Two incredible scenes I observed lately.

The first one was in Lahore. It was a day before Eid and I was suffering the long delay of Red light at the Kalma square. Suddenly a view arrested my attention. It was a girl about 20 selling newspapers. She was wearing some middleclass level clothes and a purse was hanging on one of her shoulder. I am not sure if it was right or left. Something was awry about that: the girl was crying. I rejected this guess at first but later when she was showing the newspaper to a window of car next to me, I could see her tears shining evidently. I was stunned, somehow. Then after trying at the windows of several cars and failing, she headed for the footpath, put down the bundle of newspapers aside and sat down with both hands covering her face. She was crying more liberally now. The truck behind me honked to make me realize the light that had turned green. I went ahead. The scene turned me crystal and showed the bastard inside me. Bastard by any moral standard but I really don’t agree with the term. Because all the way to the mall and then back home and even still I think the girl was a marvelous actor. She was faking those tears and emotions to make us, which includes me also, to give away her some amount of cash. I was not really impressed though, given the current torrent of new styles of begging.
Now that I know why I hate her and all the fucking beggars who do nothing. And I hate those people who pay them for doing nothing.
How do I justify my hatred?
Here’s the second story.

It was a day after Eid and I went to the city (I basically live in a village) to get the meat converted to “Qeema”. Pardon my limited vocabulary. The butcher was really a rude person. The type of rude that everybody becomes after regular rough public dealing. He asked me to go to some next shop as he was chopping some Bakra’s head. Hardly would any good shopkeeper let any customer go but I told you about his rudeness that I observed as he uttered his first word. I picked my stuff and headed for the door. As I touched the door knob, he saw something though the glass inside the street and asked me, with the same intensity he rejected me with, to stop and wait as his Shagird was coming back, The Shagird came, obeyed the order of his master, picked my stuff and took it away to the rusty machine. The master butcher started screaming suddenly. I looked at the door and there stood two young boys in ragged clothes, one about 11 and other about 15 years old. The younger boy presented him what we throw away after slaughtering the animals. It was so horrible to look at. The butcher was asking him to go away as he wouldn’t buy it because it was “dog torn”. The older boy would ask him to buy, even at less price. Butcher won’t agree and would insist them to leave the shop. None of them would move. Finally, the butcher asked them to leave in the loudest possible scream. Then silence fell. Butcher got busy with the meat. The boys stood there looking at him. It was so incredible a scene. Their shining eyes were not begging for mercy or anything, but something that was beyond anybody’s ken. It was like the time froze for a moment. Then they picked their sack and went away to some other shop.
Even though the boys were in worst of the outfits but I still love them for doing something. For earning money. For not begging it. For their hard work none of us would agree to do.
If anybody pays any beggar a single buck, he discourages such people who do the dirtiest jobs but still they would earn less or as much as a beggar gets for doing nothing; he motivates such hard working people to turn into beggars.