I’ve felt most human when poor people have offered me food --boiled peanuts, puffed rice, chappati and pickle, unripe mango with chili powder-lime-salt.
Sometimes there’s an explanatory smile at my shoulder drooping with the weight of the Krishnaesque child asleep on it, sometimes simply an encouraging nod, at other times a loud lament that although I seem educated I’m not being very smart.
And I feel as though I’m fulfilling my human potential when I can successfully suppress my suspicions that neither a guarantee nor the provenance of their next meal has been established, and can simply accept their gifts with an outstretched right hand, a smile, and gratefulness.
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