Poverty in India

LOCATION: Jaipur
TIME: About 9 a.m. local, Sept. 4

I've just awoken in the rather dusty guest house we're staying in at Jaipur. My throat is scratchy, both from my sleep and from the train ride last night. Note to self: lozenges on next trip that includes train travel.

Our train last night was late, by two hours – and that, coupled with the fact that my digital camera appears broken, have put me in a decently foul mood. There's really no place here to have my camera fixed, though I plan to try anyway.

Ah, tea with ginger and biscuits. My mood is improving.

Sunday was a day of absolute beauty and horrible ugliness. The Taj Mahal was stunning, and I wish I'd taken some time to write about it before last night's fitful train ride from Agra to here. In a way that is sort of fitting, photos just don't do it justice – though I do feel like I got a few good snaps. It's just an incredibly vibrant building. The detailing is phenomenal, and it really pops out as you get closer to the structure. It really was just overwhelmingly beautiful. Anyway – maybe more about it later.

The poverty on the way to Agra, however, also was overwhelming, and all the kids selling junk around the tourist attractions are starting to get to me. In San Francisco, I saw poverty in adults living on the street at night. Right or wrong, I've always felt that there is enough help in America for an adult who really wants to get themselves off the streets, and that handing out money just isn't the answer. I've also spent enough time with the homeless to know that there are generally plenty of soup kitchens and other organizations to ensure that they get a good meal.

Many of the kids here, however, are incredibly malnourished. Even the ones that have a roof over their heads at night – and it should be noted that the word “roof” is being used pretty loosely here – are filthy. Slums line the train tracks on the outskirts of both Delhi and Agra, with the people who live there just staring at the train as it goes by. The scene was so jarring that I couldn't bring myself to photograph it, though shots of it might be good for the rest of the world – and I've now got a newfound respect for the journalists who take assignments on poverty in the developing world.

The worst moment for me, though – well, series of moments – was a kid named Sanjay who tried to sell me bangles on the way to and from and Taj Mahal. In hindsight, I wish to heaven I'd just bought him a meal. He spoke English quite well, and he was not a bad salesman, for all of his eight or so years. But at the time, with five or six kids behind Sanjay who also wanted money, all I could think was that I couldn't give him any – and our guide and Vivek said the same. Poverty is an endemic problem here, and I know in my sanest of minds that giving money to these kids isn't going to help solve it. But it's hard keep remembering that.

I also wish I'd have taken time to sit and talk to him a bit. It's hard to break the constant refrain of, “No, thank you,” and “Ji nahin” that I've been uttering to the vendors who've targeted me since I landed here. But hearing what Sanjay had to say, while probably not very uplifting, might have helped me, I think.

All in all, the experience with poverty in India has made me realize how rich Americans really are. We take for granted our standards of cleanliness, basic “necessities” such as a bed with linens and curtains for our windows. We expect plumbing that not only works but works well, electricity that doesn't cut out and, for heaven's sake, clean water. I've come to learn here that these are luxuries, and I won't soon take them for granted again.