The Man in the Brown Suit

The panhandler is still there. At his usual spot in front of the office building, as the lunch-time crowds mill around. “Can I have some change, please?!” He has been there for a while, perhaps years. He always wears the same shabby suit of clothes. He always repeats the same words.

His voice resonates clearly. There is no mistaking it. Few pay attention. He might as well be one of the artificial trees located by the roadside – harmless but no one wants to bump into one. Or he might be one of the trash cans – you throw in something you could do without. Except I haven’t seen too many do that.

He must be able to scratch out some kind of a living in this way. Otherwise, why would he keep showing up day after day? No matter how warm it feels, no matter how cold it gets. One seldom sees him move much. I certainly haven’t, except once when it was ten degrees below freezing. He was still doing everything the same way, except he was standing. His arms hugged himself. And he was occasionally hopping to retain some warmth. His voice quivered a bit.

Yet you would be very hesitant to stop and give him some money. For one thing, the walkway is quite narrow and the crowds very impatient. If you stopped even for a second to reach into your pocket, chances are high that the guy behind will bump right into you and before you know it, a line of individuals would be waiting for the congestion to clear up. No one says anything, of course, but it is very clear from the glances who they think is wasting valuable time, THEIR valuable time.

But there are even stronger reasons. Drop him a coin and some of your fellow walkers will give you a very searching look! How dare you? Don’t you get it? This looks like a perfectly able-bodied man - shouldn’t he be out there working like the rest of us? For Christ’s sake, people are getting themselves killed trying to sneak into the country, risking their very LIVES to just get a chance to be in the position this bum already is! How DARE you insult the very essence of what we stand for! It’s not the money you fool, but the principle!

As he gets left behind, the words of a long-gone poet come to the mind:

“Rahimaan way nar mar chu-key
Jey mukh maangan jai
Unkey pah-ley tay mua
Jin mukh nik-laat nai”

While the crowd marches on, he remains where he was.

The dead tend to stay in place while the deader – the zombies, keep marching.

(Note: the original i-log was posted on April 26, 2005.)