A Pessimist’s Glee

You see a beggar as you swing your attaché to and fro, a Marlboro in the other hand and thinking about your wife. The beggar extends his hands to you, not expecting a coin from you but a jeer; an insult to his whole being, his existence and his whole life. It’s not once a day, every minute of his life is wrought with these moments when his entire life is mocked upon. But does that affect him? No, not anymore. For, he expects to jeered upon, to be mocked at and to be treated with contempt. It is his fate and he has accepted it. The occasional jingle of a coin in his tin can is nothing but a reminder that after all, life has its sunny days too.

The one coin. As important as the One Ring of fiction lore. The one coin, sometimes determines a hungry night. It is the one coin that gives flight to his dreams, that his daughter would be wed gracefully; assurance that his wife would stay faithful to him in bed. It is the one coin that makes that jingle that sounds like Santa’s bell, ominous of the gifts he dreamt if as a child; of gifts he wished he could get his son. It is a jingle of hope. But he never expects it. That is why it’s just a jingle that all it takes to make him smile and say “thank you, sir.”

Yet, you mock him. Worse, you stop. He turns his eyes to you, shrunken by the ghosts of his destiny. He implores for a coin. You do not acquiesce to his plea. Instead  you harangue him on how he should have given primary education more importance than prowling the streets in ragged clothes and extending his hands to filth. And if he happens to light a ‘bidi’, you throw a look of contempt as if the ‘bidi’ was the sole reason why he took birth in the ill-fated womb that sealed his life to the murky streets; even though, you might be blowing circles from your Marlboro at the same instant.

Somewhere in life’s path, your and his smokes from your respective cigarettes intermingle. At a point, they are one. The stench of one is indistinguishable from the other. And you stand alongside the same beggar in a delusional state of mind staring fixedly at the same blanket of smoke obscuring your path ahead. While you squint and wonder, the beggar walks ahead., into the mist. It is because he has no expectations in life. He is never clouded by the mists of a hurt soul that is the result of failed expectations. While you fall to your knees in hopelessness, the beggar is lost from your sight. You try to get up and walk but you start sinking in because you expect a road to be laid ahead of you. The beggar does not.

The beggar walked. Every step that he took, he expected to fall. He knew of heaven and hell as the temple priests had taught him. He simply closed his eyes and took his steps, considering every moment his last. And every step he survived, made him happy; like a child when he pedals his bicycle for the first time and does not fall. All that brought a beggar happiness was how he looked at his life. How good could his lowly life could get? But was it really worth it being sad? It is just one life. If this was his fate, he accepted it. From a bottle of locally brewed alcohol, bread and a hug from his children, he would find glee. To be happy in your life, it is not necessary to earn medals and accolades. Sometimes, it is just your fate not to have such glorious moments. But by changing the way one perceives his life and altering his outlook in life according to his own ways he can be happy.

As you keep demeaning the beggar’s life, you realize you are late for work. You walk away leaving the beggar unaffected little knowing that you just sealed a rendezvous with him later sometime.