The window 

Hidden (computer art)

Lonesome 

A character of faith, hope, and beauty 

My treasure (Photo)

Society

She was emaciated with little fat covering her body, sitting on a sidewalk’s edge on a hot summer evening and holding a plastic cup. The plastic cup was full of sand, dirt, and some coins. She sat on a sidewalk’s edge, wearing a ripped and dirty sari. She sat there for hours, motionless. She sat there for hours, holding her tears back. She sat there on the laps of poverty in New Delhi.
Upper-class individuals drove past her in their Ambassadors, but they didn’t bother to peek outside their windows and toss a coin in her plastic cup. Some middle- class pedestrians ran behind the buses. Some walked away from the poor woman. But they didn’t bother to toss a coin in her plastic cup. She was an aging woman with growing wrinkled skin under her eyes. She was an aging woman who had no son, no daughter, and no grandchildren. She was old and poor, but no one cared. In the busy streets of New Delhi no one cared for a woman of her class.
I was part of that society where race, gender, and class existed. I didn’t care enough to stop for those individuals who were born into poverty and woke every morning on the streets of New Delhi. I didn’t care because I was young and unaware of the disturbing facts of life. I didn’t care until I stared into the eyes of the old woman who had nothing left but her bones.
I stared into her red, swollen eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She sat there with ripped clothes, skin hanging from her chin, blood running down her shoulders. She wasn’t crying, but I was. I lowered my eyes, ignoring her, but then I looked back at her and her plastic cup. I stood in a crowd with my parents, busy solving their own problems. I stood in a crowd where teenagers had no interest in offering a hand to this poor woman, who sat on a sidewalk’s edge. I stood and stared at her appearance, holding a candy in my hand.
When I got sick of doing nothing except staring at her, I ran towards her and dropped my candy in her plastic cup. I stood beside her and she finally moved her head and stared at me. Then she looked at her plastic cup and bowed her head on my feet. I moved away and felt ashamed of living in a society where age didn’t matter but class did. I returned to my parents and felt ashamed of them. I felt ashamed because they were too selfish to give a paisa, to a poor, helpless woman, who sat on a sidewalk’s edge. I felt ashamed of being a part of that society.