“THOSE DEEP DARK BROWN EYES”

Those large two deep brown eyes stared right at him, right through him, asking desperately for help.

Her fingers tapped on the window, hands pointing to her mouth stating the obvious indicating she was hungry, sweat rolling down her old fragile face, she communicated the only way she could…with her eyes.

It was another punishing hot day in Hyderabad, India.

How could he, anyone, ignore those tired beautiful eyes?
He rolled down the window.

***

The old lady used her wooden cane to maneuver around hundreds of cars occupying four lanes of the intersection. Despite her skinny body, bones sticking out and signs of permanent malnutrition and a damaged leg, amazingly she could navigate in between cars occupied by the afternoon crowd of engineers and call center staff of the Information Technology companies in Hyderabad.

Her simple goal was to ask and receive enough money for that night’s meal.

For years and years, her daily simple goal had been to ask for enough money for that night’s meal.

***

There is an intersection near HiTEC city, Hyderabad, where one has to take a U-Turn in order to get to the main section of this Technology complex. As the name implies, hundreds of western companies have set up shops to perform their software development and call center support in this Southern Indian city. Looking through signs on the buildings, one can notice Dell, Microsoft, Oracle, Wells Fargo, Verizon and many others. They all occupy a series of towers in a center where more than half a million people are employed and create daily morning and evening traffic jams.

Technological achievements, desirable employment, new cars and a young educated generation is one side of this old city. Then there is the other side where poverty rules the lives of millions.

At this specific intersection, the traffic light stays red for two full minutes. The American engineer knew that well as he had timed it often during his many trips to this city. Like most other intersections around, the unfortunates of the society, young and old, would race to obtain whatever help they could get from the occupants of cars jammed behind the red light waiting patiently to make the last turn before reaching to their work destinations.

Competition between all those asking and begging was tough. Most of the beggars were young but then there was this old lady with those deep brown eyes.

The American first noticed her almost a year ago. Back then, on a very hot June afternoon, where temperature was around 115 degree Fahrenheit, despite a powerful air conditioned unit in the car he was still uncomfortable. That is when he saw this old lady walking around the cars with her wooden cane, tapping on windows and asking for help. She was fragile, looked sad and never talked. If he had to guess her age, he would guess that she was over 80 years old. Probably no more than 70 pounds, she wore the same dark green sari that was covered with dust every time he saw her and he saw her daily at the same spot.

She was the constant fixture of the intersection, the symbol for the other half of the city and one that brought tons of guilt in the American’s mind. Finding her out there asking for help, a confirmation that she was still alive and that she had lived to see another day, was now part of his routine. The American knew that a couple of dollars the old lady could collect in a day would not be enough to provide a meaningful life for her. She needed shelter, health assistant and perhaps most of all she needed her family, wherever they were, whoever they were and she needed friends.

In his life, for business or pleasure, the American had traveled to many countries and had seen unfortunate ones of different ages asking for help. None of that was unique but there was something unique about this old lady; her eyes.

When she stared at him, when her eyes connected with his soul, unlike most others he couldn’t remain indifferent or turn away from those deep dark brown eyes. She never showed a sense of envy or anger looking at him or all others sitting comfortably in air conditioned cars while she slowly and painfully had to walk around with her cane in the heat with the hope to get a few rupees. More than a few times he tried to help. To be honest with himself he never knew if he helped out of guilt, compassion or to make himself feel good. Months later, he still didn’t know.

He often wondered how she could survive the climate but then he noticed her feet. The lady with dark brown eyes had no shoes on; she never did. Her feet had old wounds but she somehow managed to ignore the hot pavement and walk around the cars.

Most drivers chose to ignored the old woman. As she would close on a car, occupants avoided looking at her and made themselves busy with their smartphones or talking to each other. How could we be so cruel he had thought.

The first time he saw the old woman, he was not presented with the opportunity to face a decision of helping her as the light turned green before she reached his car and she had to rush her bristle body away from the road.

It was a couple of days later when he finally faced the inevitable decision as the possessor of those deep brown eyes reached his car and stared right at him. The weather was particularly poor that day. Monsoon season had started and rain had viciously slapped the streets and those walking them. The road was full of potholes but the old woman still managed to get around, with her bare feet and wooden cane. When she reached his car, no words needed to be spoken. She stared at him, he recognized why the woman was there and knew what his action should be. He quickly rolled down the window, gave a hundred Rupee bill to the woman and rolled the window back up. That was their first encounter.

