorts. The only other thing they seemed to own was one very thin bed-roll. We gave them some bread and some money. A friend of ours bought the son some medicine because he was sick, and bought the mother a sari. She was so happy with it - but she only wore it at night. During the day she wore her rag-dress so that she would still look poor and be given money when she begged. We took a few photos of that family.


Since that trip to Kolkata I often wonder about that family, and especially the daughter. What became of them? The daughter was the same age as me, so when I started high school I wondered if she was still living on the streets, or in a slum. When I went to my first school ball I wondered if she was married already. Now I wonder how many children she has. Is she still living with her husband, or is she struggling to support her family by herself? Did she ever go to a school? Was she sexually abused when she lived on the streets? Did she turn to prostitution? When she married, was she treated well, or did her inlaws despise her and exploit her because she had a small dowry? I feel like someone tossed a coin, and I got heads (wealth, opportunities) and she got tails.

My Memories of India

I lived in Kolkata, India, from when I was three to when I was six. My earliest memories are from that time. My parents were working with a local church over there and it was a very difficult time for them. But the memories of Kolkata that are the strongest and most important to me are from a trip back I took with my father when I was 10 (10 years ago). This is what I remember.

When we took taxi rides, we had the windows open because it was so hot. Everytime the taxi slowed or stopped, children's arms would reach through the windows, begging for money. There were many street people everywhere (kids, mothers, elderly). My dad and I gave some of them money, or loaves of bread, but the number of homeless people was so overwhelming it was impossible to help them all, even though they were all in extreme need. I would ask my dad to give money to this or that person who was begging us, and my dad would. My most vivid memory of this trip to Kolkata is of seeing an old man who was crippled and deformed, and could not walk, begging us for money. I remember thinking rationally "we shouldn't give money to him because he will probably die soon, we should save the money and give it to someone else" - and immediately after I thought that, I felt incredibly angry and frustrated that I had even had to make that choice. I thought: "I care. I live in the West. Why is it not enough that I care? For these people to get what they need most people in the West have to care. When will most people in the West really care?" No one should 'miss out' on what they need to live a comfortable, simple life. There is enough food and money in the world but it's distribution is far far from equal.