The beauty and the beast

This happened on my way back from a client meeting last afternoon. We'd stopped on a signal... and I saw this beggar coming from ahead. He had a stump of an amputated arm protruding from his torn shirt's sleeve. He would angrily flash the stump in front of the cars waiting at the signal and ask for money... His violent gesture was like this clenched fist on the non-existent arm... that no one could see but everyone felt was there. He came towards me... and I could feel the hatred oozing out of his being. I, a woman, sitting in that big assed airconditioned car epitomised everything that probably had gone wrong in his life. And I was angry too... for his vulgar behaviour. The driver clicked the central lock in. My eyes darted towards the lock slipping into place, and the infuriated man moved closer to my window. He banged the stump on my window... teeth gnawing with fury. We stared at each other... anger for anger... man for woman. And then I smiled at him... the slow hard bitchy mocking smile. His eyes mirrored the struggle within, for a fraction of a second... and then the fire in them dimmed. His face fell... like his arm. He walked away from me... head down, shoulders stooped. His better hand did rise to beg a few times... but he wasn't looking. He wasn't aware of what he was doing.

I felt like a bitch then. I'd chosen my ideology over his existence...

We all are fighting for a cause in life... mine against conformity and someone's for it. We all have reasons and internal crusades that keep us alive. I hope next time I go there I will still find him angry at the world and fighting it. And will not stand in judgement of one's war over another.