India will make you weep

I was sitting on the balcony of Open Hand Cafe, reflecting on everything, the three long days spent in the hospital, feeling a little sorry for myself, and taking slow, unmotivated bites of porridge. I was looking down onto the chaos that is India. streets that never stop, people constantly on the move. Below me was a rickshaw driver, who's feet seemed to be on backwards and who's ailments left his face severely deformed. I watched as he tried desperately to sell postcards to the tourists leaving Open Hand, and, ironically, I watched those tourists ignore him, pretending not to see a man who's face was melting and who's feet had grown in the wrong direction. The head-turn twenty feet later, when they were free and clear, confirmed that they had indeed seen him. In that moment, as I sat and watched this happen, it wasn't the ailments that struck me so desperately. I felt the shame of all those tourists, knowing very well that I have too often allowed my insecurities and fears to justify my passive rejection of the poor, the hurting, the homeless, as if fear was a reasonable excuse. I couldn't imagine that kind of rejection, that kind of pain, and I began to weep. India will do that. India will make you weep.