The story below is a series of my traumatic ordeal last weekend, when my wife convinced me to witness what Lord Budha had left behind at Sarnath. I wanted to sleep, but Mili tells me that Grazie wants to see Stupas, Ruins of Bricks Structure, Ashoka’s Rust Proof Iron Pillar, which is National Emblem.
We cruise through the streets of Banaras and pulled over at the maingate of Sarnath in my handsome new Honda CRV SUV, as soon as I cut the engine I was shocked to find our SUV was surrounded by a Mob of children and old women, wearing oil and grease coated clothes, and to my horror they were drawing greasy finger prints on window pane.
I tried to emerge from suv with a greater understanding of their sordid ways, of which I shall gladly inform you.
It was an ordinary sunday afternoon that transformed into a grotesque nightmare. I made a fatal mistake of visiting Banaras, then Sarnath on Sunday in casuals by suv, I had never realized that it makes us fatty chickens.
They came at us from every direction; tapping on my window with their yellow, misshapen fingernails; emotionally blackmailing me with their babies and skinny children, saying something about not having ‘rotis.’
Next to me was sitting Grazie, when she saw lots of hands on window pane, she started shrinking, fearing lest the glass is broken.
I gestured them to get lost, but they continued to pester me. I had become a victim of the dreaded ‘BHEEKU Inc.’ that my friends warned me about.
It’s an organized mob of lazy people who, instead of doing works like us, prey on our infinite generosity to get easy money. I peeked out of my window at an old beggar dude comfortably sunbathing on the pavement.
Sure, I understand the glamour of dragging oneself around the streets in sweltering heat and begging for money. I would be doing it too if I wanted, but I don’t because I have dignity and money I’ve made by working 20 hours, but mostly it’s because I have dignity!
I rolled down my window and gave the man a crucial piece of advice, so politely: “Abe O! Saalé Bhaiynsé! Mehnat kyon nahi karta bé ?” (Why don’t you work hard you SOAB?) The man thrown out his reply louder than a Jet Engine about the lack of money, opportunities, education yeh woh. I sneered at these feeble excuses. I can only pray that this epiphany will soon set on him. And that went for the rest of the shameless lot too. I wonder what a foreign tourist would feel like, perhaps like Tom Hank in Cast Away? What image would be presented by tourists.
For beggars, they can always start at the bottom and work as labourers at construction sites. In no time, a mazdoor would get promoted to a Cement Manager, then Captain Wheelbarrow, then Chief of Scaffolding, then foreman, and before he knows it, he’ll be living in a dope mansion fending off hot, young gold-diggers!
Have some faith in non-welfare, free market capitalism, for crying out loud! Take some lessons from my bro Drake, “Started from the bottom now we ‘ere…” Heck, some of these beggars were even abusing children, and amputating people’s limbs so they could get more money from us rich, charitable folk! They should all be thrown in jail, because nothing will deter these guys from crime better than threatening them with free prison meals.
If that somehow fails, we can always torture them in our police stations for further motivation! Perhaps even more infuriating than these beggars, are those moocher-apologists who say that it is the society’s and the state’s fault for failing these poor citizens! Urgh, could you possibly be further removed from reality?
So here’s the plan: we stop paying the paupers. If we work together, enough of these beggars will get jobs (or starve to death, whatever) thereby sending a message to the Bheeku Inc. that making amputees and child beggars is no longer a lucrative business. The begging industry will go bankrupt, and disappear!
O’ ALMIGHTY! In a jiffy, our biopic flashes in my head and then… I wonder if ancestors of this mob once screwed even Raja Harish Chandra who gives his gold tooth on demand of a Bheeku. Then I remember about Daanvir Karn, who’d born with the help of Genetic Engineers as one of our PEE EMs, suffering from “Verbal Diahhria” quotes.
What is the right word for them FAKIR or FUCK’KINS?
©MAGNETIQUE TRUST; The Times of India