Richa Sharma

I often came across two little beggar boys on my way to college. I remember the first time they saw me giving them a sympathetic look. No wonder, they came up to me and asked for some money. I happily gave them some out of my saving. But I recall what happened once, which taught me a lesson for life. Along with my friends, I was walking down the busy streets of Thamel. A beggar boy, looking absolutely starved, asked me for a rupee. I just teased him and said, “You are going to buy cigarettes with it.” But he assured me that would not be the case, so I trusted him without realising that I was soon going to be fooled. He didn’t even wait for me to pass; he bought a cigarette and started blowing the puffs right on my face! Though I could not but feel sad for these street kids, I stopped being generous from then on. But I was convinced that I will some day work for their betterment. It took me to complete my grade 12 to finally do something for them. My experiences with them led me to join a NGO working for the street children.

I also got an opportunity to be a part of a winter programme ran by the organisation every year. This gave me tremendous happiness. I was doing something worthwhile for these unfortunate kids. I spent valuable time with the children; played with them and most importantly I got to share their problems. That was real contentment. I even taught them how to read and write. And what I got in return was utmost respect. They had so much potential in them and were always eager to learn more. Sadly, the camp lasted for two months only. But those months of my life I will never trade for anything. Even after being told by the staff repeatedly not to get emotionally involved with the kids, the last day of the camp broke my heart. More disturbing to me was the fact that majority of the children would return back to the street from where they were picked up for the workshop. I will never forget those kids at the camp who taught me to see things beyond its existence. I keep bumping into many of those kids in the streets of Kathmandu. They wear tattered clothes; they still smoke and still sniff glue. But they have the most upbeat smiles on their faces. At least they hide the cigarette when they see me now.