***

As she laid back on her blanket she thought about the stars. She didn’t know her own age or where she came from. For many years, she had lost count how many, her world was limited to a couple of blocks around the intersection. She worked the street for as long as her body could handle the pain of walking and then would go to a small store, get a piece of bread and a cup of tea for supper. She was used to go to bed hungry. The old lady didn’t know it but she was one of 195 million people in India that went hungry every day.

She would then retire behind a local store, where dozens of people had built a shack from carton boxes with no real protection from the rain. She actually had to pay rent for her 2x4 meter space. She didn’t have much belongings; a sheet, a baggy jacket that she would use as a pillow, her dark green sari and a few other items.

There was a single old picture she always carried with her. It showed a young woman next to a child. She didn’t know who the two were but somehow felt that they may be images of her long lost family…or perhaps a photo of her mom and her. At least that is what she hoped the picture represented.

People called her Jyothsna. She assumed that was her name. She liked the name and what it meant as Jyothsna was “Moonlight.” Not much about her life was pleasing or promising but her name was hers and meant the world to her. At nights, when she stared in the black sky lit by the Moon, because of her name, she would feel a sense of connection. Those times were the only times a faded smile would appear on her dry broken lips.

She couldn’t remember which village she came from, if she had ever been married or had kids. Her memory had been long lost and the present time was all that was here.

Jyothsna looked forward to her nightly visits with the Moon and the peace it brought to her.

***

It was early December of 2016 when the American returned to Hyderabad. He found it strange to have such desire to meet the old lady, learn about her and find a way to somehow assist her with her living situation. This time he wanted to go beyond giving her a couple of dollars and actually intended to find a meaningful way to bring a positive change to a life soon to be over.

The Uber cab made the approach to the intersection. For the first time in so many trips he wanted the traffic light to turn red and stay as such for minutes.

The light turned red. Several kids began the routine of approaching the drivers. The old lady, the fixture of the intersection and the one person he expected to see daily when coming to Hyderabad didn’t.

It didn’t take long that he realized SHE was not there. That was Monday.

Tuesday came and then Wednesday and again there was no sign of her.

Work was going well and the American should have felt good about his achievements of the trip; but he wasn’t pleased.

Of course she was old, sick and fragile. He knew that the only certainty in life is death and given her age, very poor physical condition, the harsh climate she had to live in and the likelihood that she also slept on a sidewalk nearby, odds were great that she had passed away. The American felt sad and had a deep pain in his heart.

Why was it that an old lady, begging for a bit of money to live, had made such impact on him? He had no good answer but he knew one was needed.

Somehow that street without those deep dark brown eyes had lost its soul and humanity.

Friday was the last day for this trip. The American had already checked out of the hotel, planned to go to work for a half a day and then head for Rajiv Gandhi airport an hour away and return to his home in California.

For the last time, his Uber cab reached the intersection. He had lost interest in looking around and made himself busy reading a document on his iPhone as the two minutes’ traffic light wait began. In the midst of a convoluted paragraph that required concentration, he heard the tap on the window. Impatiently he looked up and saw her. She was staring at him, same faded and dusty green sari, same tired face and of course the very same deep dark brown eyes.

For a moment he experienced a huge sense of relief and instant happiness. He wanted to ask about her health, where she had been the past few days and if she was OK. Clearly he didn’t expect her to speak English and come to think of it he had never seen her speak a word walking around in between cars.

As he attempted to roll down the window, the cab began to move.
He screamed at the driver to “Wait, give me a moment.”

The startled driver looked back at him inquisitively as if a crazy man was talking but he pressed the break. The American only had enough time to hand over a 500 RP note to the woman. This was far more than she would typically receive as most people would spare her a few rupees in change but that moment was not a typical one. He was just relived to see her alive and frustrated that such meeting was taking place his last day in India. She on the other hand couldn’t understand why someone would give her such large bill.

For the first time the American saw an actual reaction in her face as she smiled briefly and followed that up with some words in Hindu. He assumed they were “thank you” and good wishes.

As his cab drove away he reminded himself how important it was NOT to forget the unfortunate ones of our societies.

He looked forward to see the old lady again during his next trip and perhaps this time with the aid of a local friend he could do more for a woman who was condemned to die at that very spot.

One can’t change the world but the American intended to make a change in one person’s life however that would be possible. Only if she would stay alive until he returned in ninety days…he really wished she would.

December, 2106
Hyderabad India

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