The Harsh Reality

I’ve shielded most of you from some of the unsavory details of life in India, but it’s time to give you all a taste. This morning’s commute was worse than normal for me. I was already in a grumpy mood, purposefully fueled by listening to angst-ridden music on my iPod such as Linkin Park and Evanescence. It was one of those days where I just felt so bombarded by images that I wish I didn’t have to see, which made me more angry for the loss of control of my comfort zone (typical culture shock, I know).

The usual images were there – the barely clothed children squatting and shitting on the side of the road just feet from our vehicle, and not far from where women are cooking breakfast on makeshift stoves over open fires in front of their tarp and stick homes. There was the usual road kill (in this case, a stray dog) that we skirted to avoid in our SUV. But this morning, I was just particularly bothered by the combination of everything – the naked man precariously perched on the concrete center divide of the road talking to himself, and waving his hands, and the beggar man hopping on his only leg looking for handouts with his only arm, and then the beggar child relentless tapping on my window for a handout. The kid didn’t go away until I banged on the window back so hard that it scared him, at least a little, because his face had been pressed up so close against the glass. I suppose I was a little harsh, but sometimes it’s what you have to do (uh, right?)

In small amounts, being exposed to the poverty here increases one’s awareness and empathy to the situation, but when you are exposed to it several hours a day, you begin to become desensitized a bit (enough to hit a kid whose leaning against your window), and it’s hard to know how to react. I want to be able to ignore it, and yet I want to somehow help. I want to remain sympathetic to the situations that so many people here face, and yet I can’t face being that depressed thinking about it all the time. These images assault your senses—they aren’t like the news images on TV where you can just change the channel. Or at least, growing up in a suburban bubble, I always had that choice.

For me, that’s what the New Orleans situation has been like. It’s awful to read about the stories of people stranded, and desperate, and without water and food, and afraid of rogue gangs with stolen guns (don’t get me started on why Walmart shouldn’t be selling guns in the first place) enough to bring me to tears while reading about it at my desk at work, but at least, I can log off and get back to my day at the office….that is, until I leave the office. I guess I’m just feeling stuck, on what to think, how to react, and what to DO.