By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
It's her impassiveness that gets me. Perched cross-legged atop the crumbling step, countless bangles stacked along each wiry arm. Left hand placed on her jutting kneecap, right cocooned in the lap of the left. She is regal, at odds with the surrounding mayhem. Spindly boys bomb into the murky Ganges, brazen monkeys balance in naked trees, dozens of rainbow-draped women scrutinise the stalls. But she is still, self-possessed and unshaken - bar her eyes. Her eyes are alive. There is not an ounce of shame about the upside-down cap in front of her. A husband's? A son's? Whoever's, it holds a sprinkling of tarnished coins and the much-chewed butts of long-since smoked cigarettes. The other beggars cast their timorous gazes down, but not her. Her eyes are up, direct, and on sensing my observance, boring into mine. She starts at my brand-covered-up boots, mud caked from the Himalayan hills. She travels up my harem panted legs, lingering on the plastic bags straining my fingertips. She notes the botched henna threading my wrists before moving to my scarf-swaddled head - a bid to take attention from my alien blonde hair. Then once again her eyes meet mine. I think she nods. If so, it is the merest movement. But at what? My attempts to cloak my difference? My care to cover my so-seen wealth? "Don't give money to the Indian beggars"; the advice rained upon me flits through my mind. I step closer and she slightly lifts her chin; challenging me? I'm game. I bend down. The heads of the other beggars pique up in interest; clearly, an approach at such level is rare. I fumble for my wallet. How much is due? 100, 200, 1000 rupees? I don't want to offend, nor come across as gaudy. I settle on a mid-sum and add it to her paltry haul. Then I meet her steadfast stare. I don't know what I expect. A smile of appreciation? A nod of gratitude? But her expressive eyes are blank, devoid of any acknowledgement. I abruptly stand, feeling the flush render my cheeks a deep red. Have I misread the situation so wrongly? She is begging... isn't she? Or have I completely cocked it up? She moves. Her lips part, exposing a cave of missing teeth. "Doosed." She says. I give a jerk of my head, stupid and confused. "Doosed" isn't thank you in Hindi. Is she cursing me? There isn't a hint of nicety in those eyes. I turn and take off. A glance back sees her eyes following me. Doosed, doosed; I need Google. Back in my fan cooled room I drop my bags. Doosed? Doust? Dost. Friend.