The Blind beggar

He is more punctual than the regular Babu,
Found in his corner, infallible,
Calls out to passers-by, appeals to their beneficence,
While in fact, snatching anything valuable.

He is the beggar of Kurla station, ostensibly blind,
But not at all, privy
to the nuances of corruption and poverty
that pulse through this city.

He wakes up 'fore the early bird and the sun
To begin his trade of deception.
He sees the rising sun silhouette the whores retreating
after a night of prostitution.

He sees the labourers looking to drink and smoke
A day of procrastination.
He sees the mandarin staggering home, drunk with revelry
A night spent stealing the nation.

He sees the rays illuminate the slovenly slum settlement
that is called Asia's largest,
where terrorists and politicians are made alike
to race for survival of the fittest.

Ostentatious flags proclaim the Muslim faith,
Muezzins call for prayer.
"Beware filthy Hindu, for you cannot enter
Cut you into pieces if you so dare."
[slur is entirely unintentional. Sorry if I hurt any religious sentiment.]

He takes his mock shuffle, makes his pitch to a passerby
who seems to be counting something
"Go on," he says, "You are as blind as I."
He is a thief counting his day's earning.

The beggar sneers, giving his treacherous fellowman
the benefit of a side glance,
And then resumes, picking and stealing from the crowd
now locked in a surreal dance.

A few genuine philanthropes are beguiled
and give him a share of quarters
He gives them a medley of intoned blessings,
while wishing they'd fall into craters.

He hears a businessman with cellphone, saying,
"Cant we bribe him, pray?"
He targets him next, applying his arcane logic
"For his crimes, he has to pay."

One more pocket, one more drop in the human ocean,
One more coin goes clink,
And when business slackens at ten, he finds,
He can afford a drop of drink.

He staggers back at two, soaked and stoned,
money sunk into a pit.
He tries to climb the stairs, but falters,
Slipping on a wad of spit.

He takes a sideways step, tries to regain
his lost balance, but falls,
on to the mixture of rust, mucus and tobacco
that encrusts the century-old walls.

He sees the world pass him, for he is camouflaged,
well-hidden from view,
And as the world goes black around him,
He sees nothing new.

No sudden burst of compassion spring
From flaming hearts of the youth
No kind grasp of a samaritan being
Helpful to a destitute.

He awakens later, in a Government hospital
but without a second thought,
To his benefactor he slips out in the night
to do his trade of fraud.