Challenge No.3: Two Worlds in One

I sit on the rocking rickshaw looking across the busy smoky crowd. The skinny man in front of me paddling the rusty chains of the wheel, sweat soaking through his thin shirt, already tattering at the edges and moldy spots line a triangular shape over his back, only looking behind to check for traffic. His lungi is perched up a, two thin legs working away, stick like insect pushing against gravity, no shoes, just a big scar at the back of his right leg changing shapes as the flesh push forwards and backwards. When we pull over in front of a bookshop I search my purse for a twenty takkas (40 Australian cents) note. His eyes peered at the ground as he waited for me, only looking up at me for a brief moment to receive the money, nods, and rides away into the waves of traffic. He didn't think he was worthy to look me in the eye. He didn't think he was worthy to ask for another five takkas, he didn't think he was worthy to be seen at the forecourt of a middleclassed shopping strip. He's just a rickshaw wallah, nothing’s going to change that.


Without going into a middleclassed shopping district you can still spot a middleclassed person from a mile away. They are the impeccably dressed people that never look at the ground, and stroll leisurely through an air conditioned shopping mall and ride up and down the escalator. The men will never be seen in a lungi outside of the house, have beautiful shiny shoes, and will always take a rickshaw. Their wives will have beautiful gold high heeled sandals, and they will hide behind a scarf around their head. The women would never speak to strangers, but will look at another woman from an angle. The men would talk to me politely in English and talk about a relative who lives in the UK. They are the ones coming in and out of shop fronts with a big sign that says "Immigrate or Study in Australia". At the end of the day, nothing is going to change the fact that he is from one of the poorest countries in the world.